He began to feel nervous, gauche, in the company of this much-travelled, sophisticated, successful woman. Glancing across at her he noticed that she seemed relaxed, her long legs stretched out, casually admiring the scenery whizzing past.
“Anywhere in particular you’d like to go?” he asked.
“I see a signpost for Ballyhaven ahead. Why not go in that direction? It’s a very nice area.”
Andrew indicated to turn off the motorway. This was perfect. He would not have to lie now. Not really. He could tell Ella he came here to look over their site. If she asked, which she probably would not.
“Do you know Ballyhaven well?”
Maxine smiled. “What’s to know? A few shops, a church, a pub and endless acres of farmland.”
“I own fifty acres there.”
“Really? I couldn’t picture you in Wellington boots and a peaked cap. Wait a second though . . .”
She closed her eyes and threw her head back against the headrest, smiling as she described her image of Andrew going to feed the pigs wearing only green wellies and a tweed cap.
“I hope it’s a warm day in your imagination or else I’ll get pneumonia!”
“It’s gloriously hot,” she said, opening her eyes and laughing now, enjoying her little game. “But there’s danger. You’re being chased by a dairymaid named Maxine. She’s wearing pink wellies and a white frilly bonnet. She’s running very fast. Oh, no! You’ve slipped and fallen. She’s just about to . . .”
Andrew brought the car to a stop outside Ballyhaven’s only pub just as Maxine’s fantasy was about to get very interesting.
“We’ll never know now what the dairymaid would have done,” she said softly, putting on a very pretty pretend-pout.
“How about we go to my site after lunch? Maybe you’ll remember what happened next.”
They were laughing as they walked arm in arm into the Ballyhaven Inn.
* * *
Lunch had been a stodgy affair. The mounds of mashed potato and thick slices of roast beef sat heavily in their stomachs.
“Let’s walk your fifty acres,” Maxine suggested. “Burn off those calories.”
It had been a very long time since Andrew had visited his site. He had forgotten how beautiful and tranquil the setting was. Or maybe viewing it with Maxine made him see it in a different light. They had laughed and even giggled over lunch. He felt happy for the first time in a whole year. He imagined himself young, free and totally enthralled with the woman by his side. That was the magic of Maxine.
The fields were wild and overgrown, the ditches in bad repair. He had toyed for a while with the idea of letting the fifty acres out in conacre but had never got around to following up on the plan. He parked beside a rusty gate where they would have easy access to the fields. He was surprised to see Maxine take off her high-heeled boots and put on a pair of walking shoes.
“I wondered what you had in that big bag,” he remarked. “What else do you have in there? A frilly white bonnet?”
Zipping up her bag, Maxine put it back into the car with her jacket, turned her back on Andrew and headed for the gate. She scaled the rusty bars and began to run.
“Come on, lazy boots! Let’s see how fit you are!”
Andrew trotted after her, soon realising exactly how unfit he was. He was puffing before they reached the second field and he was suffering badly by the time Maxine stopped in the shade of the woods which sprawled across the bottom of the site.
“You’re in good shape,” he gasped as he reached her.
“It’s my job.”
He looked sharply at her. Had there been a note of bitterness in her voice?
“Don’t you enjoy modelling?”
“I enjoy the success. The money. What else is there?”
“Job satisfaction?”
“You mean like you get from selling a property? Tell me, Andrew, would you feel the same satisfaction if you sold at no profit, or even a loss?”
He shook his head and took her point. It was all about making money. She was stooping down now and feeling the thick carpet of pine needles with her hand.
“It’s dry,” she said. “Why don’t we sit down and take a rest? We can put our backs to this big tree trunk.”
They sat in silence until Andrew’s breathing became regular again. The pine needles were soft underneath them and the rays of sun slanting through the branches bathed them in a golden pine-scented light. They held hands and breathed in the sylvan peace.
“So what are you going to do later on? I mean when you’re tired of modelling?”
“You mean when I’m too old and fat and wrinkled to get any more work.”
