A Year Like No Other Page 5

  “Bienvenue, lovely to see you again,” Sophie said, as she welcomed them with a kiss. “And how pretty the girls look! I wanted you to be here first so that the children could meet before the other adults arrive.”

  “Pierre, come and meet Orna and Ciara,” she called, beckoning him over.

  He came shyly forward and Sophie introduced the girls.

  “Enchanté,” he said to each of them, bowing slightly from the waist.

  His manners were impeccable and the girls were mesmerised by him. Ciara was clinging on to Ashling’s leg but when she saw Orna smile and take his hand, she followed suit. Pierre spoke a little English as he was in a bilingual school and was proudly showing it off. Sophie gave them some juice and settled them at a table together, while the waiter, who was called Jacques, handed the adults a flute of champagne.

  “What a beautiful home you have,” Kieran said, as they raised their glasses.

  “Thank you, we love it,” Yves replied.

  “We’re really pleased it’s such a glorious day and that we can have lunch out here in the courtyard,” Sophie told them.

  “It’s quite exquisite,” Ashling exclaimed, looking around.

  The paved courtyard was lined with bay trees in wooden containers and a myriad of colourful flowers adorned numerous pots, both standing and hanging and also lining the windowsills. There were four small fountains with water gently cascading and four Grecian statues, one at each corner. But the pièce-de-resistance was the interconnecting gazebos, beautifully draped with white voile curtains. Under the larger one was a large round table, stunningly set with a centrepiece of white roses and green-and-white china and linen. The smaller one housed a bar. Dotted around the courtyard were many white wrought-iron tables and chairs under white parasols. The children were seated at one of these. It was all so beautiful that Ashling felt like she was in a scene from a movie.

  “How clever that you are dressed to suit our colour scheme,” Sophie remarked, admiring Ashling’s long green-and-white floaty dress and matching sandals. She was also wearing a sweet straw sunhat.

  “Very wise to be wearing a hat under this hot sun,” Yves remarked.

  “With this Irish skin, I have no choice,” Ashling grimaced.

  “You look very pretty, my dear,” Yves replied, noting her creamy fair skin with its smattering of freckles and her long red-gold curls. “Red hair and green eyes, that is very Irish I think.” He smiled at her appreciatively.

  “A typical Irish colleen, that is what you say, non?” Sophie asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” Ashling replied, shrugging her freckled shoulders and laughing.

  Twenty minutes later Jacques came through to the courtyard with Taylor and Brandon. Taylor was dressed all in black and dripping in gold chains, while diamonds and emeralds sparkled on her fingers and ears. Sophie noted that her suit was Chanel and she wore a large black hat, presumably to shield her face from the hot August sun. She looked completely out of place in the lovely summer garden and her ensemble was more suited to a funeral than a garden party. She looked formidable indeed and reaffirmed Sophie’s first impression that she would never, ever like this woman.

  Brandon was even more gorgeous than she remembered. He was incredibly handsome, very tall and slim with blond hair going slightly grey at the temples. He had a kind face and a gentleness about him that she knew all women would find very attractive. His deep, very blue eyes held her in their gaze, as he reached forward to kiss her. He made it feel like an intimate kiss although she knew it wasn’t. She caught her breath, feeling the persuasive power of his charm. Only one other man she’d ever met had possessed the same quality and that was Bill Clinton – whom she’d met at a reception in Paris. Both men focused intensely on you when they were talking to you and both had that same aura and charisma that was totally irresistible. Blushing slightly, she introduced Ashling and Kieran while the waiter offered them champagne.

  I can tell she’s going to be a bellyful of laughs, Ashling thought bitchily as she shook Taylor’s limp hand. The other woman looked Ashling and Kieran over in her supercilious way and instantly dismissed them. Brandon, however, was charm personified and both of them warmed to him immediately. Ashling couldn’t understand what he was doing with this dragon of a wife.

  “Goodness me, is that children I see?” Taylor exclaimed, catching sight of the kids quietly sipping their juice. She made it sound as if she’d spotted some exotic animals. Unwelcome ones, at that!

