Francesca's Party

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘Go fuck yourself, Mark,’ Nikki swore, humiliated by his stinging rebuke. If he wasn’t damn careful he’d find his cases filled with all his belongings down in the foyer when he came back and then where would he go? He could hardly go running back to Francesca, he’d obviously burnt his bridges there.

  Nikki went into the kitchen and poured herself more coffee. Her patience was running thin. Just as well she’d arranged to take the few days’ break because, as far as she was concerned, Mark Kirwan was treading on very thin ice and had pushed his luck just as far as it would go with her.

  ‘I did tell you not to get your hopes up,’ Millie said gently.

  ‘I know.’ Francesca wiped her eyes. She’d just indulged in a therapeutic bawl. ‘It’s just that I’d hoped he’d agree not only because of the mews but because I wanted to know that his sense of decency was still intact. His sense of fair play. I wanted to respect him. To lose respect for someone you once loved is the most horrible thing of all. I can’t believe he accused me of selling off the boys’ inheritance. That really hurt.’

  Millie’s eyes hardened. ‘That was the lowest of the low, Francesca. Take no notice and just let your solicitor deal with him from now on.’

  ‘OK,’ Francesca said wearily. She was tired. The day that had started so well had ended up a disaster. She felt she was almost back to square one. She took another sip of wine and nibbled at a Ritz cracker smeared with some of Millie’s to-die-for home-made chicken liver pâté.

  ‘Thanks for coming over,’ she said gratefully.

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’ll stay if you like,’ Millie offered.

  ‘No, not at all. Aidan will be sick of me monopolizing you,’ Francesca protested.

  ‘Look, he’s having a wonderful evening plonked in front of the TV watching sport and drinking beer without having to listen to me giving out. I do loathe sports on TV.’ Millie demolished a cracker in one bite.

  ‘I’ll be fine. I’m just a bit disappointed about the mews. I liked it. I could see myself living in it. It was a real Millennium-woman-style house, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Francesca, today was the first day you’ve gone viewing. Give yourself a chance. There’s lots of other nice places to see. Stay calm, girl.’

  ‘Whatever you say, Millie.’ Francesca managed a smile before giving a huge yawn.

  ‘I say that you should get your ass up to bed lickety split and have a good night’s sleep and maybe you should postpone viewing places until the house is up for sale so you won’t be disappointed,’ her sister advised as she carried the supper dishes out to the kitchen.

  It was good advice, Francesca reflected as she lay in bed half an hour later. There was no point in setting herself up for disappointments. When she had cash in hand was the time to make offers for houses. And that looked like it wasn’t going to be in the foreseeable future. The thought depressed her. Now that she had made her decision she was anxious to get on with things. She felt restless and unsettled in the house. She felt it was no longer hers.

  So much for releasing, relaxing and letting go, she thought wryly as she tweaked her pillow into a more comfortable position. Today had been one of the angriest, most upsetting days of her life. She’d felt hatred for Mark. And huge resentment that he still had the power to interfere in her life to such an extent.

  How was it possible to release such anger when she felt so resentful and helpless? What would Katherine Kronskey have advised if she’d witnessed today’s unedifying episode? She cast her mind back over the author’s interviews. She’d spoken a lot about trying to break from negative thinking and substituting positive thoughts instead. The trouble was, right now she couldn’t think of anything positive concerning Mark.

  She would put the whole episode out of her head, Francesca decided firmly. She would not replay it over and over as she had done with their rows in the past. She would allow herself to think of it for no more than ten minutes every day so that it would not have space in her head. Then her mind would be free to come up with new ideas or new inspirations. Maybe that was what Katherine had meant when she spoke of release and letting go.

  She’d get the hang of that advice some day but there had to be a start and right this very minute was her start, Francesca decided. She wouldn’t let Mark control her thoughts and feelings any longer. He might hold the purse strings now but that would change; until it did it was up to her to control her thoughts and emotions and she was damned if she was going to spend the night tossing and turning in turmoil because of him. Maybe today wasn’t a total disaster then, she decided as she settled herself more comfortably and picked up Katherine’s book on healing the body by healing the spirit.

  Reading the first chapter, as Katherine described how her husband had walked out on her, Francesca could almost hear the tall, elegant woman’s voice in her head. She read for an hour, completely absorbed, and then curled up in a ball and put out the light. She was asleep before she knew it.

