City Girl (7 page)

As she parked her car she saw that her father was not yet home although Lydia’s car was there. Slowly she got out as if putting off the fateful moment of entering her home in her pregnant
state. She carefully picked up the bouquet of flowers she had bought for her mother on the way home – a weekly tradition. She could no longer put off going in so, taking a deep breath, she
inserted her key and entered the elegant grey and pink hall.

A veneered Georgian side-table bearing an urn filled with roses was the only piece of furniture there – simple, understated and utterly right. Whatever her faults, Lydia had an eye for
colour and decor that would have made her a natural for a career in interior decorating had she been so inclined. Her home was stylish and tasteful and the envy of her less talented friends. Poking
her head into the superbly equipped pine kitchen Devlin saw that her mother was not there, although the preparations for dinner were well under way. Sighing, she walked into the lounge and found
Lydia relaxing with coffee and a cigarette.

‘Hello Mum, hope I’m not too late,’ she forced a cheerful note into her voice as she handed her mother the flowers. Lydia smiled. Thank God she’s not drunk, Devlin
thought, greatly relieved at her mother’s seemingly affable humour, although she knew from experience that what started out as a pleasant family dinner could often end in disaster.

‘Thank you, dear, these are lovely,’ her mother’s cultured tones intruded on her musings. ‘You’re not late at all. Dinner won’t be for a while. Your father is
entertaining a client and he’s invited him back for a meal. You don’t mind, do you?’

Devlin’s heart sank. Just what she didn’t need, making social chit-chat But for her mother’s benefit she said brightly, ‘Of course not, Mum, I’ll just go and
freshen up.’

‘Good idea,’ Lydia said, a trifle drily. Devlin let it pass. She knew she looked a sight. Trust Lydia to rub it in. Her mother was always impeccably groomed except during a very bad
binge, and she expected nothing less of her daughter. Tiredly Devlin made her way upstairs to her bedroom with its cheerful Laura Ashley floral paper, matching curtains and bedspread. Usually the
sight of her immaculately tidy bedroom bathed in sunlight lifted her spirits, but not today. She was feeling a little strange. She’d just lie down for a while, she decided, flopping onto her
bed.

It was funny, she reflected; she felt as if she was getting her period. Her PERIOD!! Galvanized, she flew into the bathroom and inspected her briefs. Frustration welled in her at the sight of
their unblemished purity. She did not realize that many women in the very early stages of pregnancy often feel as if a period is imminent. Flinging herself on the bed she lay staring at the
ceiling, knowing she would have to start making a decision soon.

Reluctantly her hand moved down over her stomach. It felt no different. She couldn’t feel the presence of a life. Maybe it was true what some argued that life didn’t begin until much
later. After all she was only a little while gone. It couldn’t be bigger than the top of a pin.

‘Devlin! Devlin! I was wonder . . . ’ Her mother stood at the door staring at her. ‘Good gracious, Devlin, what’s the matter with you?’

Scarlet with guilt, Devlin shot off the bed, the colour draining from her face as dizziness overcame her. Hastily she sat down on the bed, trying to keep from fainting.

‘Heavens above, Devlin, what’s wrong with you?’ Her mother’s voice, sharp with concern, pierced the woolliness of her mind.

Devlin wanted desperately to blurt out the truth and get it over with, but caution restrained her and she murmured slowly, ‘Honestly it’s nothing Mum, I skipped lunch and I felt a
bit faint.’

‘It’s living in that . . . flat. You’re not feeding yourself,’ Lydia said sharply.

Don’t let her start, Devlin prayed.

‘I hope you’re not on one of those faddy diets?’

Diet! Devlin thought she was going to laugh hysterically. Not the best diet in the world was going to be able to save her figure unless she had an abortion. In a few months everybody who met her
would know exactly what she had been up to. There was no need to write the word ‘Adultery’ on her forehead in bright red paint . . . it would be there for all the world to see in the
bulge of her belly, which was now so flat and slender.

‘I’m not on a diet, Mum. I just skipped lunch. I was shopping, that’s all!’

‘Well, tidy up. Gerry and Mr . . . er . . . Reilly I think his name is, should be here soon.’

‘Is there a Mrs Reilly?’ Devlin enquired as she cautiously stood up, not wishing to have a repeat of the previous dizziness.

