A Year Like No Other Read online

  When Taylor told Brandon on Saturday that she wanted to pull out of Felicity’s lunch the following day, he adamantly refused to do so.

  “The poor woman has done all her shopping by now and maybe even cooked some things. Absolutely not! We’re going and that’s that,” he told her, brooking no argument.

  So Taylor reluctantly set out for Felicity’s lunch on Sunday, dreading the boring ordeal ahead. She’d taken two Vicodin that morning and also taken a few slugs of vodka, from the bottle she kept stashed in her bedroom, before setting out.

  Felicity had produced a meal fit for a king. Cooking was her big passion and she was incredibly good at it. Even so, she was in a tizzy as she put the finishing touches to the starters in the kitchen – but she was very pleased with the result.

  “Lovely place you have here,” Brandon remarked, as they sat down at the table, “and very central.”

  “Yes, we’re very happy with it,” Max replied.

  “A bit on the small side,” Taylor remarked archly. “Ours is a lot bigger. But then you have no staff, do you?”

  “Goodness, no,” Felicity laughed nervously. “What would I need staff for?”

  “Well, I for one couldn’t live without a housekeeper and cook,” Taylor replied snootily, then shut up when she saw the glowering looks Brandon was throwing her way.

  Felicity dished up the lunch and even Taylor couldn’t resist eating all the delectable food on her plate.

  “What a wonderful meal!” Brandon lauded Felicity when they’d finished, as Max beamed with pride at his wife.

  “You absolutely must share your secret with me,” said Taylor. “Even though I have a cook, she doesn’t turn out food this good. How on earth did you find such a good caterer, in such a short space of time?” She leaned in to Felicity conspiratorially. “I insist you give me his name,” she demanded.

  “Well, actually, I cooked everything myself.” Felicity blushed.

  “Good heavens!” Taylor cried, dropping her spoon with a clang. “You can’t be serious.”

  “She’s deadly serious,” Max said, beaming broadly. “The old girl is quite a dab hand in the kitchen.” He reached across and patted Felicity’s hand.

  “You can say that again,” Brandon smiled at her, patting his stomach. “Where on earth did you learn to cook like that?”

  “Well, when I was little, I was always hanging around the cooks in my grandmother’s kitchen –”

  “Cooks, you say? Just how many did she have?” Taylor was agog.

  “My wife is very modest,” Max commented. “Her grandmother was actually a friend of the late Queen Mother. Felicity is the daughter of Lord and Lady Delmere.”

  For once Taylor was speechless and Brandon took great delight in the shock on his wife’s face. As he guessed she would, when she came to, she did a total about-face and smiled at Felicity, who was now elevated to ‘best-friend-forever’ status – or BFF as Mia called it.

  “How wonderful, my dear,” she purred. “To think that my best friend is the daughter of a lord and lady!” Reaching out for Felicity’s hand, she grabbed it. “My friends back home will be green with envy. I will insist you meet them all when they come to visit.” She smiled around the table, suddenly a much perkier, happier person than she’d been earlier.

  “Oh, it’s not that important any more,” Felicity blushed. “I’m afraid the estate is not what it used to be . . . death duties and all that,” she finished off lamely.

  “Nonsense! An estate – how wonderful!” Taylor gushed. “You must take me down to visit. I insist.”

  Embarrassed, Felicity got up to clear the table and Brandon almost laughed out loud at Taylor’s transparency. Catching Max’s eye he could see that he wasn’t fooled either. They smiled at each other.

  “True blue blood,” Taylor was saying to no-one in particular, while the subject of her musing was stacking dishes in the dishwasher.

  After that, the afternoon went with a swing and the two men enjoyed each other’s company while Taylor pumped Felicity for information about the English aristocracy. She even got a bit tiddley and left insisting that Felicity join her for a day’s shopping again the following week.