  ‘Oh Aidan, I felt so sorry for her,’ Millie said to her husband as she lay snuggled up beside him in bed.

  ‘He’s just lashing out because he’s panicking. You know, I bet you Mark never thought his life would turn out like this—’

  ‘Don’t you stick up for the bastard!’ Millie exclaimed indignantly.

  ‘I’m not sticking up for him, Millie, I’m just trying to explain where I think he’s coming from,’ Aidan said mildly.

  ‘He’s being a bollocks,’ Millie snorted.

  ‘I know that, but he’s a scared bollocks nevertheless,’ her husband maintained.

  ‘Would you treat me like that if we were in the same position?’ Millie asked.

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ Aidan grinned. ‘I value my life and my goolies.’

  ‘Idiot,’ giggled Millie as she snuggled closer.

  ‘Any chance of a ride, woman?’ Her husband’s hands slid down to the curve of waist and hips and pulled her close.

  ‘Every chance, man,’ she murmured, smiling, before kissing him hotly and tracing her fingers down the lean flat plane of his belly until he groaned with pleasure at her touch.

  Later, wrapped in each other’s arms, Millie sent a prayer of thanks heavenward for the gift of her husband. She was so lucky, she thought gratefully, remembering her sister’s tearstained face.

  ‘We could remortgage or put up the house as collateral for Francesca,’ Aidan suggested sleepily, his face buried in the curve of her shoulder.

  ‘Oh Aidan, do you mean it?’ Millie shot upright and looked down at her bleary-eyed husband.

  ‘It’s an option worth considering. Come back here, woman, I was lovely and cosy.’ He pulled her back down to him.

  ‘God, wouldn’t that be great? I’d love to see the look on that bastard’s face if Francesca got that mews in spite of him. You’re a genius, Aidan. You know you’ll get the money back as soon as the house is sold,’ Millie said excitedly. ‘Oh, I can’t wait to tell her. And for being so magnificent and kind and the best husband in the world and wild in bed, you can have another ride first thing in the morning.’

  ‘There’s method in my madness, woman,’ her husband murmured sleepily as his arms tightened around her.

  Millie held him close and tried not to feel guilty as happiness filled her being and she wondered how her life could be so good and her sister’s so awful.

  Well, perhaps if all went to plan Francesca might get her mews after all and Mark Kirwan could go to hell.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  ‘MILLIE, I COULDN’T let you and Aidan do that. But thanks all the same. It’s very, very kind of you.’ Francesca was deeply touched at her sister and brother-in-law’s more than generous offer.

  ‘Look, let’s see what the bank manager has to say at least. Aidan’s popping up to see him at lunchtime. Wouldn’t it be great to have your own place despite Mark? He’ll have to sell up sooner rather than later. Your only problem at the moment is cash flow. That will be sorted once the sale goes through. Just let’s see what ha
ppens,’ said Millie. ‘I’ll talk to you later.’

  ‘OK then, and, Millie, thanks very much.’ Francesca hung up and felt a little flicker of excitement. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if somehow she was able to get her hands on the money? Even if she was skint paying off the loan it wouldn’t matter. Money would come to her eventually. She sighed. She had to be realistic. It could take four years for the divorce to come through. And if Mark continued to be obnoxious and opposed the sale of the house there could be long delays ahead. She’d planned to phone the estate agent to tell him that she was no longer interested in buying the mews but after Millie’s phone call she decided to hold off. Just in case a miracle happened.

  ‘I’ll see you on Tuesday night,’ Mark said, snapping shut the locks on his travel bag.

  ‘No, you won’t,’ Nikki informed him. ‘I’m going away for a few days. I’m going straight from work on Tuesday.’

  ‘Oh!’ Mark was taken aback. ‘You never said anything to me about going away.’

  ‘We weren’t speaking,’ Nikki drawled sarcastically.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  Nikki sat up in bed. ‘It doesn’t matter where I’m going. It’s why I’m going you should be interested in.’

  ‘And why are you going to this place you won’t tell me about?’ he said acidly.

  ‘I’m going away to be on my own, to get a break from you and your moods. Basically I’m going away to think whether I want to stay in a relationship with you or not.’