Andrew lifted his hand and stroked her shining hair, murmuring that she would always be beautiful.
“And practical,” she answered. “I want to open a restaurant. A high-class restaurant, a place where everybody who is anybody will want to be seen. I want to provide an elegant dining experience, with international cuisine in beautiful surroundings. I want to –”
She stopped suddenly, aware that she had already said too much. This was her secret, her plan. She had never meant to share it. Remembering why she was here, she turned to Andrew.
“And what about you? Are you going to retire from Ford Auctioneers, a grey-haired, crabby old man, or are you going to sell these fifty acres and live on the profits?”
Andrew frowned. This was a coincidence. The second time in the past few days he had been asked about his plans for these fields.
“Depends,” he answered. “If these fifty acres were rezoned as residential, I might consider selling. And since Garry Cox is interested, there is some move afoot. I must give my contacts in Planning a call.”
Maxine smiled. Jason Laide would be furious that the Cox brothers were sniffing around the Ballyhaven site. She would love telling him he had strong competition. Then her smile faded. This was not good news for her. The quicker Jason got his hands on the land, the quicker she would be rid of him. For good. She put her head on Andrew’s shoulder.
“Let me know what you decide. I might be interested in buying. Build my restaurant in this glade here. What do you think?”
Andrew raised an eyebrow. Was she fantasising again or did she really earn the kind of money that would allow her build her dream?
Whatever the answer to that, he was sitting here, now, alone in the woods with the most beautiful woman he had ever known. He laid her on the pine needles and, skin caressed by cool breeze and warm sunshine, Andrew and Maxine made love.
Chapter 4
Ella welcomed the sound of her Monday morning alarm call. She took her time getting ready, breathing deeply, putting on her favourite shoes, forcing herself to concentrate on the day’s work ahead. Andrew would already be behind his desk, phoning, faxing, emailing, doing all the things that made him such a successful auctioneer. Finished with her make-up, she examined herself in the full-length mirror. She saw a well-groomed, attractive, dark-haired woman, wearing very nice shoes. There was no trace of torment in the reflection, no despair in the hazel eyes, no sign flashing to say that today was the first anniversary of the accident.
Satisfied that she had turned off everything in the kitchen, she checked the rest of the house and was surprised to find her ironing still in the lounge since yesterday. She had a vague memory of abandoning it when Rob Trevor had called but she could remember little now of the rest of the evening after he had left. Maybe she had slept.
Annoyed with herself, she tidied up the mess in the lounge and rechecked the kitchen appliances. It was as she was picking her car keys off the hall table that she saw Andrew’s note about the new doctor. She took the piece of paper and put it into her bag. She would ring Dr Peter Sheehan as soon as she got into the office and let him know just what she thought of his collusion with her husband. The anger she felt against the two men was the spur she needed to kick-start her day.
* * *
Andrew was puzzled when he put the phone down. He had jus
t had a baffling conversation with his contact in the Department of Planning. Oliver Griffin was far more than just a business contact. They had gone to school together, played on the same teams, chased the same girls, attended the same college. Oliver was holding out on him now. He had been evasive when Andrew had mentioned Ballyhaven. There were some ideas being thrown around, he had said, nothing concrete that he knew of. Bullshit! As if anything could happen in that Planning Office without Oliver Griffin’s say-so. He was Chief Planner. The uncomfortable silences and forced bonhomie of the conversation after Ballyhaven had been mentioned was baffling.
Andrew picked up a biro and began to scribble. He always thought more clearly with a pen and piece of paper. He wrote Ballyhaven and underneath it Oliver Griffin. Then he wrote down the name Garry Cox and put a circle around it. Next he penned Maxine Doran in big bold letters. Could there be a link between all of them and the fifty acres of scrubland in Ballyhaven? Where did Maxine Doran fit into the picture? She mixed with the high and mighty and the Cox brothers were quickly climbing to the top of the entrepreneurial heap. Was she working for them, deliberately getting close to Andrew, trying to screw the fifty acres out of him? But what would be the point in that? Garry Cox had asked Andrew directly about the Ballyhaven site. Why should he need Maxine as a go-between? She must be working on someone else’s behalf. Unless of course, she was telling the truth and her concern with Ballyhaven was purely personal.
