‘So, are you going out with anyone yourself?’ Suzie asked sweetly. She seemed that sort of girl. Sweet.
‘Not at the moment, no,’ Anna answered. ‘I’m concentrating on my career.’
It wasn’t exactly the type of thing you’d normally say to another woman. But she was a cousin of Steve’s, which meant that anything she said could technically be repeated to Steve.
‘I’m also very fussy,’ Anna added. Fussy was good. It meant that she wouldn’t go with just anything. She hoped that one would get back to Steve. She noticed Suzie looking a bit miffed. Uh oh! Fussy wasn’t a good word. After all, Martin was no oil painting. Sugar! Best to change the subject. Fast.
‘So what age are you?’ Anna asked.
‘Twenty,’ Suzie smiled, all sweet again.
Good God! Twenty! Almost ten years younger than herself. That meant that when Anna had been twenty, Suzie had been ten. What age was Steve then? What age were they all?
‘What age are you?’ Suzie wanted to know.
‘Twenty-six,’ Anna lied.
‘Are you serious?’ Suzie’s eyes opened wide. ‘And you never married? No kids or anything?’
‘Don’t kill me off just yet,’ Anna gave a short laugh. ‘Why, what age is er . . . Martin?’ She didn’t want to be too obvious.
‘Twenty-two. Steve’s twenty-three,’ she addedmuch to Anna’s relief. Thank God. Twenty-three was young but better than say . . . eighteen. Still he’d probably look too young at Victoria’s party. Unless he wore a suit. And pretended he was a real engineer. Then again, what if he met a real engineer?
It was all a bit complicated.
She’d think about it again in the morning. When she was sober. She looked at her watch. Midnight. The party showed no sign of slowing down. The two nurses were dancing to Samantha Mumba. The two engineers were smoking something with a strong smell. Suzie was passing round a bowl of peanuts. Steve was just sitting there. Divine!
The beer had run out and so had the fags.
‘I’ve some in my flat.’ Anna jumped up. No point closing the party down just ’cos the ciggies had run out.
She legged it up the stairs, grabbed the cigs and a cheap bottle of wine someone had brought to her last party. She was all set. She felt her way downstairs, carefully. No point falling and breaking a leg. Something grabbed her waist. She screamed.
‘Sssh,’ a soft sexy voice whispered. His breath was warm against her face. His hands felt strong around her waist.
‘Steve?’
‘Mmm.’
She pressed herself against him and ran some fingers through his hair. It felt short. Steve’s hair wasn’t short.
‘Who is this?’
‘Eddie . . . God, you’re gorgeous, so voluptuous, so . . .’
‘Get lost would you,’ Anna pushed him out of the way. The bloody nerve!
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled and slunk back down the stairs.
Anna pulled herself together. This was a bit of a disaster. She didn’t really feel like going back down to the party now. Her head was spinning. She should go back down though. To Steve. She shouldn’t leave him down there with those raunchy nurses. But then again, she couldn’t turn in to work tomorrow with a hangover. She went back into the room and lit a cigarette. Steve was really something. If only she looked like Brigitte Bardot and spoke in a seductive French accent. If only she wasn’t pissed out of her head. Sure no wonder she was feeling groggy. She hadn’t had a bite to eat since lunch. She kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on the bed. She flicked her cigarette ash into an empty teacup. She couldn’t think straight. For a second she wished she was a student and didn’t have to get up in the morning. Or a nightwatchman. Or a nurse who worked the nightshift.
Somebody knocked on her door. God if that Eddie hadn’t got the message, he’d soon get it now. She jumped off the bed, stuck her shoes on and flung open the door. It was Steve. Anna opened her mouth and shut it again.
‘Are you making the cigarettes up yourself, or what?’ He leaned on the doorframe and grinned.
‘Er no, not at all, I was just about to bring them down.’
‘What’s the wine? Is it French?’
Anna checked the label quickly. ‘Yes it is,’ she whispered, mesmerized, taking in his perfect mouth, high cheekbones and dark eyes all at once. ‘And I’ve two glasses,’ she added.
‘Have you any objections to drinking the wine up here . . . together?’
‘Well no . . . But what about the others?’