  “Yes, the two girls are mine,” Ashling said, immediately on the defensive, “and the little boy is Sophie’s.”

  “How quaint,” Taylor remarked, ignoring the dirty look Brandon was throwing her.

  “They’re very sweet,” he said, trying to undo the damage.

  “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name properly?” Ashling said to him.

  “My husband is Brandon Cartwright Hartford Junior – a very prestigious East Coast family,” Taylor informed them haughtily.

  Ashling caught Brandon’s look of annoyance. No love lost there, she thought.

  As they sipped their champagne Brandon told them that his great-grandfather had hailed from Ireland, from Co Kerry. “Hence the ‘Brandon’,” he explained. “I believe there’s a mountain called Brandon there.”

  “Indeed there is. Mount Brandon, near Tralee,” Kieran informed him. “Kerry is a beautiful county with fabulous scenery and very friendly people.”

  “So I’ve heard. I’m definitely going over for a visit while I’m here in Europe. I’ve always wanted to visit Ireland. Maybe I’ll even get to climb Mount Brandon.” He smiled, showing a set of perfect white teeth.

  Ashling gathered, from the look of distaste on her face, that Taylor wouldn’t be accompanying him.

  Another couple arrived just then, whom Yves introduced as Felicity and Max Parker-Scott, from London.

  “Maxwell,” Felicity corrected him.

  “Max,” her husband insisted, ignoring her glare.

  “Well, which is it to be?” Brandon asked, smiling.

  “Please call me Max,” Max reiterated, shaking hands with everyone.

  Taylor looked at Felicity in sympathy.

  Ashling felt an urge to giggle. Taylor and Felicity were both bristling with self-righteousness. Both of them were very slim – no, make that skinny – and not more than a size two dress size, she figured. They were the epitome of the social x-rays that Tom Wolfe wrote about in Bonfire of the Vanities who believed they could never be too rich or too thin.

  From what Ashling could see of Taylor’s hair under the hat, it was very expensively cut and coloured. Her face was completely unlined, eyes pulled tight and lips puffed up and the only time she showed any expression was when she narrowed her glittering eyes in disapproval. This she was doing now as she regarded the others with an air of superiority.

  Felicity, on the other hand was very English, wearing pearls – real ones, Ashling guessed – over her beige cashmere twinset which must have had her sweltering in this heat. Her mousy-blonde hair was up in a chignon – like Princess Anne – and between that and the frumpy black heels she wore, she looked older than she probably was. She spoke with a plummy English accent and sounded exactly like the Queen and all the other royals. Ashling half-expected a clatter of corgis to be following her around. Felicity smiled a tight little smile as she shook hands with them and kept glancing nervously at her husband. Ashling got the feeling that she was extremely nervous and uncomfortable.

  Sophie caught Ashling’s eye and smiled conspiratorially at her. For her part, she was hoping that she wouldn’t have too many dealings with Taylor in the future, although she had her doubts. This type of woman was always trouble. Beckoning with a nod to Ashling, she turned to the company and said, “If you’ll excuse us, we’ll just go check on the children before lunch.”

  They moved away together towards where the children were sitting.

  “What harridans!” Sophie remarked, throwing her eyes up to heaven.

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nbsp; Ashling agreed. “We’d better not let that Taylor near the children. She looks like she’d eat them up,” she said, giggling.

  “Not a chance,” Sophie replied. “They’d be much too fattening.”

  The two of them pealed with laughter.

  “Look, Maman,” Orna cried, “Pierre has brought Ciara and me a present!”

  Ashling was shocked to hear her little daughter calling her ‘Maman’. Then she saw the book that Orna held up. It was Easy French for Children.

  “He’s been teaching us to speak French,” Orna said, smiling adoringly at Pierre.

  “How lovely!” Ashling exclaimed. “Did you say thank you to Pierre?”

  “Merci, Pierre,” Orna said shyly.

  “Merci, Pierre,” Ciara parroted her sister.

  “My God, I can’t believe it!” Ashling cried. “They’re speaking French already.”

