City Woman

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘Oh come on, don’t let him spoil our day. What time is our picnic at? I’m starving!’ Devlin grinned.

  ‘You’ve only had your breakfast!’ Maggie exclaimed indignantly.

  ‘I know. It’s the fresh air,’ Devlin said unrepentantly.

  ‘You can have a bag of crisps.’

  ‘And a Club Milk?’ Devlin pleaded.

  ‘Don’t push your luck. Come on, let’s bring the lads for a swim,’ Maggie suggested.

  There was great excitement when the children heard about this. As well as Maggie’s trio, they brought five pals from neighbouring mobiles. Michael and John, his new buddy, were studying a crab shell intently. ‘Mind them claws,’ Michael warned, much to Devlin’s amusement. She overheard Fiona confiding in Mimi as they splashed around in the water, ‘This is the best day of my life.’

  ‘Me too,’ agreed Mimi.

  Shona was squealing with delight as Devlin dunked her in the waves. Devlin found herself thinking that, although she didn’t have Lynn, she was blessed with the love and affection lavished on her by Maggie’s children. Caroline was right: the simple pleasures were best. Luke would be here at the weekend to share them, she thought happily, as Shona urged with delight: ‘Do it aden! Do it aden!’

  The picnic was a riot. It was all new to Devlin: she had never been on a picnic as a child. The beach had not been Lydia’s scene.

  ‘What is it about banana sandwiches and orange juice?’ said Maggie, grinning as she demolished a sandwich in two bites.

  ‘Oh no! I love the egg-and-onion ones.’ Caroline leaned across and helped herself to two more.

  Devlin was engrossed in making the tea from the water she had boiled on the little kerosene stove, ably assisted by Michael and John. It tasted divine.

  It was a weary but happy gang that trudged through the dunes towards the car-park quite a few hours later. They had had their picnic and then gone picking shells on the beach. Then they had had another dip before playing a great game of rounders. At that, the three adults had said enough and returned to their loungers to recuperate.

  ‘Isn’t it great that they have picnic tables and everything here?’ Caroline remarked carrying Shona on one arm and a lounger on the other.

  ‘Oh, they do beautiful burgers and chips here,’ Maggie announced, towing a plastic canoe weighed down with beach-balls, swimming rings and wet towels and togs.

  ‘Burgers and chips?’ Devlin said. ‘Mmmm!’

  ‘Devlin, you’re incorrigible.’ Maggie couldn’t help but laugh.

  ‘We wouldn’t have to cook dinner then,’ Devlin retorted.

  ‘Who wants burger and chips?’ Maggie eyed the eight eager children.

  ‘Me!’

  ‘Me!’

  ‘Deadly!’

  ‘Yippee!’

  ‘Goody!’

  ‘Yes, please!’

  ‘Can I have sausages?’

  ‘Can I have some chips mine own self?’

  Devlin guffawed. ‘I think the ayes have it.’

  It was a very happy crew that tucked into burgers, sausages, onion-rings and deep-fried mushrooms. Devlin brewed up again and there was lots of licking of fingers and sippings of teas and murmurs of great appreciation. The banquet was rounded off with a ‘99’ cone for everybody. No meal in a five-star restaurant could have tasted so good.

  This is the perfect end to a perfect day, Devlin thought, as she sipped her Bacardi and Coke and, leaning back in her chair, smiled at her friends. They were sitting on Maggie’s veranda, gazing at the panorama of countryside. All that could be heard in the deepening dusk was the sound of birdsong and the soft lowing of the cows in the adjacent fields. There wasn’t a child to be seen. Maggie’s three were fast asleep in their beds, showered, ruddy-cheeked and exhausted after their day in the fresh air. ‘I never want to go back to Dublin.’

  ‘Me neither,’ agreed Caroline. ‘Maggie, this is paradise.’

  ‘As near to as you’ll get,’ Maggie said, smiling. ‘I love the peace here. Digby and Marjorie really run this place well. I stayed in a park once where the kids used to be out around shouting, screaming and kicking ball until all hours. That’s not allowed here. You never see a child out after eleven.’

  ‘I don’t think our gang would be able to stay up and play even if they wanted to,’ said Devlin. ‘Did you see them? They were asleep nearly as soon as they hit the pillows? Shona fell asleep in the car coming home.’