Trying to forget her smooth skin and her firm breasts, Andrew thought about the little he knew of Maxine Doran and her very recent, very intense, interest in him. In fact, he wondered if anybody knew anything about her. All the information in the public domain was what Maxine or her agent chose to publicise. Her career and her love life were well documented. But who was she really? She must certainly be a wealthy woman by now. But would she be able to raise the kind of capital needed to build a high-class restaurant? In any case, she was lying when she said she would consider building it in Ballyhaven. Even if the area was going to be developed – if – it would not be the place to build a gourmet restaurant. So why the charade?
Without realising what he was doing, Andrew found that he had sketched a reasonably good likeness of Maxine. If he had not been so obsessed with financial security, maybe he could have made it as an artist. Just as he was shading in the area where her waist narrowed in, he heard the door open. With a deftness and speed spurred by guilt, he had the scribble page in the shredder across the room before Ella had reached her desk.
“I’m going to ring Dr Peter Sheehan now,” she announced.
“Good.”
Andrew tried hard to remember Peter Sheehan’s advice. Play along with her, let her make her own decisions, or at least let her believe that she was making them for herself. Stupid advice really. Ella did just as she pleased anyway.
“I’m going to complain about him to the Medical Board for discussing my health issues with someone else without my permission. I’m not even his patient.”
He felt his calm fade away as his anger rose. “The ‘someone else’ is your husband. Or at least, the man who is trying to be a husband to you. I need you to get better, not just for your sake but for mine too.”
“And going behind my back, treating me as if I was incapable of handling my own –”
She stopped mid-sentence and, taking off her jacket, sat down at her desk. She logged onto her computer as calmly as if she had not just been shouting.
Andrew shrugged. He could not fathom her moods.
“Rob Trevor wants to put Manor House on the market,” she said.
“How do you know? Who’s handling the sale?”
“We are. He called round yesterday. Asked me to organise it for him. Pity you weren’t there.”
“I went to Ballyhaven to look over our site,” Andrew said much too quickly.
Ella gave him one of her cold stares and he was not sure whether she was telling him that she suspected he was with another woman or if she was not even seeing him at all. The probability was that she did not care either way.
“Why do you think the Coxes are interested?” she asked. “Why don’t you ring that slimy friend of yours in the Planning Office? He should be able to tell you.”
“I did and Oliver was very evasive. And he’s not slimy by the way.”
She wondered how Andrew would feel if he knew that his great school friend had tried every trick in the book to get her into bed with him. He was a scumbag but an influential one. She flashed one of her business smiles at her husband.
“Ballyhaven is your baby anyway. I’m working on the sale of the Laides’ property. Let me know if you come across something huge and expensive that might suit them as a replacement.”
Now there, Andrew thought, was a genuinely slimy character. Jason Laide was all gold chains and shiny suits and pots of money from some mysterious source. His haulage business seemed to have become an overnight success. From one truck to international haulier in the blink of an eye. He now had enough wealth to be able to buy his way into the best society in town. One of those people you could not afford to ignore. Ella seemed to be getting on with them all right.
“What’s she really like? Sharon Laide, I mean.”
Ella put down the sheet she had been reading and looked at Andrew with a puzzled expression. “The answer to that question is that I don’t know. One minute she’s the soul of charm and elegance, just as she seems on social occasions, and the next she’s crass and . . . a bit dangerous maybe. Reckless.”
“Well, she is married to Jason Laide. Laid more women than Casanova as he likes to say.”
“What do we care once we get our commission for selling his house?”
Andrew nodded. At least this was one thing on which they could agree. “What about Manor House? Do you think the Laides would go for it? They might like the image.”
Ella shivered. She had to face that demon today. She had promised Rob. More importantly, she had promised herself. Standing, she picked up her bag.
