A Year Like No Other Read online

  To Felicity’s delight, she was seated beside Taylor who had her in thrall. She was so looking forward to hearing more about Taylor’s wonderful life in New York which, she gathered, was tremendously exciting. Watching the two of them nattering away, Ashling reckoned that it would be a case of them and us.

  She and Jazz were getting on terrifically well together.

  They started with tiny morsels of various canapés or amuses-bouche, as Sophie called them.

  “It actually translates as ‘amuse the mouth’,” she explained to them.

  “I never knew that,” Jazz remarked. “How cute!”

  The first course of foie-gras with an onion confit was delicious. Taylor declined to have any. Felicity was enjoying hers when Taylor launched into how it was made.

  “Do you know they force-feed the poor geese to make their livers as large as possible?” Taylor remarked maliciously.

  Brandon glared at her, furious with her for such abominable rudeness.

  Felicity dropped her knife and fork with a clatter and pushed her plate away. There was no way she could eat the foie-gras now after hearing that. Max shifted uncomfortably in his seat, embarrassed by the whole thing.

  “Actually, it depends on the producer,” Yves explained gently. “The good ones do not do that and this is from the very best producer in the Auvergne.”

  The others ate on in silence, enjoying the wonderful flavour and ignoring Taylor and Felicity.

  The next course was a wonderful dish of seared scallops with baby asparagus which was truly divine. Taylor again declined, saying that she didn’t trust seafood. Felicity didn’t finish hers – probably in support of her new friend, Ashling guessed.

  After a sorbet, the main course of lobster thermidor was served but there was filet mignon for those who did not like lobster. Taylor was again being awkward, although this time she was alone and even Felicity tucked into the wonderful lobster with gusto. Ashling noted that for all Taylor ate of her steak, they might as well not have bothered putting it on the pan. She played around with it and ate about two morsels before pushing it aside. I’ll certainly never invite her to dinner with us, Ashling vowed.

  Finally, the dessert trolley arrived. It was divine. Ashling couldn’t help herself. She just had to try everything. Sitting in front of her loaded plate she noticed that Taylor and Felicity had practically nothing on theirs. That figures, she thought disgustedly. How do they resist it? No wonder they stay so slim.

  To Ashling’s relief, she saw that Jazz had also helped herself generously which made her feel a bit better!

  Jazz obviously enjoyed her food although she had a fantastically toned body.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Ashling wailed. “How will I survive the next year here with all this delicious French food?”

  “Well, if I didn’t work out a lot, I’d certainly be overweight,” Jazz confided.

  “Me too,” Sophie nodded in agreement.

  “Well, if you two need to work out then I definitely need it too,” Ashling said, ruefully. “I never lost the weight I gained when I was pregnant with the girls.” She patted her stomach with a grimace.

  “Sophie is introducing me to her gym on Tuesday night,” Jazz remarked. “Why don’t you come with us?”

  “May I?” Ashling asked, hopefully.

  “Of course you may. It’s a date,” Sophie smiled.

  “I like a woman who enjoys her food,” Brandon, his deep blue eyes twinkling, smiled at Ashling as she tucked into her heaped plate.

  “Me too,” Max agreed.

  If looks could kill Ashling would have been stone dead by the venomous glares that flew her way from Taylor and Felicity.

  As the lunch progressed Ashling began to think that she had never met such a mismatched couple as Max and Felicity. He was the life and soul of the party and kept them entertained with his jokes and funny stories. Felicity on the other hand was ever so prim and proper and didn’t relax at all. He was small and rotund – she was tall and skinny. They were like chalk and cheese yet he seemed devoted to her. That didn’t, however, stop him flirting with the other women, despite Felicity’s uptight face. Ashling had a feeling, however, that he was only doing it out of chivalry and wasn’t altogether serious. She guessed Max was really a man’s man. When he heard that Kieran had played rugby for Leinster they got into a deep discussion about the game, across the table. He was also a keen golfer and he and Kieran discussed the pros and cons of various drivers and clubs, and courses they’d played.