  ‘It’s a great place for children,’ Caroline reflected. ‘They can play out in the open and you know they’re safe from traffic and strangers. I wouldn’t mind having a place here myself if I am ever lucky enough to marry again and have children.’

  ‘There’s a waiting list,’ Maggie warned. ‘Marjorie and Digby are very particular about whom they allow to park a mobile here. I don’t think a pair of riff-raff like you would be suitable at all.’

  ‘The cheek of you!’ laughed Devlin.

  ‘You’ve really taken to it, haven’t you?’ Maggie eyed them in amusement. ‘I wasn’t sure if you two high-fliers would take to the laid-back lifestyle. You didn’t even bring your mobile phone, Devlin! You haven’t phoned the office once. I thought you’d have terrible withdrawal symptoms, you the well-known workaholic!’

  ‘I know. I’m chuffed with myself,’ Devlin said proudly. ‘I’m telling you, after two hours of being here I couldn’t have cared less. This is just what I needed, and I’m going to come down again, if you’ll let me.’

  ‘You can stay for the summer if you want, the pair of you,’ Maggie laughed.

  ‘Wouldn’t that be bliss!’ Devlin sighed. She was so relaxed she couldn’t keep her eyes open. ‘Girls, I’m awfully sorry but I’m going to bed. It’s this sea air: it knocks me out.’ She yawned mightily. ‘See you in the morning.’

  ‘Night, Dev,’ said the other pair, laughing in unison.

  Ten minutes later, snuggled down in her sleeping bag on one of the soft sofas, Devlin was snoring gently.

  ‘The few days in Wicklow did you the world of good,’ said Luke as they drove back to Dublin the following Sunday evening.

  ‘God, Luke, I feel like a new woman!’ Devlin said happily. ‘It was perfect. We had a great weekend, didn’t we?’ she smiled at him.

  ‘I enjoyed myself immensely. Those kids are great. And that barbecue was super. Caroline really enjoyed it too.’

  ‘I’m glad she’s staying a few days longer with Maggie; it’s tough for her at the moment with this business of Richard and Charles,’ Devlin observed.

  ‘But she’s so much more her own woman now than she was when I first met her. Caroline will be fine.’

  ‘I’m glad you like my friends, Luke. It was very important to me that you should,’ Devlin said seriously. ‘We’re as close as sisters, you know.’

  ‘I know that,’ laughed Luke. ‘Offend one and you offend them all.’

  ‘Yeah, but wouldn’t it be awful if you didn’t get on with them. I don’t know what I’d do: it would be an awful dilemma.’

  ‘Well, that’s one dilemma you don’t have to contend with.’

  ‘You made a great hit with Mimi, I’ve never seen you with children before. You’ve a great way with them.’

  ‘I like children, I love their honesty. Whatever’s in their mind they say it straight. Mimi’s as straight as you’ll get. Did you hear her telling that obnoxious kid on the beach who made Shona cry that he had no manners? That was before she pulled his hair. I felt like standing up and cheering.’ Luke smiled at the memory. ‘Let’s take them to Funderland this Christmas,’ he suggested as they turned left at Rathnew.

  ‘Oh yes! that would be great fun!’

  ‘That’s a terrific place Maggie’s got there.’ He cast a glance at her. ‘We must ask her to see if we could go on the waiting list. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a place beside her for when we have a gang of our own?’

  ‘Luke Reilly!’ exclaimed Devlin, not sure if he was joking or not. But the more she thought about it, the
nicer the idea seemed.

  Nine

  Devlin was talking to Antoinette Phillips, the organizer of the charity fashion show to which she had been invited, when they were interrupted by a scruffy young man with shifty eyes and a pimply chin.

  ‘Excuse me, ladies,’ he said cockily. ‘I need to speak to Ms Delaney.’

  Antoinette threw him a scornful look. ‘It’s important,’ he declared, unimpressed by this subtle intimidation.

  ‘We’ll talk when you’ve finished with this . . . person,’ Antoinette said haughtily. She did not like being interrupted when she was in full flow. And she did not like her VIPs being shanghaied by scruffy little chappies.