  “Pierre is a regular little teacher,” Sophie laughed. “You’ll be amazed how quickly they’ll pick it up.” Clapping her hands lightly, she called, “Come along, children, and Papa will take you in to Cosette for lunch. Yves, do you mind?”

  Yves smilingly came forward. “Come along, children.”

  “It’s too hot for them to eat out here,” Sophie explained to Ashling, as Yves ushered them inside.

  Minutes later, Jacques came through into the courtyard with a stunning girl. All conversation stopped as everyone regarded the leggy beauty who had joined them – alone – it appeared.

  “Jazz, welcome!” Sophie went to greet the new arrival, kissing her on both cheeks.

  “Thank you, Sophie,” the girl replied, a perfect smile lighting up her face.

  “Come, let me introduce you,” she said, taking Jazz’s hand. The girl was wearing a short, off-the-shoulder, red silk dress which showed off her smooth tanned shoulders and curvaceous body to perfection. She was tall and dark-complexioned with huge smoky brown eyes and a heart-shaped face. Her long black glossy hair cascaded around her shoulders, reminding Ashling of Catherine Zeta Jones in the film Zorro. She was wearing black-patent Louboutin heels, their red soles matching her dress. Her perfectly shaped, smooth, tanned legs seemed to go on forever. Her only jewellery was a pair of big gold hoop earrings and a small gold watch. Ashling watched as Sophie came towards them with the new arrival. Gosh, she was even more gorgeous close up and her only make-up appeared to be lip gloss and kohl. Ashling felt downright frumpy beside her.

  “I’d like you all to meet Jazz, from Frankfurt,” smiled Sophie, as they reached the little group. “Jazz, let me introduce the others. This is Ashling, from Dublin.”

  Jazz kissed Ashling on both cheeks. “Oh, Dublin, how wonderful,” she said, her voice warm. “I’ve been there often. A great place – great craic,” she added, pleased that she’d remembered the Irish word for fun.

  Ashling warmed to her straight away.

  The same couldn’t be said for Taylor, who held out her hand limply. She looked Jazz up and down in a supercilious, rude manner.

  Felicity appeared crestfallen as she looked at the girl before her. How on earth could she compete with all these beautiful women, she wondered? Like Taylor before her she greeted Jazz coolly. She was already in awe of Taylor and admired her enormously.

  Jazz got a much warmer welcome from both Brandon and Max – too warm, from the frosty expressions on their wives’ faces. They both kissed her and even Kieran seemed bowled over by her. Jazz was incredibly sexy-looking but Ashling had a feeling that she was not aware of the effect she was having on the men.

  Jazz accepted the flute of champagne from an obviously admiring Jacques.

  “Is your husband not with you?” Felicity enquired, in a polite but curious voice.

  “I don’t have a husband,” Jazz replied.

  “How come?” Taylor quizzed her. “Isn’t your husband a banker on this project?”

  “No, actually, I’m a banker on this project,” Jazz informed her coldly, enjoying the shock on Taylor’s face.

  Hurrah! Good girl, Ashling cheered her silently. That put the snooty bitch in her place.

  “Fantastic!” Brandon exclaimed enthusiastically, making matters worse. He was thinking that Jazz would certainly brighten up the workplace.

  Felicity looked at Maxwell anxiously to see how he was reacting to the newcomer. She was apprehensive to think that he would be working every day with this girl. Not only was she gorgeous but clever too, she thought jealously.

  Taylor pointedly turned her back on Jazz, seething at this girl who had upstaged her. All the men were hanging on her every word. Fools! She felt a headache coming on and went into the bathroom where she downed her second Vicodin of the day. Thank God for these little pills. They were her lifesavers.

  “I think I’ll sit down, if you don’t mind,” Jazz excused herself, some time later. “These heels are not for standing in!”

  “I don’t know how you walk in them at all,” Ashling remarked, shaking her head. “I couldn’t.”

  “Walking isn’t a problem, it’s standing around that kills me.” Jazz plonked herself down on one of the wrought-iron chairs, crossing her fabulous legs. Ashling sat down with her as Sophie went to check on the lunch.

