Caroline couldn’t believe how much she was enjoying herself. She was too busy to be nervous or apprehensive or to dither over making up her mind. It was challenging and rewarding to be able to use her initiative to make decisions and follow through, knowing that Devlin was depending on her utterly because she was so busy with her side of things.
The staff that Devlin had employed were top-notch and, as the hectic days rushed forward to the planned opening day, they came together as a team and the atmosphere was tremendous, full of enthusiasm and goodwill. That was half the battle. Notwithstanding several minor hitches, like the wrong-coloured towels being delivered and one of the turbo sunbeds being faulty and a hiccup in the central heating system, by the evening of the big launch it was all systems go and, as Caroline eyed her glamorous reflection in the mirror, she was very satisfied.
She had mucked in and got on with it and been able to give Devlin all the support she needed to get the project up and running. She had learned that she could cope under stress and the whole experience had done wonders for her self-confidence. Even the fact that she’d had to stay a few nights on her own, while Devlin went back down to Dublin, had given her a great boost. She now knew without a doubt that she wanted to be back full-time in the workforce.
There was a knock on the door, and she opened it to find Luke smiling at her. He looked divine in his evening suit.
‘Hi!’ she greeted him. ‘You look great.’
‘You look pretty sensational yourself,’ Luke said with a smile. ‘That colour suits you. Are you ready?’
‘I am,’ Caroline replied.
She had chosen red, a glorious crimson sheath with black trim and a black silk bolero with matching crimson trim. It was very sophisticated. And with the professional make-up job that the beautician had given her and her hair newly cut and shining, she knew she looked her best.
Devlin emerged from her room, announcing, ‘I’m ready,’ and Caroline thought she looked stunning in an expensive and classy cerise cocktail dress that fitted her like a glove.
‘I’ll be the envy of Belfast with you two belles on my arm tonight,’ Luke declared, as he led them down to the chauffeur-driven limousine. Tonight they were doing it in style.
It was a terrific party, and Caroline winked at Devlin as they noticed dozens of gorgeous ladies clamouring for the special opening offer at reception. The broadcaster, Lynda Jayne, had just made a very witty speech declaring City Girl open.
Arthur, who was out of hospital, had bullied his doctors to allow him to attend the launch for a couple of hours and although he was a bit pale and noticeably thinner, his bonhomie had diminished not one whit.
‘Caroline, come here, I want you to meet someone. He’s an old friend of mine and this is the kind of thing he’d normally run a mile from, but I wanted him to come and see what I’m up to now. Just to show off, like,’ Arthur beamed.
‘Caroline, this is Bill Mangan, at home on a few days’ holiday from Abu Dhabi. Bill, this is Caroline Yates, who helped save our bacon here. She’s done a terrific job helping to coordinate everything.’
‘Hello.’ She found herself shaking hands with a stocky, weatherbeaten man somewhere in his mid-fifties.
‘How do you do?’ he said, and looked alarmed as Arthur said ebulliently, ‘Oh look, there’s Jock Douglas and his wife. Excuse me for a minute. I must just have a few words with them.’
‘Nice party,’ Bill muttered, and Caroline felt sorry for him. It was obvious that this wasn’t his scene at all.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ she offered. ‘Come on over to the bar. I hate standing in the middle of a room,’ she said lightly.
‘Me too. I won’t stay long. Arthur just wanted me to see the place. He’s got a good business going here,’ Bill remarked, as they edged their way through the throng.
‘Well, we hope so.’ Caroline caught the bar attendant’s eye and asked Bill what he wanted.
‘I’ll have a pint of Guinness,’ the older man said gratefully, smiling at Caroline.
Gradually, he relaxed in her company and she was so concerned with putting him at ease that she forgot to be shy herself. She found herself telling him about her broken marriage, although she didn’t mention Richard’s homosexuality, and remarked how she badly wanted to start working full-time again after her experience with City Girl. With her degree in languages she might look for something in that area, but she wasn’t sure yet.