  When she arrived home, flushed with wine and her discovery, she rang everyone she knew to tell them about her new aristocratic friend. Brandon couldn’t bear to listen and went into his study to escape. Eventually, much to his relief, she went up to her bedroom. She took a Valium and was quickly asleep, dreaming of stately homes in England.

  Meanwhile Jazz was, in fact, having great craic. It was a wonderful day. There were about twenty people in the group – Australians, Irish, and a couple of Americans and they were all very friendly and made her feel welcome. They sailed down the Seine for about an hour and then pulled in at a bar owned by a friend of Hugh’s where they had a wonderful barbeque with lots of wine and beer. They finished up with a sing-song which, Jazz remembered, was how the Irish finish every party.

  All day Hugh had been very attentive to her, refilling her glass frequently and making sure she was okay. She could see that many of the other girls fancied him and were trying to attract his attention but he didn’t seem too interested. She knew they were wondering what the story was between them. She was really glad that she’d accepted the invitation and many of his friends said that she would have to join them again the following weekend.

  As she was saying goodbye to him, he leaned over and kissed her cheek lightly. He was very sweet and she hoped they’d be good friends. They could be, if he accepted that there could be no question of romance.

  13

  The girls came into Ashling’s bedroom at six in the morning, madly excited at the prospect of starting in their new school. Ashling groaned. She realised that she might as well get up. In this hyper state, they’d never let her sleep anyway. She groaned anew as she got out of bed. She was still stiff from the sessions she’d had with Hugh in the gym last week but planned to hit it at least three times a week, now that she would be free in the mornings.

  She dropped them off at school, happy that they were in good hands, and headed straight for the gym where Hugh greeted her enthusiastically.

  “G’day,” he flashed his neon smile at her. “You’ll enjoy your workout today. It’s mostly young mums like yourself here.”

  Looking around she saw that this was true and a few of the other women even waved at her.

  God, he was gorgeous, she thought, as she stepped on the treadmill. He came over shortly afterwards to offer his encouragement and help while all the time pumping her about Jazz. Seeing his eyes light up as he spoke of her, Ashling realised that he was really keen on her friend.

  “We had a wonderful day yesterday,” he told her in his very attractive Australian drawl. “All the guys were crazy about her.”

  “You included, I guess,” Ashling laughed.

  “Definitely! She’s amazing,” he said, awe in his voice. “She’s not just beautiful and sexy but also highly intelligent and very genuine.” He made a face. “It’s not easy to find all that combination in one girl, trust me.” Looking wistful, he added, “I only wish she felt the same about me.”

  “Give her time. I think she’s just coming out of a relationship,” Ashling advised him gently.

  “Yeah, well, maybe you’ll put in a good word for me,” he said, his very blue eyes looking hopeful.

  “Of course,” she said, patting his arm. He really was a darling.

  “How was the hot date?” Kieran teased Jazz at work, his eyes twinkling.

  “It wasn’t a date,” she blushed, playfully punching him on the arm. “We’re just friends.”

  Yves, who was standing nearby, overheard their conversation.

  “What is this you say?” he asked Kieran.

  “Our Jazz has an admirer. A very gorgeous handsome Australian hunk, from what I hear,” he grinned.

  Jazz started to protest once more but could feel the colour rising even more in her cheeks. Yves looked directly at
her, his intense brown eyes piercing hers. Then pressing his lips tight together, he turned and walked away, but not before Jazz had seen the disappointment in his eyes. She sighed. Life was so difficult.

  Brandon didn’t feel like going home on Monday night. He couldn’t bear to face Taylor. He had no doubt he would once again have to listen to her calling those she hadn’t already, regaling them with the news that her new best friend was the daughter of Lord and Lady Delmere. She’d had no time for Felicity before she’d discovered who she was but now she was the bee’s knees. This just emphasised how unbearably shallow Taylor was. She disgusted him. He could hardly bear to be in the same room as her at the moment. Now reluctant to go home, he asked his colleagues if they would fancy going for a drink after work.

