I should be getting ready to party in Park Avenue, not listening to mindless wittering, Colette thought glumly, pasting a faux smile on her face and wishing she was a million miles away.
An hour later she whispered to Hilary, ‘I’m going to go to bed. I don’t think I could cope with “Auld Lang Syne” and all that stuff and I want to call Jazzy. See you tomorrow.’
‘Ok, I hope the noise won’t disturb you. It won’t be an all-nighter. People will start drifting off after midnight.’ Hilary walked with her to the stairs. ‘I know this is a hideously difficult night for you, but this year is almost over and a new one is starting and hopefully it will be a much better one for you,’ Hilary said warmly.
‘Always the optimist, you are.’ Colette sighed. ‘Night, Hilary. I’m off. Here’s Viv and she’s plastered.’ She hurried upstairs, desperate to avoid another ear bashing from her former friend.
‘She’s got very stuck up. Mind she was always a snooty little wagon,’ Vivienne declared crossly as Colette disappeared up the stairs.
‘She’s not feeling great,’ Hilary lied. ‘Come on, the lads are going to play a Dubliners set to bring us up to midnight.’
‘And the auld triangle went jingle jangle,’ sang Vivienne, forgetting all about Colette and her moods.
‘So where are you, sweetie?’ Colette kicked off her shoes, positioned her cell under her ear while she unzipped her Chanel LBD and shimmied out of it.
‘Jackson and I are taking Dad to dinner in the Palm Court, and afterwards when we’ve dropped him home we’re going on to a party in the Village.’ Jazzy’s clear tones floated down the line.
‘Sounds fun. Is Des going to the McLean-Butlers to ring in the New Year?’
‘No, he’s not in the form for it. He’s having an early night. Are you having fun? I can hear a party going on.’
‘I miss you. I’m lonely. I’m going to bed now. It would be too sad to see in the New Year without you.’ Colette sank onto the bed, weary.
‘You should have stayed with Gran and Gramps,’ Jazzy said.
‘That would have been even worse. It will be over soon and I’ll be back in London in a few days. You have fun tonight. You’re young and in love, the best way to be on New Year’s Eve. Enjoy it and don’t forget I love you.’
‘I love you too, Mom, goodnight. Talk soon.’
‘Bye, sweetie.’ Colette tried to keep her tone light, not wishing her daughter to worry about her. And as for Des, she wouldn’t put it past him to have that woman sleeping in their bed with him tonight. Early night indeed, she thought furiously as she slipped her phone back into her bag. She undressed and slipped her silk nightie over her shoulders and climbed into bed. It was cold. She should have thought to put on the blanket for ten minutes before she got in.
Downstairs the party was in full swing, the group giving Dicey Reilly welly, the guests joining in enthusiastically. Colette lay under her duvet, tense and deeply unhappy. Would this night never end? Next year, even if she had to spend New Year’s Eve on her own, she would stay in London and pretend it was just an ordinary night. Solitude would be far preferable to this purgatory. Outside she could hear fireworks going off randomly and dogs barking. In desperation she sat up and rooted in her handbag and found a blister of Zimovane she had filched from Jacqueline’s medicine cabinet. She was tempted to take two so she could sink into oblivion but she decided against it. She wanted to be able to drive home under her own steam. The sleeping tablet took effect surprisingly quickly and by the time the clock struck midnight and the assembled guests stood at the front door singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ to an accompaniment of fireworks, ships’ horns and howling dogs, Colette was dead to the world.
‘Happy New Year, Jonathan.’ Murray enveloped him in a bear hug that seemed the most natural thing in the world.
‘The same to you, Murray.’ Jonathan returned the hug, having spent the happiest New Year’s Eve in a long time. With Murray’s arms around him he had the surest sense of knowing that he had found his way home.
‘Happy New Year, Hilary.’ Niall drew his wife to him and kissed her tenderly. ‘It’s a terrific party, thanks for everything. I love ya!’
‘I love you too, and thanks for providing the music for my party,’ she grinned, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him passionately.
‘Get a room, you two,’ Millie teased, embracing her parents when they stepped away from each other.