‘Gerry just said Mr Reilly had a very sharp business brain and was self made. He lives in London most of the time, I believe, as most of his business is over there, but he does have some
property in Dublin. I think his father lives here.’ She eyed her daughter thoughtfully. ‘I wonder what age he is?’

It was one of her mother’s aims in life to make a good match for Devlin and all the more so as the obnoxious Carol Jones down the road had just landed a most eligible bachelor and was
sporting a dazzling hunk of diamond on her left finger. The said bachelor, son of a prominent politician who had made millions in land speculation deals, had been very keen on Devlin who disliked
him intensely, hating his arrogant assumption that because his father was a rich powerful man he could do what he liked and have what he wanted. He had wanted Devlin badly but neither his manners
nor his wealth impressed her and it had been a relief to her when he had started seeing Carol.

Her mother gave one of her cultured sniffs. ‘You could have had that Gaynor fellow if you had wanted to, I must remind Cecilia of the fact the next time she starts on about Carol’s
marvellous match.’ Then the sound of a car coming up the drive sent Lydia to the bedroom window from where she could see the drive.

‘They’re here! Do brush your hair, Devlin, and don’t be long,’ she admonished before drifting downstairs, leaving the faint scent of
Je Reviens
wafting on the
air behind her. Automatically running a comb through her blond sunstreaked hair, Devlin washed her face and added a trace of lipstick to her mouth to please her mother, before dabbing some
Magie Noir
behind her ears.

Glumly she descended the stairs and walked into the lounge. As she entered, she saw a dark haired man of tall muscular build talking to her father.

‘Hello, love,’ her father greeted her warmly as she raised her face for his kiss.

Good God! thought Luke Reilly, his dark eyes narrowing, That’s the girl who was crying her eyes out on the South Wall. He felt a flicker of interest. Several times since she had bumped
into him he had wondered why a girl like her would be weeping in broad daylight in such a public place. He had never dreamt he would meet her again.

Devlin turned to find a pair of amber eyes regarding her thoughtfully. Her father said swiftly, ‘Luke, I’d like you to meet my daughter Devlin. Devlin, Luke Reilly.’

Her hand was taken in a warm firm handshake and his deep voice was saying ‘it’s a pleasure.’ Then Lydia was coming in, laughing and talking animatedly, and Devlin was content
to melt into the background to sip her soda water. She had turned down the offer of a drink. Now that she knew she was pregnant she might as well abstain.

‘But you’re going to have an abortion, so it doesn’t matter,’ her little voice interfered again. ‘And anyway you’ve probably turned the poor child into an
alcoholic already with all that gin you drank.’

How she hated that taunting prying voice that was always there to torment her. It must be the voice of her conscience, she thought, unaware that Luke was studying her unobtrusively as he stood,
one hand in his pants pocket, the other holding his whiskey sour, his head bent attentively as he pretended to pay attention to Lydia over the pre-dinner drinks.

The daughter fascinated him. Those darkly lashed eyes of such an unusual shade of blue were staring unseeingly out of the window as if she was deep in some private argument with herself.
Obviously she hadn’t recognized him. She was dressed simply in a peach tee-shirt mini dress that hugged her shapely figure and showed off her tan to perfection and he decided she was
stunning. And the thing was, she was completely unaware of him too, he mused wryly, not used to being ignored.

The combination of dark, almost foreign looks, thanks to a Spanish mother, powerful personality and considerable wealth ensured that beautiful women invariably fell for Luke Reilly and
Devlin’s behaviour was a decidedly new experience for him. Usually he wasn’t attracted to young girls, preferring women to be a bit nearer his own age of thirty-three but there was
something different about this cool, distant girl that intrigued him.

Over dinner, Devlin forced herself to join in the conversation. She didn’t wish to appear rude but she was certainly not her usual exuberant self, a fact her mother noticed.

‘Darling, I thought you were ravenous?’ Lydia remarked lightly, noticing Devlin picking half heartedly at the smoked salmon that lay appetizingly on her best fine bone Royal
Doulton.