  ‘I see,’ he said coldly as he shrugged into his jacket. ‘Make sure to let me know when you’ve made your decision.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be the first to know,’ Nikki retorted. She lay down, pulled the duvet up under her chin, turned on her side and closed her eyes. She lay like that, seething, until she heard the hall door close.

  ‘That’s it,’ she muttered. ‘I’ve had enough. He’s out on his ear.’

  * * *

  Mark sat angrily in the back of the taxi. He was totally pissed off. Nikki, who should be supporting him at this time of crisis, was being as bitchy as Francesca. Did she think that he was going to beg her to stay with him? For two pins he’d walk out on her and get a place of his own. But that would suit Francesca down to the ground. Women! They were the bane of his life. It was a relief to be going to Paris. Pity it wasn’t for six months, he thought grimly.

  Work was a welcome relief and he threw himself into a round of meetings, banishing his personal worries to the back of his mind. That night he joined French colleagues for a meal and crawled into his bed in the early hours after a night of clubbing and drinking.

  I’m getting too old for this, he groaned the following morning as the phone shrilled with his wake-up call. His head was pounding; his eyes were having difficulty in focusing. He’d pulled a bird though, he reminded himself. They’d had a drunken snog but he hadn’t invited her back to his hotel. He’d never behaved like that before. He’d want to cop himself on, he thought wearily as he staggered into the shower and tried to get his head back together.

  He was mad to have gone on the piss last night. He had a meeting later in the morning with his French counterpart, Louis Vevasse, and he needed to be on his toes. Vevasse was a thirty-year-old whizz kid who had shot up the career ladder like a rocket. He was destined for big things. They might be on the same level career-wise right now, but that wouldn’t be for much longer. Rumour had it that changes were on the agenda and Vevasse was earmarked for several jumps in promotion. He often worked seventy-hour weeks, coming in at weekends because it was expected, just like some of the young whipper-snappers at home. Vevasse was hungry, like Mark had been once. Being with him always made Mark feel old and on the slippery slope down, heading for sidelining and oblivion. Lately he was reluctantly admitting that he’d lost the drive and ambition that had fuelled his career. Nikki would understand exactly what he meant if he confided in her. They’d discussed burn-out generally on a few occasions. But he couldn’t open up to her about it. Part of his attraction for her was his power and position. Had been, he corrected himself as he raised his face to the steaming spray and soaped his body. She hadn’t given the appearance of a woman who was one bit attracted to him yesterday morning, he thought ruefully, and he could hardly blame her.

  She was right to be browned-off with him. He was venting all his anger about Francesca onto her. Which wasn’t fair, he admitted. He was behaving like an ostrich with its head in the sand but it had hurt that Nikki had accused him of behaving like a sulky little boy and being a dog in the manger. He felt he’d been more than fair to Francesca but she obviously didn’t see it like that. It hurt that she wanted to go it alone. Providing for her helped assuage his guilt for having the affair with Nikki. His house was visible, tangible evidence of his hard-won achievements. Selling it was like watching his carefully constructed kingdom erode and crumble away. He felt like he was standing on shifting sands and it was most unnerving. Couldn’t Francesca or Nikki understand how he felt? If push came to shove he could release capital from his offshore accounts, but it was risky to say the least with all the furore surrounding unpaid DIRT tax at the moment. He’d prefer to keep a low profile in that area. But to have to hand over three times what he’d paid for his home fifteen years ago and watch Francesca swanning off with a fortune would be too much to bear.

  He’d have a chat with his solicitor, he decided, maybe he might be able to come up with something. And he’d better arrange to have some flowers sent to Nikki before she left for her unknown destination. He’d have them sent to the bank; she’d be sure to get them there.

  When he arrived at the EuroBank’s French HQ, a confrontation of some sort was taking place in the foyer. He recognized Jean Boudet, one of the investment fund managers, arguing furiously with security men.

  ‘What was all that about downstairs with Boudet?’ he asked Louis Vevasse as he took the mug of coffee proffered by the younger man.

  ‘Didn’t you hear? Boudet’s leaving. He’s been head-hunted by the Germans for VWB Investment. Security won’t let him up to his office to collect his personal belongings.’ Louis gave an eloquent Gallic shrug. ‘Standard procedure, of course. They’ll be posted out to him. He knows that. Why does he think it should be different for him? Boudet always likes to cause a scene. He’s always the prima donna, no?’