‘Happy New Year, Mam, Dad, Millie.’ Sophie put her arms around them all and gave a tipsy giggle, making room for her grandmother who had joined them.
‘Your Dad and Margaret, I’d say, are very happy looking down on us all here tonight. It was a great party and so nice for us all to be here together. Thanks for having such a lovely family night,’ Sally declared, embracing her Hilary. ‘Aren’t we lucky all the same when you think of poor Colette, far away from her child and husband, miserable on her own.’
‘We are very lucky,’ Hilary agreed fervently, grateful to be surrounded by family and friends, as Jonathan blew her a kiss and the ships’ sirens sounded their message of celebration, and church bells pealed their song of welcome for the New Year.
Times might have turned very hard, but one good thing austerity was doing was bringing an awareness that what really mattered was not material wealth and status, but family and friends and simple pleasures, Hilary reflected, closing the front door on the blustery night as Niall and the lads began a rousing rendition of ‘Crackling Rosie’.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
‘Oooohh!’ Hilary grimaced. ‘What time is it?’
‘Half nine,’ yawned Niall, rubbing a hand over his stubbly jaw.
‘That’s not too bad. I don’t hear anyone else stirring.’
‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
‘In a minute. Put your arms around me and let’s have a snooze,’ Hilary said sleepily, snuggling in against her husband.
‘I have a genius for a wife,’ he said drowsily and moments later he was fast asleep, his breath ruffling her hair. Hilary lay dozing in his arms until a vaguely familiar sound brought her awake. It was coming from downstairs, a Bond theme. ‘Goldfinger’. Jonathan’s phone. The eejit, he must have forgotten it. She slid out from under Niall’s arm, grabbed her dressing gown and hurried downstairs.
The phone had stopped ringing, so she dialled the number on her landline and when it started to ring she saw it halfway down the side of an armchair. She checked out the missed call and saw that it was Jonathan’s landline. Hilary dialled it, smothering a yawn.
‘Hello?’ Jonathan sounded agitated.
‘You idiot,’ she said affectionately.
‘Oh thank God – I thought I’d left it in the taxi!’ She could hear the relief in her friend’s voice. ‘I’ll drive over for it once I’ve got the pork tenderloin stuffed.’
‘Stay where you are, I’ll drop it over. I know you’re cooking for the family lunch.’
‘You are a lifesaver, Hil! Thanks!’ he exclaimed.
‘Just have some fresh coffee brewed,’ she ordered. ‘See ya!’
She opened the fridge, poured herself a glass of orange juice and drank it thirstily. She’d grab something to eat at Jonathan’s.
Niall, who was snoring evenly, didn’t hear her shower or dress, so she scribbled a note and left it propped up against the lamp on his bedside locker. She walked quietly down the landing and placed her ear against Colette’s bedroom door and listened. She could hear little ladylike snores and she smiled, glad that her friend was having a restful sleep. At least the ordeal of New Year’s Eve was over for her.
There was very little traffic. It was a beautiful, crisp, cold morning and the sun, a pale lemon drop, threw sparkles on the sea, and bathed Howth in an ethereal, opaque light as she sped along the Dublin Road to Baldoyle. Jonathan had chosen a very picturesque area to live, she approved, emerging onto the Strand Road and seeing the panorama of blue sea and sky and the emerald sward of Portmarnock golf course across the water. It
was such a different vista to the one he’d enjoyed when he’d lived in his eagle’s nest overlooking Dublin’s quays. But one that she preferred.
She drove onto the yellow-brick drive outside his stone cottage, and parked behind his car. It was an old railway cottage with sash windows, on whose sills Jonathan had pots of pink and red cyclamen in a glorious profusion of colour. A seasonal holly-and-red-ribboned wreath enlivened the crimson door with the gleaming brass knocker and letterbox. It was all chocolate-box pretty and Hilary wouldn’t have expected anything less of him.
He had the door open before she even knocked. ‘I heard the car. It really is such a tank,’ he grinned, hugging her.
‘Don’t denigrate my trusty old Saab,’ she remonstrated, inhaling the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. ‘I need some of that coffee. I was lucky I didn’t fall asleep at the wheel!’
