A Year Like No Other Read online

  Contents

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  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names,

  characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the

  author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons,

  living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Ebook published 2012

  by Poolbeg Press Ltd

  123 Grange Hill, Baldoyle

  Dublin 13, Ireland

  E-mail: [email protected]

  www.poolbeg.com

  © Pauline Lawless 2011

  Copyright for typesetting, layout, design, ebook

  © Poolbeg Press Ltd

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978-1-84223-568-3

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  www.poolbeg.com

  About the author

  Pauline Lawless was born in Dublin but she has lived most of her life in the midlands. She was educated at Belgrove School, Clontarf, and St Louis Convent, Balla, Co Mayo.

  She started writing after she retired from business and her first novel, Because We’re Worth It, was a bestseller in 2009. Her second book, If the Shoes Fit, also a bestseller, followed a year later. She adores Paris and so it was a perfect setting for this, her third novel, A Year Like No Other.

  Pauline has five children and seven grandchildren and now divides her time between Ireland, Belgium and Florida. When she’s not writing she likes to escape to the golf course and also enjoys playing bridge.

  Visit her website at www.paulinelawless.com.

  Also by Pauline Lawless

  Because We’re Worth It

  If the Shoes Fit

  Published by Poolbeg.com

  acknowledgements

  I have enjoyed continuing my love affair with Paris while writing this book. I sometimes longed to leave everything and head straight there as I wrote. I hope my readers enjoy escaping there for a little while with me. À Paris!

  Once again to all at Poolbeg: Kieran, Sarah, David, Lee, Lisa and Sarah a big thank you. To Paula Campbell, thanks for your continued faith in me and believing that I really can produce three more books! Thanks to Barbara Devlin, who lifted my spirits greatly when I heard how much she had enjoyed reading the manuscript.

  To Gaye Shortland, the best editor any writer could have. Your advice and guidance is invaluable and makes my books so much better than I could manage alone.

  To my lovely daughter Ciara who once again was called on to proofread even though she has a very busy new life in Galway. I promise we’ll have another trip to Paris soon and have champagne at the Ritz once more!

  To my wonderful family who are always there for me and especially my daughters-in-law Anil in Munich and An in Brussels who are both very supportive and whose comments I value highly.

  A thousand thanks to all my friends in Ireland, Belgium and Florida. Your interest and encouragement is much appreciated and gives me a great deal of pleasure.

  Grateful thanks to fellow Poolbeg writers Mairead O’Driscoll and Mary Malone. I have valued your unstinting help and advice since I first started writing.

  Finally, to the most important people of all – you, the readers – I hope I haven’t let you down and that you enjoy this story as much as the others I’ve written. Thanks to those of you who have visited my website www.paulinelawless.com and left such kind comments. Hope to hear soon how much you’ve enjoyed this book too.

  To JM

  With all my love.

  Aussi à Moe Moe – Grands Bisous xx

  1

  “Paris? You can’t be serious!” Felicity cried, the shock registering on her face. “Please tell me you’re joking, Maxwell?” Her voice wobbled as her eyes searched her husband’s.

  “I’m afraid not, dear,” he replied gently, looking away uncomfortably. “It’s Paris, I’m afraid – for a year.” He shifted from foot to foot, not knowing what to say to make it more acceptable. He wondered if he were tall, dark and muscular instead of small, blond and rotund – cuddly, his daughters called him – might he be able to handle this situation better. He was easy-going and jovial and hated confrontations and rows.

  “Oh God, not Paris,” Felicity continued, her plummy well-modulated voice rising uncharacteristically. “You know I detest France. Nobody speaks English there and the French are so rude. Do we have to go?”

  Max sighed, at a loss for words to calm her.

  “Well, I suppose you could stay here in London and I could commute every weekend,” he suggested hopefully, thinking of what bliss it would be to have a Felicity-free working week.

  “Oh, no, that’s out of the question,” she replied, panic flitting across her face. “You couldn’t possibly manage without me.”

  The reality was that he could manage perfectly well without her but he knew Felicity would never manage without him to take care of her.

  Max sighed again as he watched her pacing up and down, her pencil-thin body taut with anxiety as she struggled to cope with the news. Felicity, always a lady, in her cashmere twinset and pearls with not a hair out of place, was doing her best to retain her composure but failing miserably.

  In fairness, the fact that he was being sent to Paris had come as a complete surprise to him too. He’d been hotly tipped to be taking over in either Dubai or Hong Kong, so when the president of the bank informed him that he’d be joining the new finance group in Paris, it had come as quite a shock. It was a fantastic opportunity for him and a great step up in the banking hierarchy and he was already very excited at the prospect. He’d known, of course, that Felicity would be less than happy with the news and so her reaction to it came as no surprise.