  As the wine flowed, so did the conversation. Yves was so attentive to Jazz that she found it embarrassing. He monopolised her all through the meal, practically ignoring Taylor who was on his other side and desperately trying to gain his attention. It was obvious to everyone that he found Jazz very attractive. Nothing subtle there, Ashling thought. God, if Kieran behaved like that with another woman, I’d kill him! Sophie, however, seemed to be taking it all in her stride. Maybe it was because Brandon was keeping her entertained which was certainly no hardship for her. Despite the glares that his wife was throwing him all through lunch, he continued to chat with her, laughing and joking with her. She seemed to be enjoying it.

  Can’t say I blame her, Ashling thought ruefully.

  He was, without doubt, the most charming man she’d ever met. He was devilishly attractive, six-foot-four at least, with dark-blond hair and those wonderful blue eyes which lit up when he spoke. He had a deep sexy voice and a very hearty laugh which he used often. She wouldn’t blame Sophie if she fancied him. Even Ashling wasn’t immune to him and for a brief moment wondered what it would be like to be in bed with him. Shocked at herself for thinking such a thing, she excused herself and went to the bathroom.

  Jazz followed her in.

  “Are you okay?” Ashling asked, seeing a strange look of panic on Jazz’s face.

  “Yes . . . no . . .” Jazz stammered. “I mean –”

  “Yves is being a bit much, is that it?”

  “Yes,” Jazz blushed. “Ashling, would you mind changing places with me?” she whispered.

  “Not at all. I’ll go and grab my glass and sit beside him. Then when you come out, you can sit in my place.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Jazz said, relief in her voice. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Course not. After all, he did say we should feel free to circulate,” Ashling reminded her as she left the bathroom.

  Jazz had found that the chemistry between Yves and herself was as strong as it had been the first time they’d met. Every time his hand brushed her skin – which it did often – it was like an electric current scorching through her body. She wanted him so badly that it hurt and she knew that he wanted her too. It shocked her that she still felt this way about him.

  Leaning over the washbasin, she cried, “Oh, God, what am I going to do?”

  She would have to work with this man for the next year. How could she do it, feeling as she did? And, to top it all, his wife was so lovely. “Oh God,” she cried again, her head in her hands. Splashing some water on her face she composed herself and went back to the party.

  Ashling had done as she’d promised and was seated beside Yves. They were deep in conversation. He looked up soulfully at Jazz as she sat down beside Brandon and she could see the disappointment in his eyes. She immediately regretted what she’d done and longed to be back sitting close to him. Even though they were now separated, she was acutely aware of his presence.

  After dinner the children joined the party again and Jazz was enchanted with them. They all took to her too and she played with them, swinging them around and around for ages, until she finally cried out, “Mercy, mercy!”

  “Come along, children!” Sophie clapped her hands. “Leave Jazz alone now, she’s had enough.” Taking the girls by the hand she took them indoors to get them some juice as Jazz put her shoes back on.

  “You’re very good with them,” Ashling remarked, as Jazz flopped into a chair.

  “I love kids
,” Jazz replied, but Ashling heard the wistfulness in her voice.

  “You’ve never had any?”

  “No. I guess I never met the right man.”

  “Have you ever been married?”

  “No. I’ve lived with someone for close on thirteen years but we’re splitting up, so I guess you could say I’m single again and highly unlikely to have children at this stage,” she said, a pang in her voice.

  “Never say never,” Ashling said gently, patting her hand.

  The party broke up shortly afterwards as the cars arrived to take them home.

  Before they left, Sophie handed each of the women an envelope containing information on things to see and places to go in Paris and its environs.

  Taylor was silent in the car on the way home but Brandon recognised, from the set of her lips, that it wasn’t because she had nothing to say. Taylor would never discuss anything private in front of the hired staff so she stayed mum until they had left the car and were inside the house.