‘Thanks a million for coming over with the phone. I’m way behind schedule as it is,’ he groaned, leading her into the kitchen where he had been preparing the main course for the New Year’s Day lunch he would be cooking in Rosslara. ‘The girls are doing starters and desserts and Mama will be overseeing the entire proceedings from her armchair,’ he laughed. ‘Thank God she’s still with us for another New Year. I couldn’t imagine her not being at home.’ Jonathan poured the dark brown liquid into two elegant coffee cups, milked them and handed the cup and saucer to Hilary. Can I tempt you to a sausage roll?’ He arched an eyebrow at her.
‘Indeed you can,’ she smirked.
‘Guess what I had when I woke up?’
‘Tell me.’
‘Half a box of liqueurs.’
‘Oh cripes! I thought I was bad eating two chocolate Brazils.’
‘We’ll start next week,’ he promised. ‘I’m definitely going to walk at least a mile a day every morning, out on the seafront.’
‘You do that,’ she smiled, having heard about the ‘mile on the seafront’ ever since he had moved from the city a couple of years ago.
‘I am, deffo,’ he assured her, placing his stuffed tenderloins on a greased cooking dish and wrapping it carefully in tin foil.
‘So, what happened last night after you left?’ Hilary demanded, sipping the delicious coffee while she waited for her sausage roll to heat in the microwave.
‘Nothing really, because Murray is going home to cook lunch for his family today, and I’m doing the same for my gang. Both of us had to be up early. He lives in North County Dublin, near Ashbourne, so we didn’t even share a taxi because our routes were miles away from each other but we’re going to meet up next Sunday. I’m going to cook lunch for him here.’
‘I really like him,’ Hilary said. ‘And he fitted in so well. Niall was chuffed that he likes trad and can play the tin whistle and spoons.’
‘He’s very easy to be with. I like that about him. And he’s very interested in culture and art and so much of what I like. And he’s a photographer! He’s going to show me how to take photos.’
‘Nude ones, I hope.’ Hilary grinned at him. Jonathan laughed.
‘You durty gurl! You’re a bad influence on me. Was that your phone ringing?’ He cocked his ear to the hall where she had left her bag on the ornate wrought-iron coat stand. She slid off the stool wondering who would be calling her on New Year’s Day morning. Her immediate thought was that it must be her mother, as it always was when she got an unexpected phone call late or early. She remembered the times Margaret would ring her to say she wasn’t well and invariably an ambulance would have to be called and they’d end up in A&E.
‘I missed a call from Colette.’ She made a face and sat back down and took another sip of coffee and a bite of her sausage roll. ‘She was sound asleep when I left.’
Her phone rang again and she saw it was from her messaging service. ‘What’s up with her, I wonder,’ she remarked, dialling 171.
‘A lot, if you ask me,’ retorted Jonathan. ‘You’d think I’d offered her cyanide when I asked her if she’d like me to freshen her drink last night. I was merely being kind.’
‘As you always are.’ Hilary patted his arm as she listened to the voice telling her the time and date of her message. ‘Oh get on with it!’ She could hear sounds, like someone moving around, and then she heard Niall say, ‘Oh you’re up, did you sleep well?’
‘On and off,’ she heard Colette say. ‘I just feel so sad.’
‘Ah you poor thing,’ Niall said, and there was more movement.
‘I think Colette rang my number by accident and it’s gone straight into message but she’s not turned off her phone,’ Hilary said. ‘I do that all the time with these friggin’ touch phones. Remember the day I recorded us talking and I didn’t even know I was doing it? Oh yikes, she’s bawling now and poor Niall’s trying to comfort her.’
‘Better him than me!’ Jonathan made a face.
‘Oh my God! Oh my God! Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ Hilary exclaimed at what she was hearing.
‘What’s wrong?’ Jonathan came round the island and stood beside her, concerned, as she switched on the phone to speaker and Colette’s voice echoed tinnily around the kitchen.