He told her about his building operations in the United Arab Emirates, and how his own marriage had broken up because he was always away from home, that his only daughter was married and living in Belfast and that he always came home to be with her at Christmas. He had given her a year’s membership to City Girl as a Christmas present, and she was thrilled with herself. He pointed her out, a woman in her thirties who was chatting to one of the aromatherapists. Bill was on his third pint and telling her about the time he had been trapped in the desert in a sandstorm, when Arthur arrived over to them.
‘The wife’s insisting I go home,’ he moaned, ‘and I promised her I’d do as I was told. Will you come back for a bite of supper?’ he asked Bill Mangan.
‘I will surely,’ the other man chuckled, ‘just to see you doing as you’re told.’ He shook Caroline’s hand. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’d better let my daughter know I’m leaving with this old reprobate. It was a pleasure meeting you. I hope all goes well in the job search.’
‘It was very nice to meet you,’ she assured Bill with a smile, and then Arthur was kissing her and congratulating her again. As she watched them leave, she thought how interesting Bill had been about his life in Abu Dhabi. It sounded like a fascinating place.
She hadn’t time to think any more about it, because it was time to pick some spot prizes. Devlin was insisting that she perform the selection, so, taking a deep breath, she walked to the top of the room and declared the winners, to great cheers from the gathering.
It was the early hours when she finally got to bed. The party had been really swinging and she had thoroughly enjoyed herself. Caroline fell fast asleep, chuffed that she had contributed so much to the whole venture.
Caroline was sitting on her balcony at the beginning of March, painting the view of Dublin Bay and the Wicklow hills. Spring had come. The early cherry-blossom was blooming and banks of daffodils waved resplendent beneath the trees and along the drive.
The glorious sight should have cheered her up – but it didn’t. She was feeling a bit down in the dumps. After all the excitement and toing and froing of the Belfast City Girl opening, it was a bit of a shock to come back to earth again. She had stayed in Belfast for most of January and February to make sure that everything operated efficiently and to sort out the remarkably few teething troubles. But now she was back in Dublin doing her three days a week in Foynes and Kelly and she was feeling terribly restless. There must be more to life than this, she thought irritably, as she put a bit of yellow ochre on her palette.
Everything felt like such an anti-climax and she was back in her old familiar rut again. What had become of her great plans to get ahead? She had her name down in a dozen job centres, but so far, nothing. It was a real pain in the butt. She knew unemployment was a major problem but surely she should be able to get some sort of full-time job. She had a degree in languages; she had administrative experience. If she had more get-up-and-go, she’d land herself a job. She would just have to get out there and market herself, she told herself crossly.
The phone rang and, scowling, she got up and walked in to answer it. ‘Hello. Is that Caroline Yates?’ a man’s voice asked, and she knew from the noise and echo on the line that it was a long-distance call. But it couldn’t be Richard or Charles; she had spoken to them only an hour before.
‘Hello, Caroline, it’s Bill Mangan, Arthur’s friend. I met you at the City Girl party. Arthur gave me your number. I hope you don’t mind. But I have a proposition to put to you if you’re interested.’
‘Oh!’ Caroline exclaimed. I
t was the man from Abu Dhabi. What on earth did he want with her?
‘Hello. Are you there? Can you hear me?’
‘I’m here, Bill, and I can hear you fine. What can I do for you?’
Oh my God, she thought to herself, her excitement laced with apprehension as she listened to his proposition.
‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked when he had finished.
Caroline took a deep breath. Without a second’s hesitation, she said, ‘Bill, that sounds like just what I need. I’d be delighted to accept your offer.’
‘Great. I’ll be home in two months and I’ll get working on it then. Cheerio, Caroline.’ Then he hung up.
‘Oh my God,’ she muttered, her eyes sparkling at her impetuosity. ‘What have I let myself in for?’