‘Oh! . . . I . . . am,’ Devlin murmured, forcing herself to swallow a mouthful. Her eyes met the stranger’s and as she came under the scrutiny of those heavy lidded amber eyes
she felt that the word PREGNANT was written all over her face. Defiantly she lifted her chin and stared back at him. He wasn’t good looking in the conventional sense, his face was too lean
and long. Rawboned would be a good word to describe it, she decided. He had the dark swarthy looks of the European, a broad forehead, straight nose and a firm sensual mouth, which now had an amused
grin which displayed strong white even teeth. There was an intense magnetic air about him and she felt she didn’t like him or his strange amber eyes that seemed too penetrating. He laughed
aloud at the joke Gerry was telling him, a rich deep laugh, and she felt irrationally irritated that he should be laughing while she was in the depths of panic and despair.

Moodily she toyed with the rest of the delicious meal her mother had prepared: the mouth-watering rack of lamb, the sinful baked alaska. She was beginning to feel somewhat nauseous and it was
with relief that she heard her mother ask Luke to go and relax with her father in the lounge. Devlin helped Lydia to clear the dishes and stack them in the dishwasher before joining the men for
coffee in the gracious pale apricot and cream lounge with its luxurious sofas and chairs and enormous French panelled bevelled mirror. Through it, she caught once again the interested gaze of Luke
Reilly upon her.

‘Your father tells me that you are not long back from Portugal. Did you enjoy your holiday?’ he enquired politely.

‘Oh, it was very nice.’ Her tone was polite but offhand. She wished he would leave so she could make her own excuses and go back to the flat.

‘I sailed into Lisbon several times when I was at sea some years back. It’s a lovely city.’

Lydia’s eyes opened a little wider. ‘Oh Luke! Do you have a yacht?’

He laughed. ‘Not at all, Mrs Delaney, I was a seaman for a while.’

‘Oh!’ The disappointment was audible and Devlin nearly laughed. Poor Mother. A sailor! she thought, aware of her mother’s rampant snobbery. Embarrassed, she caught a twinkle in
Luke’s eyes as he observed her private smile and she could have sworn that he knew exactly what was in her mind. Then, unfolding his well-built body from the depths of an easy chair, he stood
up and she noticed how muscular he was across the chest and shoulders. Although his suit was well cut and looked expensive, it hardly seemed to contain him and she felt instinctively that he would
prefer casual clothes.

He was thanking her mother for a lovely meal, shaking hands with Gerry and telling him he would be in touch and then he was standing in front of her, his hand held out. For the second time that
evening Devlin felt the strong firmness of his handclasp. ‘I hope we meet again,’ he said suavely.

I hope we don’t, she thought nastily, unable to explain her sudden dislike of this man, for it was not like her to be so irritable and irrational. But he seemed to have sensed that
something was wrong with her and it made her feel strangely vulnerable the way his eyes had been watching her all evening. She murmured some non-committal reply even though Lydia, who had been
drinking quite steadily, was glaring at her. And then he was gone and the room seemed bigger as if he had somehow dwarfed it with his presence when he had been there.

‘Really, Devlin!’ Her mother’s irritated voice brought Devlin sharply out of her reverie. ‘You might have been a little more pleasant during dinner. That man could become
an important client of your father’s.’ She eyed her daughter crossly. ‘Since you’ve gone to live in that
flat
,’ the word was uttered with utter distaste,
‘you’ve become a different person.’

Oh no, don’t let her get started, Devlin thought wearily, feeling that she couldn’t take much more as Lydia launched into a tirade. Sometimes Devlin felt that her mother begrudged
her every moment of her independence. Was it because she had never had any herself? Lydia belonged to an era where women went straight from school to matrimony to motherhood.

‘And what’s more, Devlin, I think . . . ’ What Lydia thought Devlin never discovered because a wave of nausea overcame her and she had to flee to the bathroom. She retched
miserably, cursing the day she was born.

When she came out of the bathroom her mother was waiting for her and there was a granite-like grimness about her features that caused Devlin’s heart to sink.

‘I want the truth from you, Devlin.’ She stared at her daughter with eyes as cold and forbidding as a fjord in winter. ‘This dizziness and sickness. Is there any reason for it
and the peaky way you’ve had about you lately?’

Shocked into silence Devlin could only stare back mutely.

‘Were you misbehaving in Portugal?’

Misbehaving! Devlin felt a wry amusement at the term. It always brought to mind children playing in puddles or pulling hair and spitting. It was a word of childhood, not a description of the act
she had performed with Colin.