  “How can I possibly face my friends? They’re all madly jealous at the prospect of my moving to Dubai or Hong Kong and now I have to tell them that I’m just popping across the Channel,” she sniffed.

  “Seriously, dear,” Max tried another strike for his freedom, “I would of course find it very difficult to cope without you but I couldn’t bear fo
r you to be unhappy. Perhaps the best solution is for you to stay here in London and I’ll come home at weekends. What do you think?”

  “No, I wouldn’t hear of it,” she reiterated. “I’ve never shirked from doing my wifely duty, so if I have to come to Paris with you, I will. But I really don’t know how I’ll survive there,” she shuddered, clasping her arms even tighter around her flat bosom.

  Max sighed. “This is a big promotion for me, Felicity,” he explained gently, putting his arms around her. “If I make a success of this – then who knows – the sky’s the limit.”

  “I need a drink,” she said, breaking away and going to the cocktail cabinet where she poured herself a gin and tonic. She sat down carefully in the leather armchair, back ramrod straight and legs crossed in a ladylike manner as she took a very unladylike gulp from her glass.

  “What will I do for friends in Paris? At least I would have known Gloria in Dubai and Diane and Myrtle in Hong Kong,” she said, dangerously close to tears. “And of course, everyone speaks English there.”

  “Well, you’ll have the other wives in Paris. There are four others on this project with me and no doubt they’ll be bringing their wives too, so you’ll surely make friends with them.”

  “Are any of them English?” she asked hopefully.

  “I’m afraid not.” He moved over to pour himself a large whisky, throwing his eyes up to heaven. He eased himself into his favourite armchair, willing this conversation to be over.

  Felicity was English to her very backbone, he thought. She hated foreigners with a vengeance and truly believed that every other country was uncivilised. She wore her Englishness like a mantle and without it she was lost. Once out of England, she was out of her comfort zone. Would she survive in France? He sighed. One thing he knew, Felicity or not he was heading to Paris. This job was too good to pass up. If she insisted on coming with him, then she would just have to adapt.

  He loved his wife dearly but she was a product of her very conservative, upper-class background. She’d barely had any contact with her parents as a child and had been packed off to boarding school at eight. Her mother, Georgina, was a veritable dragon, domineering and controlling and as a result Felicity was crippled with insecurity and low self-esteem and was generally a bundle of nerves. From time to time her genes showed through and she could be haughty and arrogant, like her mother, but only ever with Max and their two daughters, never with outsiders.

  He’d been christened Maxwell, after his grandfather, but had been known as Max all his life. He liked the name Max – it suited him – but Felicity insisted on calling him Maxwell.

  “Max is so common, darling,” she’d said.

  ‘Common’ was the biggest sin in Felicity’s book. So it was that, like so many other men, his wife was the only one to call him by his full name.

  Their two daughters Alexandra and Philippa suffered the same fate. From a young age they had called each other Alex and Pippa as had he, but despite this Felicity still insisted on using their formal names, which made them squirm with embarrassment in front of their friends. Now aged sixteen and eighteen and quite the little rebels, they frequently protested. But still Felicity persisted, causing many an unholy row.

  Alex was in her first year at Cambridge and wanted to be a journalist. Pippa was a boarder at Benenden School and one week wanted to be an artist, the next a model.

  Felicity was a wonderful mother but, when the girls reached their teens, she couldn’t understand how it had happened that her two charming little daughters had turned into these argumentative, rebellious teenagers. Max had tried to explain that they were simply growing up but poor Felicity just didn’t get it. She was in a time warp and could be heard sighing regularly, at their hairstyles, clothes, music and just about everything else.

  Both girls were thrilled when Max broke the news that they were only moving to Paris and not the Middle or Far East.

  “Cool, Pops,” Pippa had squealed, hugging him. “Now I’ll be able to pop over with my friends at half term.”

  “That’s great, Pops. Paris is much closer.” Alex smiled. “Harry and I will be able to visit often.” Harry was the latest squeeze.

  Max tried to envisage Felicity’s reaction to all these teenagers invading her space. She could barely cope with her own two, never mind all their high-spirited friends.

  Felicity called her younger sister, Penelope (Penny to everyone else).

  “Penelope, you won’t believe where we’re going. Not Dubai or Hong Kong – but Paris,” she said, stifling a sob.

  “Oh you lucky duck!” was her sister’s reply, much to Felicity’s surprise. “You always land on your feet. Imagine it! Afternoon tea in the Ritz every day and the fabulous designer shops of the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré on your doorstep – not to mention all the chic parties that you’re sure to be invited to.” She sighed dramatically. “I’m green with envy.”