Maggie’s Story – I
Eighteen
The first thing she was going to do, Maggie decided, as she collected her car from the City Girl car-park and loaded her shopping, was to ring her newly acquired publishers. Her editor wanted to arrange their first editorial session and although she was excited about it, Maggie felt a little apprehensive. Marcy Elliot, the editorial director of Enterprise Publishers, had warned her newest budding author that there was a lot of work to be done on the manuscript.
The sales and marketing director, Sandra Nolan, wanted to arrange a meeting with Maggie and an artist about cover designs and she also wanted Maggie to meet Carol Lewis, the PR person who would be handling the publicity. It was all so new, so exciting. Never in her wildest dreams had Maggie thought her book would be published. If her husband hadn’t had an affair with that slut Ria Kirby, Maggie would never have sat down and written a novel inspired by the diary she had kept in which she had recorded her pain and despair and anger. Terry had betrayed her but from that awful experience Maggie had emerged a much stronger woman. She had slowly started taking control of her life. And it was a good feeling. Next on her agenda was getting her tubes tied. Three children and two dreadful pregnancies were enough for any woman to go through, although she loved her twins and the toddler very much.
Terry certainly had no desire for any more children. Not that he’d take the responsibility and have a vasectomy. Her husband couldn’t have looked more horrified when she had suggested it. ‘Just say the kids and you were all killed in an accident and I wanted to get married again,’ Terry blustered. ‘Why can’t you get that tube thing done?’
‘Yeah, and what happens if I have a tubal ligation and something happens to you and the kids and I want to get married again?’ she had countered.
‘Well, go back on the pill then,’ Terry retorted. He hated these discussions; he much preferred Maggie to take care of that business, although he wished she’d make up her mind and do something once and for all. He was fed up using condoms; he hated the bloody things.
Maggie knew she could argue until she was blue in the face and it would do no good. Terry would never agree to have a vasectomy. It seemed to be a threat to his manhood. If she didn’t want to get pregnant she would have to do something about it. After all she was only in her mid-thirties, she had a decade of childbearing years left and she didn’t want to be worrying every time her period was late. Especially not now when such an exciting new prospect had opened up for her.
The way Enterprise were going on about her new book, she was going to be the next Barbara Taylor Bradford or Danielle Steele. Maggie grinned to herself as she drove past St Peter’s Church in Phibsborough and headed out towards the Navan Road. She might as well dream here as in bed, she told herself wryly. Still, even to have got this far was an achievement and nothing and no-one was going to get in the way of her finally doing what she wanted. She had given of herself long enough. Maggie, the perfect wife, mother, daughter no longer existed. She was Maggie Ryan, writer. The next year at least was going to be devoted to her new career and having her tubes tied was the option that suited her the best. Her mother would be absolutely horrified. Flying in the face of God she would call it. Nelsie McNamara was of the generation that believed that sex was a duty of marriage and not a pleasure and that having children was part of that duty. And if God saw fit that a woman should have eight, nine or ten children or more, so be it.
Maggie sighed deeply as she turned left at the Halfway House and drove on to Castleknock. Surely God would be satisfied with the three children she had produced. She loved them passionately and was rearing them as best she could. Was it so selfish to want to devote a portion of her life to herself and her own needs? What was it about the female psyche that made guilt cling like a leech, no matter how liberated one pretended to be. Terry never agonized over anything. He didn’t have to. She did it all for him. Well, enough was enough. From now on it was all systems go.
She was dying to phone Marcy and Sandra and ask them what they thought of the title City Woman. Maggie just loved it. It was so apt. Trust Devlin to come up with it. It was the hardest thing in the world to pick a title. Her editor and the sales and marketing director had made lists but none of the suggestions had seemed quite right. They had come up with An Independent Woman as a working title but Maggie hadn’t felt comfortable with it. It was a bit long and too serious. Coming home this morning with her friends after their precious long-awaited weekend together, she had been chatting about this and that and Devlin had laughed and said she should call the book Three Mad Women. Then they had got serious and started tossing ideas around and Devlin had told them that she hadn’t had a clue what to call her health and leisure club until she had heard Billy Joel singing ‘Uptown Girl’ and City Girl had just popped into her head and been perfect. ‘It’s a fabulous name,’ Maggie remarked wistfully. ‘Something like that would be perfect for my book.’