‘They’re all right. Suzie and Martin have called it a night. Eddie is snogging Grainne. Sandra is just about to pass out and Greg has gone home.’
‘OK. Have you got a corkscrew?’
He produced one from behind his back. She removed her jacket. He hung it up. They both removed their shoes. He poured the wine. She drank it. He lit her cigarette. She smoked it. He turned out the lights. She . . .
CHAPTER FOUR
They stood on top of the Eiffel Tower. She wore a long, flowing, white viscose dress. He wore black tie. She was thin. Very thin. And tanned. He held her tight in case somehow she might escape from him and shatter the lovely illusion. Somewhere in the distance a phone rang . . . and rang and . . . JESUS CHRIST!
Anna jumped out of bed like a shot. What time was it? Oh no, oh God, no this wasn’t funny. Where was her bloody watch? Her heart was racing as she tore the sheets off the empty bed, desperately searching for her watch. Steve was gone but that didn’t matter right now. The sun was streaming through the crack in the curtain letting her know that it was very, very late. The phone rang. Jesus, her ass was really on the line now. Eventually she caught sight of the watchstrap sticking out from under the bed. She picked it up. Oh Jesus, no! Ten past ten. An hour and forty minutes late. The phone kept ringing. She threw on her old dressing gown and slippers and headed downstairs, trying to think of a good excuse.
‘Hello?’ she croaked into the phone. Her voice sounded dreadful.
‘Anna?’ It was Mr Evans’s voice. Evans was the store manager and reasonable enough most of the time. But this morning he sounded none too impressed.
‘Oh Mr Evans, is that you?’
‘Anna, are you sick?’
‘Mr Evans, I hardly got a wink of sleep,’ she said truthfully, ‘I feel wretched.’
‘Is it something you consumed?’
‘Very possibly.’ Anna couldn’t believe how well she was doing and she didn’t even have to lie.
‘Do you feel well enough to come in?’
‘If I really had to I would, but to be honest . . .’
‘Listen, Anna, if it’s a bug I don’t want it going around the store. Take today off and we’ll see you tomorrow if you’re feeling better then.’
‘Yes, Mr Evans, I’m so sorry about all of this. I promise to rest myself, don’t worry.’
The door of the downstairs flat opened and Steve appeared in a black T-shirt and boxers. His hair was all messy and cute. He winked at her. ‘That’s right, Mr Evans, I think I’ll head back to bed right this minute. Goodbye, Mr Evans.’ She hung up.
‘Nice one,’ Steve grinned.
‘Did I sound convincing enough?’
‘I almost believed you myself. Anyway why would he doubt you? It’s Wednesday. People don’t usually ring in with hangovers on a Wednesday.’
‘That’s true.’
‘And you promised your boss you’d do something straightaway. Now I’m going to see to it that promises don’t get broken.’
Herbert Park was quiet apart from the ducks and a couple of joggers. Anna and Steve strolled hand in hand across the grass. Anna was wearing his red woolly hat in case anybody from work recognized her. They sat on the deserted kiddies’ swings and talked about life. He’d travelled a lot. As had she. He loved animals. Anna also loved animals. He loved art. So did she now. Neither of them mentioned the French girl and Anna had no intention of bringing her up.
It was late when they got back. The house was quiet. He made her t
ea. They listened to music. He was still too young to go to the party, Anna decided, but not too young to fall in love with. For a while.
‘Anna, what a surprise!’ Claire held the door open with one hand, Andrew was supported by the other. ‘Why aren’t you at work?’
Anna leaned forward and planted a kiss on Andrew’s soft baby cheek. She stepped into the hallway. ‘Sorry to butt in like this but it’s an emergency.’
‘What’s new?’
‘I would have phoned but I couldn’t. Long story.’
‘You should get yourself a mobile.’
‘No way, I can’t stand the things. I really don’t understand why people want to make themselves available twenty-four hours a day. Do you know what I saw the other day? This couple walking down Baggot Street hand in hand, both talking on their mobiles. It was so sad.’
‘Come into the kitchen and relax. It’s nice and warm in there.’
They sat down. Andrew tugged his mother’s hair and gurgled. It was as if he knew something was up.
‘Well?’ Claire raised her eyebrows.
‘I met a man,’ Anna announced, pleased as punch.