  “Sorry, but I want to get home to hear how the girls got on today. It was their first day at school,” Kieran excused himself apologetically.

  “Sorry, mate,” Max said. “I’m afraid Felicity will have dinner waiting for me.”

  Seeing his look of despondency, Jazz succumbed. “I’ll join you, but only for an hour as I have to hit the gym later.”

  When Yves heard that she was going, he changed his mind and said he’d love to join them too, ignoring the fact that Sophie would be expecting him home.

  They retired to a bar around the corner from the office and as they entered Jazz was aware of the envious looks she was getting from the other women there. Not surprising, given her two gorgeous escorts!

  As Yves was ordering the drinks Jazz turned to Brandon.

  “You okay?” she asked, noticing the strain around his eyes.

  “So, so,” he replied. “Personal problems.”

  He didn’t elaborate and Jazz didn’t press him although she could well imagine that, with a wife like Taylor, his life couldn’t be easy.

  Yves returned with their drinks.

  Looking across the table at her two handsome colleagues, Jazz reflected that though they were both hugely attractive, it was Yves who set her pulses racing and she felt sure that he must have that effect on every female he came in contact with. His young blonde secretary, Chantal, was there with a group of other young girls and came over to say hello. Jazz was sure, from their body language, that they’d been intimate.

  When Chantal left and Brandon went for a second drink, Yves leaned across to Jazz, his eyes boring into hers.

  “I have to see you alone,” he murmured, his voice low.

  This was what she had been waiting for since she’d met him again. Her heart started hammering in her chest. She couldn’t drag her eyes away from his.

  “Why?” she whispered huskily, her heart soaring with happiness. She still meant something to him after all.

  “Because you’re the most exciting woman I’ve ever met.” His eyes smouldered as he spoke.

  Her heart plummeted. She had thought he was going to mention their previous liaison. She was bitterly disappointed when he said nothing. “I c-can’t,” she stammered. “It – it wouldn’t be right.”

  He was so close to her that she could hardly breathe. She closed her eyes and then felt his lips brush hers. Trembling, she longed to give in to him but pulled away.

  “Please, chérie,” he whispered.

  Before she could reply Brandon had returned. She knew from his manner that he was unaware of what had taken place.

  She could barely concentrate on the conversation after that and made her escape as soon as she could. She was beginning to worry that Yves didn’t remember her after all. Was that possible? She knew she’d have to find out.

  Brandon arrived home to find Taylor curled up on the sofa, her hand wrapped around a martini and on the phone yet again. He quickly surmised, from the saccharine tone of her voice, that she was speaking to Felicity. It irritated him beyond all reason.

  When she had finished, he couldn’t restrain himself.

  “You are the most two-faced, insincere woman alive,” he fumed. “You had no time for Felicity until you heard that she was aristocratic. Now, you’re fawning all over her. You make me sick.” He turned his back on her and moved to the bar where he poured a large whisky for himself.

  She sipped her martini, smiling smugly.

  “You should be pleased that I’m mingling with the true aristocracy. This can only help your career,” she purred.

  “I don’t need your help, thank you,” he replied, clenching his fist with irritation.

  “Touchy, touchy,” she mocked him. “I do believe Paris does not agree with you.”

  He walked out of the room, unwilling to start a slagging match with her. He knew from experience that that was a waste of time. He went into the kitchen to find something to eat. She had nothing to do all day, but still there was no sign of a table set for dinner. Mimi, the cook, had prepared a coq-au-vin which he reheated in the microwave.

  As he ate it he wondered how on earth he had thought that Paris would improve his marriage in any way. It was time that he accepted it was past saving.

  14

  On Tuesday morning Ashling walked the girls to school and then walked along the Boulevard St Germain, enjoying the warm sunny day. She oohed and aahed at the beautiful baby and children’s shops along the way. One in particular, Tartine et Chocolat, had the most divine dresses and shoes for the girls. Although they were horribly expensive, she vowed that she would indulge in them at some future date.