‘Yes, but Nicola, your heroine, isn’t really a girl after all; she is in her early thirties,’ Caroline had interjected as she had driven on to the Newtown-mountkennedy bypass and increased her speed to all of 50 m.p.h. – daring driving for her on her second great journey in her new Fiesta.
‘True, Caro, good thinking; it’s got to be something with “woman” then,’ Devlin had mused, a frown furrowing her brow.
‘We’ve tried every permutation, believe me,’ said Maggie. ‘I think we’re stuck with An Independent Woman.’
‘Oh, Maggie, it’s a bit . . . it’s a bit contrived, if you don’t mind my saying so,’ Devlin retorted.
‘Say what you like – that’s what friends are for,’ Maggie had muttered glumly. Now Devlin had really succeeded in putting her off the working title.
‘You need something that will grab your readers’ attention, something sophisticated and savvy . . . something like . . . like . . . ’ Devlin’s eyes gleamed all of a sudden as she grinned at Maggie. ‘Something like City Woman!’
‘Wowie . . . I love it. Devlin, you genius!’ Maggie yelled. It was perfect, perfect for her precious novel and its discovery at the end of their lovely weekend together had to be a good omen. She hoped Marcy and Sandra would go for it. Now they were two real City Women. Ambitious, intelligent, glamorous. Maggie was fascinated by them. Marcy, who had such original ideas and with a razor-sharp brain that could spot a mistake a mile off, and Sandra, who could sell sand to an Arab and who was so sophisticated that Maggie found her slightly intimidating. Just being in their company made Maggie feel exhilarated, their enthusiasm was so catching.
It was so interesting to see behind the scenes in publishing. She had never given the publishing business any thought before. She had just bought her books, read them and enjoyed or disliked them, and never considered the process behind it all – the hard slog that went into the creation of a book. From the idea in the writer’s head to the bookshelves and into the reader’s hands was quite a journey. Listening to her publishers discussing the text size, the cover design, the typography, the suggested price, the dumpbins and marketing strategies was an eye-opener for Maggie and she was eager to be involved and to learn all about it. After the last few years of staying at home with her children, she wa
s ready for the mental stimulation. Writing the novel had been such a long, lonely experience. Only Adam had understood. Maggie’s eyes lit up as she thought of Adam Dunne and how he had helped her change her life. Gorgeous, sexy Adam whom she had met while she was glancing at a book about novel-writing. Such an inauspicious beginning. Because of him she had joined a writers’ group and now here she was about to be published, while the wild side of her, the side that buried guilts deep, was seriously considering an affair with him. Deep down she knew she probably wouldn’t; she had invested a lot in her marriage with Terry. She had three children to consider but it was nice to have the fantasy. It kept her going, made her feel young and desirable, especially when he looked at her with that expression in his hazel eyes.
Adam understood her creative side because he knew what it was like. Terry had always dismissed her writing as ‘scribbling’ and it infuriated her. She was so sorely tempted not to tell her husband her news about being published until the night of her launch, just to see the expression on his face. Adam she couldn’t wait to tell when he returned next week from the UK. She had really missed him for the time he had been away. Maggie had to admit her feelings for him were stronger than she had realized and it shocked her a little. She knew that if Terry had not had his affair she would never have encouraged this flirtation with Adam. Although on the surface she and Terry had put the past behind them and decided to make a go of the marriage, Maggie knew that she could never entirely forgive her husband. His betrayal of her had cut to the bone and only with Adam’s arrival on the scene had her self-esteem begun to recover. Terry would never again have such a hold on her loyalty. He didn’t know that though. He suspected nothing of her attraction to Adam. It was her secret and when the time came she would make her decision and her husband’s feelings wouldn’t enter into it at all.
City Woman Page 17