  This stopped Felicity somewhat in her tracks. “What about Dubai or Hong Kong? I was really looking forward to one of those.”

  “Can you imagine the toll the Dubai sun would take on your face, Felicity?” Penny took great care of her own face and body. “Seriously! Have you even considered that? And Hong Kong is very over now, you know, definitely old-hat. Consider yourself lucky, girl.” She sighed again. “I wish Jeremy would whisk me off to Paris for a year. You wouldn’t hear me complaining!”

  Somewhat mollified, Felicity had to agree that she hadn’t thought about the skin damage she’d incur in the hot desert sun. At thirty-nine, that was the last thing she needed. She had a typical English rose complexion and inspected her face regularly for signs of aging. So far, so good – she had great genes and had taken reasonable care of herself over the years – but she wasn’t getting any younger and one could never be too careful.

  “And just think, it means you’ll be escaping from Georgina’s clutches for a whole year, you lucky thing. God, I’ve just realised that means I’ll have to cope with her on my own while you’re away,” Penny groaned.

  “I know, I’m sorry, but you’re much more able to deal with Mummy than I am. She still terrifies me. And we’re just across the Channel, if you need me.”

  Felicity hadn’t thought about the bonus of escaping from her mother’s demands for a year. That put a new light on things.

  Next she rang her cousin Gloria in Dubai, who burst into tears at the news that Felicity would not, after all, be joining her there.

  “Oh, dear, how shall I ever stick this place without you, Felicity?” she’d cried. “It’s so damn hot. I can’t put my nose outside the door. As for our fellow-Brits – all nouveau-riche, my dear, not at all the class of people we’re used to.”

  Well, Felicity thought, patting her mousy-blonde hair, so much for the fantastic life she raved about last time I spoke to her!

  Next, she rang her old school-friend, Myrtle. Things were equally bad in Hong-Kong.

  “I’m terribly disappointed that you’re not coming out,” she told Felicity, “but, honestly, you’ve had a lucky escape. Things have changed dreadfully here. Not the same at all. And Diane has turned out to be a prize bitch. We had a dreadful row and now we don’t talk at all which, I needn’t tell you, is very embarrassing when we meet at functions.”

  Phew! Felicity thought. I have had a lucky escape. Imagine being caught between those two! The more she heard, the more she was beginning to think that Paris wasn’t so bad after all. It was at least within driving distance of London. She brightened up at the thought that they could quite easily pop back to London – every weekend if they wanted to.

  2

  It was six thirty and Ashling was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches to the pasta dish for dinner. Her two little girls were spending the night with their grandmother, as they did every Friday.

  When she heard Kieran’s key in the door she wondered why he was home so early. He was rarely home before nine.

  “Hi, honey, I’m in the kitchen,” she called out. “H
ow come you’re home so early?”

  He burst in, his big bulk filling the room as he waved a bottle of champagne. “Stop cooking! We are going out to dinner tonight, to celebrate!” he cried, putting the champagne on the table and swinging her around off her feet. “I got it, Ash, I got the job! We are going to Paris, chérie!” he laughed.

  “Oh my God, are you serious?” She looked at him, her green eyes wide with disbelief.

  “Yes, yes, yes!” he cried ecstatically, pumping the air.

  She hugged him, jumping up and down, her auburn curls dancing. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it! Paris!” she cried, clapping her hands, her face aglow. “How come? Tell me all!”

  “Let me just chill this a little more,” he said. He set about putting some iced water in the wine cooler for the champagne.

  She pulled out a kitchen stool and sat at the breakfast counter watching him and drumming her fingernails as she waited with mounting excitement for him to finish. He’s so damn handsome, she thought smugly, and he’s mine.

  Sitting opposite her at the counter, he finally regaled her with the details of his good news.

  “The CEO, Mr O’Reilly, called me into his office just as we were closing and told me that I’d been chosen for the Paris project,” he said, reaching for her hands. “I just couldn’t believe it.” He was grinning now from ear to ear.

  “What about Bill and Conor? I thought you were sure it would go to one of them?”

  “I was. They’re both older and more experienced than me, so I really didn’t think I stood a chance, but Mr O’Reilly explained that what they want on this project are new ideas and new ways of looking at things.” He was still beaming like a Cheshire cat, his hazel eyes shining. “So all that extra overtime I’ve put in has finally paid off.”

  “I should hope so,” she replied sharply, thinking of the rows they’d had over the long hours he spent at the office. Seeing his disconsolate face she relented. “I’m very proud of you.” She got down from the stool and went around the counter and kissed him. She knew his career was very important to him and sometimes felt that she took second place to it. He was a consummate workaholic. She hoped that this move would mean that they could spend more time together as a family.