  She continued on down to the famous café, Les Deux Magots, and almost had to pinch herself to make sure she was really there. The tables on the terrace were all occupied and the fumes of Gauloise cigarettes assailed her as she passed by. The French were ardent smokers and the smoking ban simply meant that the outside terraces were all packed whilst the insides of cafés and bars were practically empty. It was the inside of this one she wanted to see and, as she’d suspected, it was practically empty. She ordered an espresso from the friendly waiter who was dressed in black tails and white shirt with a long white apron tied around his waist. She tried to avoid looking at the delicious pastries in the glass case as she reverently took in her surroundings. The thought that this was where James Joyce, Ernest Hemingway, Simone de Beauvoir, Sartre and many other famous writers had sat penning their masterpieces, filled her with awe.

  As a journalist, she had toyed with the idea of trying her hand at writing a novel and she harboured a secret hope that Paris, and this café in particular, might give her inspiration.

  Looking around, she saw that there were still writers at work here. There was an elderly woman in the corner scribbling away in a notebook, biting the end of her pencil from time to time. To her left was a young hippy type, his glasses halfway down his nose, banging away on his laptop. Against another wall was a very handsome man who, with his silver beard and silver hair, reminded her of a younger Kenny Rogers. He also had a laptop in front of him. He wasn’t typing but was staring into the distance, as if in another world. Oh God, Ashling thought, I hope he doesn’t have writer’s block, a phenomenon she’d heard a lot of.

  She noticed that there were sockets all around the wall so obviously it was quite okay to work on a computer in here. She’d brought a notebook with her and thought that she might just begin a diary, for starters. If nothing else, it would be a memoir of her wonderful time in this city. She had so much to recount already that the time flew by as she scribbled away, and before she knew it, it was midday. The café started to fill up and she decided that she’d better order lunch. She ordered a salad. The old lady and young hippy had left but the silver-haired man was still there and he was busy tapping away now, thank goodness. He looked up and caught her eye and nodded at her, smiling. She noticed that he had a lovely smile, his teeth a brilliant white against his deep tan. His smile lit up his dark hazel eyes, which made him very attractive. She nodded shyly back and then turned her attention to her salad, which looked divine and tasted divine too.

  Leaving the café, she walked slowly along the Seine, soaking in the wonderful sights. How lucky I am, she
thought as she made her way to the school where the girls were even more exuberant than they’d been the previous day. After giving them a snack, the three of them walked to the Luxembourg Gardens where the girls made a dash for the playground. Ashling marvelled at all the activities going on. She was particularly amused by all the people sitting at tables in the shade, playing bridge. There must have been fifty of them. “Well, I never!” she exclaimed. “They should do this in Stephen’s Green. How wonderful!”

  As she waited for Kieran to come home that evening, she was very tempted to open a bottle of wine but was afraid it would wreck her diet if she did. Luckily, she hadn’t because Kieran didn’t put in an appearance until nine thirty. She was pissed off waiting for him and his dinner was ruined. She’d eaten with the girls at six o’clock, thank goodness.

  “What on earth kept you?” she asked him as he came in.

  “Sorry, love. There’s so much to do. I just couldn’t get out any earlier.” He bent to kiss her but she turned her head away.

  “Your dinner is ruined,” she told him coolly. “I hope it’s not going to be this late every night, Kieran, because I really couldn’t handle it.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart. I’ll try and get out earlier in future.”

  She plonked the spoilt dinner in front of him and, leaving him on his own, went in to watch television. She was furious with him. She’d hoped that things would change here but he was working just as much as ever. After his dinner he went straight up to bed, saying that he was shattered. Ashling had to really resist the temptation to have a drink. She was furious with him. It wasn’t as if she had all her family and friends here in Paris to keep her company. She must remember to check with Jazz to see if she and the others were putting in the hours that Kieran was. Somehow she doubted it. Sometimes ambition could be a bad thing, she thought bitterly.