‘Where?’
‘At home in Ranelagh.’
‘I knew it!’
‘What? You couldn’t possibly . . .’
‘You always sort of had a thing for Mark!’
‘I did not.’
‘Did too. You were always going on about how good looking he was.’
‘I was not,’ Anna said indignantly. ‘I still think he’s good looking, but I would certainly not get involved with him. God, no. Anyway, it’s somebody else. His name’s Steve. He’s a twenty-three-year-old engineering student who looks like a God and has the sensitivity of an angel.’
‘Oh please, I’ve heard it all now.’
‘I’m serious, Claire, this could be the one.’
‘The one? Anna, I’m serious, I’m beginning to think you’re a burger short of a Big Mac. You’re old enough to be his mother!’
‘Age shouldn’t be an obstacle in the path of true love,’ Anna spoke solemnly.
‘It’ll never work.’
‘You always say that.’
‘And I’ve been right . . . so far.’
‘Well done.’
‘Listen,’ Claire wiped Andrew’s dribbling mouth with his bib, ‘I don’t want to be the one to put a dampener on things, but seven years is too . . .’
‘You’re right, I’ll go straight home and tell him to stay the hell away from me.’
‘Just be careful, that’s all.’
Steve held the big green door open, a deep-red rose between his teeth.
‘How did you know it was me? It could have been the landlord,’ Anna giggled.
‘I was watching you come down the road. Hungry?’
‘Starving.’
‘It’s just as well I’m cooking.’
‘Is there anything you can’t do?’
She followed him into his flat; a rich smell of curry came from the kitchen. Yummy. The phone rang outside.
‘Can you get that?’ Steve asked. ‘By the time you come back in dinner will be served.’
Anna stepped out into the hallway and picked up the phone.
‘Hello?’ Please let it not be my mother, she begged.
‘Allo?’ The voice seemed very far away.
‘Hello, yes?’
‘Allo, ees Stephan zere?’
‘Er no . . . he’s not here at the moment. Who’s this?’
‘Claudine, ’ee told me ee’d be ’ome zees evening.’
‘Did he now?’
‘Can you give message?’
‘All right.’
‘Tell ’im I ’ave bought my plane teecket and I will be in Irlande zees Friday.’
CHAPTER FIVE
The silver Mercedes convertible screeched to a halt, soaking Anna’s silk stockings.
‘Jesus Christ,’ she cried as she spotted the dirty spatters all across her Pretty Polly legs.
‘Would you like a lift?’ Mark Landon stuck his head out of the driver’s window.
‘Oh, I might as well,’ Anna muttered ungraciously and opened the passenger door. ‘And could you stop off at a shop so I can replace my stockings.’
‘Now you’re pushing it,’ Mark laughed. He looked well. Mark always took care of himself. Today he wore a sharp charcoal-grey suit, a crisp white shirt and a royal-blue tie. His aftershave was strong and he looked exquisite. He edged his way into the thick Dublin traffic.
‘You’re looking well,’ Mark said. It was always the first thing he said to her. It didn’t matter if she was posting a letter with a face full of spots and a head full of chip grease or if she’d just spent four hours in the hairdressers.
‘Thank you,’ Anna replied dryly. ‘So do you.’
‘How’s the love life?’ That was always Mark’s first question. God, she could read him like a book.
‘Great.’
Mark gave her a puzzled look. This wasn’t the answer he usually got. And he wasn’t going to be satisfied with a monosyllabic answer.
‘Who is he?’
‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’
‘You’re very annoying. I will find out, you know.’
‘Oh I know.’
‘Is he . . . he’s not famous or anything?’
‘No.’
‘Thank God for that.’ A pause. ‘Was he at UCD?’
‘Actually . . . yes, kind of.’ He’s there now.
‘I’d probably know him then, wouldn’t I?’
‘No.’
‘I give up.’
‘So how’s your love life?’
‘I’m still going out with Sally.’
‘Still?’ Anna knitted her eyebrows. ‘Last time I spoke to you it was Elourda.’
‘Oh yeah, it didn’t work out between Ellie and myself.’
‘You mean you dumped her?’
‘You know I’ve no intention of answering that.’