  ‘Certainly,’ Devlin said politely. In fact she was bored and dead beat. The day had been hectic and all she wanted to do was go home to her bed. She certainly didn’t want to stand here yapping to this unknown personage who had something important to discuss with her, nor did she want to spend the rest of the night listening to Antoinette rabbiting on.

  ‘How can I help you?’ she asked with superficial politeness.

  The young man shuffled uneasily and held out a hand. ‘I’m Larry Dempsey,’ he said chummily, in a tone which suggested to Devlin that it was a name she should know and, what was more, that she should be honoured that he was speaking to her. It was a vaguely familiar name but she was too tired to try and remember where she had heard it before. He had a limp handshake, too. Devlin hated people with limp handshakes.

  She stared blankly at him.

  ‘Larry Dempsey, columnist with the Sunday Echo.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Devlin murmured, wishing he would shove off.

  ‘Well, the thing is, I’m doing a series coming up to Christmas called ‘‘A Drink with Larry’’,’ he simpered, ‘and basically like, I invite well-known celebrities of the female sex to come and have a drink with me and like, see how we get on, kind of thing. I’ve been considering you as one of my like, guests.’ He chuckled inanely.

  Oh shit! thought Devlin in dismay, suddenly identifying the nuisance she was talking to. Not even if City Girl were to go under in the morning because of lack of publicity would she do an interview with Larry Dempsey!

  ‘No, thank you,’ she said. She was sorely tempted to say: ‘It’s like, not my scene,’ but she restrained herself.

  ‘Aw come on! Be a sport.’ Larry was leering now. ‘You successful women always play hard to get.’

  ‘No,’ Devlin said firmly. ‘Excuse me.’ She turned on her heel and walked away. Sexist pretentious little git, she thought. She wasn’t going to have herself humiliated in his sleazy column, thank you very much!

  ‘Stuck-up bitch,’ Larry muttered, blushing to the roots of his lanky blond locks.

  Devlin stayed for another half-hour before making her excuses and escaping to her bed.

  Larry Dempsey was not used to being turned down. Most women he approached, after the initial playing hard to get and coy refusal, were perfectly happy to have him treat them to a night on the town. The details then appeared several Sundays later in his widely read and even more widely admired column.

  Larry was a name to be reckoned with in journalism – at least in his own mind. He just couldn’t figure this Delaney woman out. The way she had looked at him as if he had crawled out of a piece of cheese! Who did she think she was? And what was he going to tell his editor? He had been very keen for Larry to get an interview with Devlin Delaney. Larry rather suspected that Mick Coyle had a fancy for the leggy blonde. The dirty old lecher. Well, he might not be too impressed when Larry told him of her rudeness. Devlin Delaney was a stuck-up snob who thought she was too good for Larry Dempsey. Well, he’d just see about that, Larry decided. Nobody made him feel like a worm and got away with it. He’d heard talk about Ms Delaney around town. And he was just the lad to get to the bottom of a rumour. The pen was mightier than the sword. A little bit of malice here, a soupçon there – just enough to make mischief. Especially for one as delectable as Madame Delaney. He had been looking forward to having his photo taken with her. Especially as he always made a point of having very close contact with his guest when it was photo time. Everybody thought he had women falling all over him. If the truth were known the nearest he ever came to close contact with a woman was at those damned photo sessions. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t score with a broad. It was infuriating, decided Larry, drowning his inadequacies with another free drink.

  ‘Devlin, there’s a Kevin Shannon on the line. He wants to do an interview with you. He’s from the business page of the Sunday Echo.’ Devlin came to with a start to hear Liz speaking to her. She had been daydreaming, remembering the precious week she had spent in Paris with Luke at Christmas. It had been a wonderful holiday, a year late maybe, but that had made it all the more special, and ever since she had come back she had found it hard to settle down.

  ‘Well! What shall I say?’ Liz asked patiently.

  ‘Sorry, I was in Paris,’ said Devlin. ‘The Sunday Echo? That’s an awful rag, isn’t it?’ she grimaced.

  ‘I know,’ soothed Liz, ‘but it is the business page. They can’t do much harm on that and it’s not good to say no to a business interview. You never know when you might need publicity, especially now that Galway will be opening.’

  ‘Why are you always right?’ Devlin said in mock-irritation.

  ‘That’s the reason you hired me, boss,’ Liz saluted. ‘I’ll tell him sometime next week?’