  “It’s so beautiful here, isn’t it?” Jazz remarked. “You’d never think that we were in the centre of Paris.” She flashed a smile at Jacques as he replenished their glasses. “And Sophie found me the cutest apartment. You’ll have to come and visit.”

  “I’d love to.”

  Jazz already felt that she had made a friend. There was something warm, humorous and open about the Irishwoman. Sophie, too, was just lovely and obviously someone to be relied on in any crisis. She had done the right thing in coming to Paris. Everything was going to work out beautifully. She glanced around the charming courtyard and breathed a sigh of relief and contentment. At that moment her eyes widened in shock. Suddenly she was frozen in time and felt that her blood had stopped flowing through her body. For a moment she feared she might faint.

  Coming into the courtyard with his arm around Sophie, was Yves, her lover from all those years ago. It can’t be, this can’t be happening, she thought, her heart hammering violently in her chest. In a panic, she looked around for a way out but there was no escape. They came towards her.

  Sophie was smiling. “Jazz, I’d like you to meet my husband, Yves.”

  “Enchanté, madamoiselle,” he smiled, taking her hand to his lips, staring deeply into her eyes.

  Her heart had now moved up into her throat and her mouth was so dry that she couldn’t utter a word.

  “I look forward to working with you,” he said, showing no flicker of recognition.

  Jazz took her cue from him. She let her breath out slowly, hoping that nobody had noticed her reaction.

  “Thank you,” she managed to reply and took a large slug of champagne. It went down the wrong way and, spluttering and coughing, she excused herself to make her way to the bathroom.

  Once inside, she locked the door, sat on the loo and tried to stop shaking. She couldn’t believe it. She felt she was living in a nightmare. Seeing Yves again had given her such a shock and brought back all the old memories. He was as gorgeous as she remembered and, if anything, the years had made him even more handsome. His body was more muscular now and his jet-black curly hair, still long, had begun greying at the temples. His dark-brown eyes had not lost their magnetic attraction and she’d felt herself drawn to him once again as she had been, all those years ago. Closing her eyes she recalled their lovemaking. She’d been such an innocent but he had gently taught her how to reach the heights of pleasure. She’d been drunk with lust and she’d fallen deeply in love with him. It had been crazy and wild and now here he was, disturbing her equilibrium once again.

  She wondered what he thought of her. She had changed a lot in fifteen years. Her hair had been dyed blonde and short back then, now it was long and its natural dark colour. Her body was certainly in better shape now – toned and more voluptuous – and
the scruffy student denims replaced by sophisticated designer gear. Was it possible that he hadn’t recognised her? No, of course not! They’d been so close. He probably hadn’t wanted to upset Sophie. She certainly couldn’t be the wife he’d been married to back then. She was much too young.

  How could she possibly work with him every day? Would she ever be able to resist him? Here, I go – ruminating like Carrie Bradshaw on Sex and the City again – she chuckled to herself. Somehow that helped her get back her cool and she splashed some water on her face. Then she brushed her hair and reapplied some lip gloss to her lips and kohl to her eyes. Finally she felt calm enough to go out and face him once again.

  Just as she finished, she heard a knock on the door.

  “Jazz, are you okay?” It was Ashling.

  “I’m fine,” Jazz replied, opening the door, a bright smile on her face.

  “Oh, good,” Ashling mumbled. “I was worried that something was wrong.” Her voice held a note of concern.

  “Absolutely not,” Jazz assured her, her voice light.

  Ashling wasn’t totally convinced as they linked arms and went back to join the party.

  8

  Lunch was just about to start as they rejoined the group. They moved across to the large gazebo, grateful for the shade it provided from the hot sun. There were place names on the table and Ashling found that she was seated between Max and Brandon. Thank God I’m not beside Taylor or Felicity, she noted with relief.

  “We have tried to separate husbands and wives, to make it more sociable,” Yves smiled, “but please feel free to circulate any time you wish.”

  To Jazz’s horror, she was seated beside Yves. She would very much have liked to circulate right then and there but of course that was out of the question.