“Actually, I’m going out to Manor House now. I’m assuming we can market it at around the six million mark but I want to check the condition of the buildings.”
By the time she had reached the door of the office, Andrew had already returned his attention to valuation documents. Ella stared at the bowed head for a moment before she spoke.
“I’ve decided to see Dr Sheehan after all. I want to tell him face to face exactly what I think of him.”
Andrew just nodded and kept on with his work. He sighed in relief when he heard the door closing.
* * *
Maxine smiled as she examined herself in the mirror. Just as well that it was a winter collection she was modelling for the charity show tonight. She had a big red mark on her bottom where a pine needle had pierced her skin. It would not have looked very attractive in a bikini. She laughed out loud now as she remembered the passion, the exquisite pleasure, of yesterday afternoon. It was as if Andrew Ford’s body had been designed specifically to match hers. Even as she remembered her overwhelming physical reaction to Andrew’s lovemaking, Maxine admitted to herself it was more than that. It was the safety and security she felt when his arms were around her. For the first time in her life, she felt protected. She closed her eyes now and imagined that Andrew was standing beside her, stroking her hair, looking into her eyes, smiling . . . Her eyes flew open as she heard a key being fitted into her door-lock. Fuck! She grabbed her dressing-gown and tied the belt tightly around her waist.
“Not dressed yet, Maxine? Lazy cow! Or were you waiting for me to help you put on your little bits and pieces? You know I prefer taking them off.”
Maxine glared at Jason Laide and her stomach heaved. How had she ever got involved with this piece of shit? Bile rose in her throat as a treacherous voice in her head told her that there had been a time when she would have done anything for Jason. A time when she had done every perverted thing he asked of her.
“I have a friend, a very important friend,
coming to visit,” he said. “I need you to keep him sweet. You know what I mean.”
Maxine knew only too well what he meant. She might be a supermodel on the world stage but when the cameras stopped running she was still Jason Laide’s property. That meant she was also available to his friends and those thugs he liked to call his business colleagues. She looked at him and for one hate-filled moment imagined how good it would feel to strangle the life out of the bastard. She somehow managed to smile.
“Who is this person and why is he so important?” she asked.
“All you need to know is that you must make sure he enjoys his visit. Show him the sights. And anything else he may care to see. That shouldn’t be too difficult for you. You’ve had plenty of practise.”
“Why don’t you show him around yourself?”
“I will. But I won’t fuck him. That’s your job.”
Jason narrowed his eyes and glared at the beautiful woman standing in front of him. She tightened her dressing-gown around herself and stared back. Huge deep-blue eyes met narrowed ice-blue slits.
“You’re beginning to believe your own publicity,” he said softly and the gentle tone carried more threat than a shout. “You need reminding just who you are. I could very quickly land you back in the gutter where you belong. Don’t ever forget that.”
“No, Jason. I won’t ever, ever forget.”
Jason smiled in satisfaction, enjoying the feeling of being in control. Happy that Maxine was now as respectful towards him as he deserved, he told her about his friend, Dirk Van Aken, and the entertainment he expected her to provide.
When he left, Maxine picked up a Belleek vase and smashed it onto the tiled floor of the kitchen. She felt less angry but much sadder as she swept up the shards of the once beautiful piece of porcelain.
* * *
Ella drove slowly and carefully, all the time prepared to be bombarded by overwhelming emotions. Metre by metre, she got closer to the crash site. The scene of the accident, the place where Karen Trevor had died and Ella Ford had stopped living. This was not her first time driving here since that day. She had passed by many times and on each occasion she had felt exactly as she did now. Nothing. It was just a sharp bend on a narrow road leading to some of the most valuable real estate in the western suburbs. Nettles and grass clogged the drains which had been flooded with water a year ago today. Brambles, bare and woody, clawed the stones of the boundary ditches. There was no blood, no twisted metal, no broken and dying bodies. After rounding the bend, she put her foot on the accelerator and drove the five kilometres to Manor House at a more normal speed.
Ebb and Flow Page 4