  “How could you embarrass me like that with that French slut?” she hissed at him, as she made for the drinks cabinet.

  “I take it you mean Sophie, our generous hostess?” he enquired, raising an eyebrow.

  “She’s generous all right, with her flirting and I daresay her favours,” she said through gritted teeth, as she mixed herself a large martini.

  Brandon looked at her through hooded eyes. “She’s a lovely lady, a great hostess, charming, friendly and kind. What exactly is your problem there?”

  “You were laughing with her all through lunch,” she hissed. “I noticed you eyeing up the German tart too.”

  “Oh, now you’re talking about Jazz,” he said lazily, “the very bright, intelligent young woman who is a director of a very prestigious bank in Germany. Let me also mention that she’s extremely good company and funny too – as opposed to you, my dear, who was a right pain in the arse all day.”

  “Stop being so vulgar,” she spat at him. “It doesn’t suit you.” Her body was rigid as she sat back in the very comfortable sofa.

  “Unlike you,” he drawled, as he poured himself a whisky, “who underneath that veneer of gentility, is as vulgar as they come.”

  “Don’t throw my background at me!” she screamed at him. “You’re a shithead.” She leapt up and made to fling her glass at him but he grabbed her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.

  “Don’t even think about it, my dear,” he said. “I know what’s wrong with you. Jazz and Sophie are young, pretty and attractive, not to mention extremely sexy, and you’re downright jealous.” With that he turned on his heel and went into his study.

  Knocking back what was left of the martini in the glass, she poured another large one and took a Vicodin with it. Curling up on the large sofa, she cursed Paris, France and French and German women in particular. How she missed New York!

  All the way home in the car Felicity enthused about Taylor. Max couldn’t understand how she admired that cold obnoxious woman so much. Max had disliked her intensely. Her hubby, Brandon, was a jolly good chap and Max was looking forward to working with him.

  “Did you see the disgraceful way Yves was behaving with that German woman?” she remarked, her voice censorious.

  “Not particularly,” he replied. “He’s French. They fancy themselves as lovers so probably he was just acting the part. With a wife like Sophie, I couldn’t imagine him straying.”

  God, Maxwell is so naïve at times, she thought, as they arrived at their apartment.

  “Anyway, I really liked that Irish chap and his wife,” he continued, getting out of the car. “We must invite them over for supper sometime.”

  Felicity shuddered. Not if I can help it, she thought. To her delight, Taylor had invited her to go shopping the following Tuesday. She couldn’t wait.

  That evening, as Ashling looked through Sophie’s information, she marvelled at all the opportunities that were available in this wonderful city. She spent the evening curled up on the sofa looking at all her options.

  There was a French Literature course being held in the Sorbonne which would be great for her French; an art appreciation course being run at the Louvre; a wine course and a cordon bleu cookery course. “Eat your heart out, Julia Child!” she laughed, thinking of the famous American cook who had done a cordon bleu course right here in Paris and then introduced French cuisine to America. She was played by Meryl Streep in the film Julie and Julia, about a girl who for a year had worked her way through every one of the 524 recipes in Julia Child’s cookbook. In fact, having seen the film, Ashling had gone straight out and bought the book herself and now here she was with a chance to follow in Julia Child’s footsteps.

  Reading about the music lessons at the Conservatoire she thought briefly that she might take up the piano again or even start learning the cello. It was so exciting. She was spoilt for choice! She planned to use this year to improve herself in as many ways as possible.

  One thing she’d definitely decided on, having been surrounded by slim women all day, was that she would start back on her Weight-Watchers plan tomorrow morning and hopefully, between that and her gym sessions, she would be a new woman when she returned to Ireland next year.

  9

  The following morning Jazz and the three men were collected by car and driven to the Finance Ministry at Bercy, where their office would be located.