‘You’re one of the sexiest men I’ve ever met, Niall. You know that, don’t you? You’ve always known I fancied you. I just adore men with hairy chests. Des’s was smooth, not like yours. Just between you and me, on all your travels, have you ever been a bad boy on Hilary? Because I don’t think there’s a man alive who could ever be faithful.’
‘The evil little hoor!’ Jonathan exclaimed, eyes wide with dismay as he saw the look of total pained shock on Hilary’s face. He held her hand tight as they listened in mounting horror to the events unfolding in Hilary’s kitchen.
Colette stared at her reflection in the cheval mirror of Hilary’s guest bedroom. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair tousled, her black silk négligée was open to reveal a lacy wisp of black translucent chiffon nightdress that revealed the curve of her rounded breasts and deep décolletage. So sexy still, she thought admiringly. She had worn it deliberately knowing that Niall would see her in it. She had just gone down the road of no return, Colette acknowledged. Her relationship with Niall was irrevocably changed, as was her relationship with Hilary, unless Niall kept his mouth shut and didn’t go blurting things out. She hoped he would for all their sakes. If Hilary ever found out that she had set out to seduce her husband, there’d be hell to pay. She picked up her overnight bag and began to pack. She wanted to be gone before Hilary got back.
Niall gunned the engine and drove out of his drive leaving tyre marks. He needed to think. Colette’s full-on invitation to have sex with her was still astonishing to him. Women came on to him . . . a lot . . . especially when he was playing a gig, but Colette was something else. The way she used her body, the slanting seductive glances. And when she’d told him she hadn’t had sex in months and she ached for him.
Niall groaned, thinking of what had gone on between them. What was he to do? What was he to say when Hilary came home, full of anticipation for the family dinner they were going to at her sister’s this evening? She would be so hurt. So desperately hurt if she knew. She gave everything in a relationship. She was the kindest, most giving, most caring person he knew, and none of that had meant diddly-squat. Should he tell her? What was the kindest thing to do? Tell her or say nothing and let her go on in blissful ignorance of the complete and heinous betrayal that had gone on behind her back?
Niall parked the car on the seafront, and head down, hands jammed in his pockets, he strode along the promenade, his jaw tense, his eyes bleak, as he replayed the scenario with Colette over and over in his head.
‘What are you going to do?’ Jonathan asked hesitantly when Hilary’s sobs had subsided.
‘Can you believe that, Jonathan? I was her best friend, her oldest friend. After all my kindness to her over the years. Can you believe that she would stab me in the back like that, without a thought?’ Hilary hiccuped.
‘Even I didn’t think she’d sink that low,’ Jonathan s
aid solemnly. ‘And I’ve never liked her.’
‘And the irony of it is that Niall was always telling me she wasn’t a real friend,’ Hilary said bitterly, picking up her bag. ‘Well very soon she’s going to rue the day she did the dirty on me. I’m going to deal with her first,’ Hilary said grimly, wiping her eyes.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Jonathan offered.
‘Ah thanks, but you need to get going to Rosslara—’
‘I need to be with a friend who needs me,’ interjected Jonathan. ‘An extra hour won’t make too much of a difference.’
‘No. I’ll deal with this myself. I should have cut her out of my life years ago and then all this wouldn’t have happened.’
‘Let me know how things go, won’t you?’ he urged.
‘Of course. I’ll probably be bawling on the phone to you.’
‘Bawl away, and if you want me to come back tonight to be with you, I will.’
‘You’re a great pal, Jonathan,’ she said brokenly, tears overflowing again. He held her tight, patted her back and stroked her hair until she was calm again.
‘Now I wouldn’t be much of a pal if I let you out looking like a panda bear on crack!’ he said firmly, rooting in her bag for her hairbrush, lipstick, dusting powder and brush. ‘Sit still while I minister to you,’ he ordered, rinsing a tissue under the tap to wipe her tears and mascara-run, before deftly sweeping the powder brush over her cheekbones and forehead, then tracing lipstick over her mouth. He brushed her hair, feathering her fringe, and stood back to look at her. ‘That’s better. Now if you feel you need reinforcements ring me and I’ll be up the road after you, quicker than a crooked politician palming a brown envelope.’
A Time for Friends Page 47