  ‘As long as it’s not that sleaze-bag Dempsey who accosted me at Antoinette Phillips’s charity thing before Christmas,’ Devlin sighed. ‘If you really feel it’s a must, then go ahead.’

  ‘I do,’ Liz said firmly and closed the door behind her.

  ‘Bully,’ Devlin called after her, as she lifted the phone to call Luke. She just wanted to tell him that she missed him and was thinking of him.

  Dianne answered his phone, much to Devlin’s disgust. She had wanted to hear his voice; she had wanted to tell him that she loved him and missed him.

  ‘He’s on site. Any message?’ Dianne asked snootily.

  Yes, tell him I love him! Devlin was tempted to say. She knew Dianne didn’t like her and had a sneaking suspicion that Luke’s PA had a crush on him.

  ‘Just tell him I called,’ Devlin answered.

  ‘Certainly,’ came the frosty response.

  ‘Happy New Year, Dianne,’ Devlin said wickedly. There was a long pause.

  ‘The same to you, Miss Delaney,’ came the cool tones.

  ‘Thanks. Bye.’ Devlin hung up, smiling.

  How dare that dame wish her Happy New Year as if they were bosom buddies or something, Dianne thought furiously. It really was galling to have to speak to that woman on the phone. To think that she and Luke had been canoodling in Paris for a week. It was pretty clear that Luke and Devlin had become very close companions. Luke had come back from Paris looking totally relaxed and happy. It had sent Dianne into the pits of a depression.

  Suffering from unrequited love must be the most painful thing in the world. It was even hard to keep her fantasies going. Last night she had been watching a cowboy film starring William Holden. He had been a captain in the US cavalry and he had looked magnificent in his uniform. She had spent a good part of the night imagining Luke as a cavalry officer in the blue uniform and lovely high dusty leather boots, making passionate love to her under the stars in the desert, but it had been hard to concentrate. She kept imagining him and Devlin together in a four-poster bed in Paris.

  Dianne considered whether she should let Luke know something of what she was feeling. She sat at her desk, chin propped on her hands, and pondered the problem. Then she sat up straight. She’d tell him, that’s what she’d do. She’d tell him right to his face that she loved him. And then see how soon he’d forget Ms Devlin Delaney. Luke was just passing time with the blonde bombshell. Dianne was sure of it. No, once Dianne had declared her love for him he’d have eyes for no-one else.

  What would sh
e wear when she told him? Something that was easily removed. Just in case Luke decided to make love to her there and then. She’d leave work early today, plead a headache – that would make him concerned. And on the way home she’d treat herself to some really sexy underwear. Black stockings and suspenders. Dianne was sure Luke was a black stockings and suspenders type. She was getting randy just thinking about it. She wasn’t going to wait a minute longer: she was going out right now to buy her treats.

  ‘I’m going home: I feel dreadful,’ Dianne told her astonished secretary. ‘I don’t know if I’ll be in tomorrow; it depends on how I feel.’

  That should give Luke something to think about. In the three years she had been working for him, she had never once missed a day.

  Feeling strangely exhilarated, Dianne left the office and began her quest for black suspenders and fine silk stockings.

  The Sunday Echo had become a sleazy sensationalist rag that could compete with any tabloid of the gutter press. Of that there was no doubt. Though masquerading as a quality paper, its ethics were non-existent, its news reporting pathetic, and its dirt-dishing far steamier than that of any other paper in the country.

  That was why it sold so well! Peddling the details of people’s private lives was its stock-in-trade and nobody peddled so well or so thoroughly as did the hacks (who called themselves journalists) of the Sunday Echo. Certainly, there were good articles by well-thought-of contributors, but in the main it had gone from a good newspaper to a rancid tabloid in disguise.

  The Sunday Echo now had a brand-new sacrificial victim to help them on their way – Devlin. It had been decided at the last editorial meeting of the features department that Devlin Delaney, who had kicked the gossip columnist of all gossip columnists, the Sunday Echo’s very own Lucinda Marshall, out of the exclusive City Girl Health and Leisure Club and who had refused point-blank, and with even a hint of distaste, to go out on a date with Man About Town Larry Dempsey for his Christmas column, was to be the next victim of a hatchet job.