  ‘VWB, big money there,’ Mark said enviously. ‘Wish they’d head-hunt me.’

  Louis laughed. ‘Fund managers live short lives. You, my friend, would truly not want his job. And did you hear George Dupont had a nervous breakdown? He’s been given early retirement whether he likes it or not. Mon Dieu, he’s only forty. We must be crazeee, Mark, to work in this business. But I love it.’

  You’re riding high now. But talk to me in ten years’ time, Mark thought as he opened his briefcase and took out the files he needed. His head had eased off a little. The coffee was helping. Vevasse was a gossipy, sly little operator. Mark didn’t want him making any comments to interested ears that he’d been hungover or below par. He took a deep breath, focused his mind and said briskly, ‘Let’s get down to business, Louis, we have a lot to cover.’

  ‘Oui, oui,’ the Frenchman agreed. Minutes later the two bankers were in deep discussion and all of Mark’s other worries were well and truly relegated. Work, as always, took top priority.

  Nikki checked the sheaf of letters Elaine had given her to sign. No mistakes. Was that good or bad? she pondered. Given that she was trying to get rid of the little madam a mistake here or there would have suited her purpose, but Elaine was obviously on the ball today and they were all perfect. She signed them in her stylish script and was about to press the intercom to call her secretary when Elaine knocked on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ Nikki called. She couldn’t contain her surprise when she saw her secretary standing at the door with a large bouquet of yellow roses and a smaller one of freesias.

  Elaine smirked. ‘These came for you.’

  ‘Thank you,
Elaine.’ Nikki smiled sweetly. ‘And these are for you.’ She handed her the sheaf of signed letters. ‘And this’ – she picked up another document – ‘is a list of work I want you to do while I’m away. Thank you.’ She nodded her dismissal.

  ‘I’ll get a vase, shall I?’ the younger woman said sulkily.

  ‘No, I’ll take them with me.’ Nikki lowered her head and began to write, much to Elaine’s disappointment. She was dying to know whom the flowers were from. The card accompanying them had been sealed, otherwise she would have had a quick peek. Mark would hardly have sent them to her at the bank. He wasn’t at all flashy. He rarely came to her office even. And when they were together they were always extremely businesslike and not at all lovey-dovey, much to Elaine’s chagrin. A romantic at heart, she was always eagle-eyed, hoping to catch some little interaction. What he saw in that hard bitch was a mystery to Elaine. Francesca was much nicer. Maybe Nikki had a new admirer and the great romance was heading for the skids. Hmmm, interesting, thought Elaine as she folded the letters neatly and slid them into the typed envelopes. She paused at her task and went off into a little daydream. If the love story was ended maybe she could offer succour to the rather yummy Mark who, despite his somewhat reserved ways, was a popular boss and well liked. The quiet ones were always the most interesting and Mark, even though he was older than a lot of the hot shots in the office, could give them all a run for their money in the ‘intriguing’ stakes. Nikki Langan didn’t deserve him!

  Nikki ripped open the sealed envelope that accompanied the flowers, and read the enclosed message with a mixture of emotions.

  Sorry, darling. I love you. I sent the flowers to work to make sure you got them before you went away, hope you don’t mind. Have a nice break, ring me if you feel like it.

  Love, Mark.

  Not only had he sent yellow roses, he’d also sent her beautiful sweet-scented freesias, her favourite flower. That was thoughtful, she conceded. But it didn’t solve any of their problems. And it gave her another more immediate one. She’d taken his cases out of the storage press and left them on the bed with a curt note asking him to be out of the apartment by the time she got back on Friday. After this gesture of reconciliation, did she still want him to move out or would she give it one more try and wait until Christmas, which was her original plan? Nikki drummed her fingers on her desk. If he’d just sent the roses, she might not have bothered. Anyone could send roses. But the freesias were a thoughtful and loving gesture and maybe if left on his own for the few days he might suddenly realize that he was putting their relationship in jeopardy by his behaviour. Her heart softened. He’d obviously been thinking about her and how he’d treated her and guilt had set in. That was a positive step.