‘So Sally is girlfriend of the month. Let me guess, what does she look like . . . tall, blonde, busty, vacant-looking?’
‘Don’t be nasty, I wouldn’t be nasty about your man.’
‘You should meet him.’
‘Where does he live?’
‘With me.’
‘What!’ Mark nearly crashed the car.
‘He lives in the flat downstairs.’
‘You mean he’s one of the students?’
‘Yep.’
‘Cradlesnatcher.’
‘See, I knew you’d be nasty.’
He stopped the car outside Lolta’s. She got out and smiled, ‘Thanks for the lift, Mark. See you soon.’
‘Sure and good luck with the student.’
‘Yeah and good luck with silly Sally.’
‘She’s not silly.’
‘What is she – a nail technician?’
‘A doctor.’
Anna closed the passenger door firmly, waved brightly and walked away quickly. Shit, she really put her foot in that one. She hated Mark to outsmart her. And she hated him to be going out with someone intelligent. The bimbos she didn’t mind – she could ridicule them privately and know that Mark would soon get bored. But a female doctor? Now she didn’t like the sound of that. Doctors were very serious about everything.
As a department manager the trouble with a day off was that you’d twice the workload the following day. Because no one else could do your work for you. Elaine only knew about footwear. Conor only knew about household and Maggie only knew about children’s wear. That’s the way things worked in Lolta’s. Nobody knew anything about anything. Except June. And she knew too much.
June was a funny creature. Not funny as in ha! ha! But as in weird. And sad really when you thought about it. Because although June had donated her whole life to Lolta’s would she ever get thanked for it? Never. And neither would Elaine. And that was the truth. Manager or not, you were still another number on the payroll and the day you left tha
t number would promptly be deleted from the computer. Fact.
Anna had entered the retail business after stints at working in shops and bars all across Europe. People often questioned her choice of career – the long hours and constant dealings with the public. But Anna could not even imagine working in, say, an office with people constantly breathing down her neck all day. At least in Lolta’s she was given a good bit of responsibility and no two days were ever the same. One day she’d have her own store and run it the way she wanted to. But there was no point leaving Lolta’s until she had as much experience as possible. Her main issue with Lolta’s was her dislike of the clothes; the head buyers there had a penchant for poor quality clothing that would soon be found in heaps in fields all around Ireland whenever the travelling community decided to move on.
‘Anna!’ A piercing shriek broke her thoughts. June was looking for sales of the hideous flowery skirts brought in yesterday.
‘We haven’t sold any,’ Anna explained. ‘It’s too early. People aren’t going to buy that stuff in January.’ Or any time unless they’re colour blind.
‘I suggest you stick one in the window display. Match it with a catchy top.’
Here we go again, Anna thought. ‘Do we have a catchy top?’
June gave her a cold, hard stare. ‘I’ll leave it to you,’ she said frostily.
‘Bridget, can I have a word?’
Bridget was one of the part-time girls. A pleasant, hard-working girl with bobbed brown hair and glasses. She hurried over to the desk looking terribly anxious.
Anna gave her a huge smile. ‘Would you ever get a good spot in the window for that new flowery skirt – you know the hideous one with the flowers?’
‘Oh yes.’ Bridget nodded solemnly.
‘Maybe you could dress it up with one of our catchy tops?’ Anna said hopefully.
‘Catchy tops?’
Anna was delighted to find Bridget looking as bewildered as she felt. ‘I trust you, Bridget.’ She gave her an encouraging wink.
Oh the joys of delegation! Anna didn’t have time to be fretting over ridiculous-looking garments. It was mad putting stuff like that in the window. It would scare your granny so it would. If you put up a Pickpockets are Welcome sign, you’d probably draw in more punters. Anyway she had to sort out this whole mess she’d got herself into, namely Steve (or Stephan) and this mademoiselle from Paris. The more she thought about it, the more she wished she’d told him straightaway. That Claudine was coming this weekend. This weekend! The timing couldn’t be worse. If she didn’t tell him at all then he might go home to Kilkenny and Anna could answer the door and tell her he’d emigrated or something. Could she live with the guilt? Probably. Could she risk the fact that he might find out and hate her for ever? No. Then again, she’d be doing Claudine a favour.
Mr Right for the Night Page 3