  None of them were prepared for the fortress-like building where they would be spending the next year. Brandon and Jazz would be sharing an office and working together and Kieran and Max were another team, in another office. Brandon thought that Jazz looked extremely elegant in her cream trouser suit, her hair coiled up on her head. She looked totally different to how she had looked at the lunch on Sunday. Now, she was every inch the businesswoman, though a very sexy one.

  He considered himself something of a connoisseur where women were concerned. Ever since Taylor had decided, after the twins were born, that she no longer wished to have sex with him, he had done what any full-blooded male would do – he found his pleasures elsewhere. He was always discreet and always honest with the women in question. It was an arrangement which suited both parties. Occasionally things began to escalate to more than just a sexual relationship and, when that happened, Brandon immediately finished it. He himself had come from a broken home and it was something he would not inflict on his twins, despite the loveless marriage in which he was mired.

  He had found out, from sad experience, that women in banking were mostly cold, ruthless and career-driven. He supposed that Jazz, for all her attractions, was the same. She hadn’t got where she was today by being sweet and feminine, which was the kind of woman that attracted him. No, beautiful as she was, Jazz was definitely not his type but he would have no problem working side by side with her.

  Yves welcomed them and told them that after coffee they would be meeting with the French Finance Minister. They were all agog to know what exactly they would be working on. Yves’s secretary, a cute young blonde called Chantal, brought in the coffee as they ruminated on what it might be.

  Twenty minutes later, in the Minister’s office, they found out. They would be working on a project, which if it turned out to be viable, would have repercussions for financial institutions worldwide. He explained to them that they would be working under the utmost secrecy and must swear not to discuss any aspect of the project with anyone other than themselves and, even then, only in the office. They would report to him every Friday and he in turn would report back to the finance ministers in their home countries. There was another group in Beijing – their counterparts – who were working on the same project and the results from both groups would be pooled together. He then outlined the nature of the project and what part each one of them would play. As he finished, he stressed the importance of what they were doing and wished them well.

  They trooped back silently to their offices, thinking of what he had said. The importance of the project was starting to manifest itself and
each of them felt honoured and proud to be the ones chosen to carry this out.

  Meanwhile, Sophie was taking Ashling to the school on Quai d’Orsay, to view it and meet with the headmistress. The children were giggling in the back of the car, Pierre proud and delighted to be showing off his school to the girls. It was a bilingual Montessori school and, having checked it out online, Ashling felt it would be perfect for the girls. The fact that Sophie had chosen it for Pierre was commendation enough but, still, she wanted to see it for herself before making a decision.

  She needn’t have worried – it was perfect. The headmistress showed them around and Ashling loved the atmosphere of the place. The girls thought it was cool. Having spoken to the headmistress, it didn’t take Ashling long to make up her mind. Ms Coleman assured her that they would be speaking French in no time at all, which thrilled her. There was a bus which would collect them and drop them home, if she so wished, but as it was only a ten-minute walk away, she said she’d probably walk them there and back in fine weather. They would start school the following Monday and both Orna and Ciara were wildly excited about it, as was Pierre.

  Leaving the school, they took the kids to McDonald’s for a treat.

  “Not my idea of a treat,” Sophie admitted, “but Pierre loves it. Can you believe it? French children preferring McDonald’s to a good restaurant! What’s our country coming to?” She laughed, throwing her eyes to heaven.

  “Kids everywhere seem to love it but they grow out of it,” Ashling assured her while ordering two black coffees and three kids’ meals.

  There was a big play centre there so when the children had polished off their chicken nuggets, they disappeared to work off their high spirits.

  Sophie’s phone rang. She spoke so fast that Ashling could only catch part of the conversation but she gathered that Sophie was very excited about something or other.

  “That was Yves,” Sophie told her, her eyes shining. “We have all been invited to a reception at the Hôtel de Ville, on the 18th of this month. This is a great honour – to be invited by the Mayor of Paris!” She was barely able to contain herself.