City Woman (30 page)

‘Jesus, Maggie, what are you doing here? The VAT inspector’s arrived to do a spot-check and I’m up to my eyes. Is there something wrong with any of the
kids?’ Terry was not in a good humour.

‘No, no, they’re fine,’ Maggie said hastily, her bubble beginning to subside.

‘Well, what’s wrong?’ Terry asked irritably. ‘I thought you’d be long gone by now.’

‘Nothing’s wrong. Oh Terry, I’ve just had the most marvellous lunch. I met Angela Allen and then Carol, the publicist, and it’s really going to be exciting. They’re
talking about having window displays and doing signing sessions and publicity tours and look,’ she bubbled, taking her cover out of her bag with a proud wave and handing it to her
husband.

‘Lovely, lovely, it’s great.’ Terry hardly glanced at it. ‘Look, Maggie, I’m really up to my ears. You can tell me all about it at the weekend. I’ve got to
bring this lot out to that little bastard. He can sit in the front office – he’s not coming in here.’ With that he marched out the door with an armful of files and left her alone
and crestfallen in his office.

Had Terry no idea how important this was to her? OK, she knew that VAT inspectors were most unwelcome visitors, but even so, to dismiss the cover of her first novel with barely a glance was
hurtful in the extreme. She would never have done that to him. When he had started up his financial consultancy after they had returned home from Saudi she had been behind him every step of the
way, making sure that he never had to worry about anything at home, despite the fact that she had just had twins. She had made sure that his domestic life was always serene, his meals always on the
table, his clothes washed and ironed for him. He never had to do housework because he was working so hard and Maggie understood how necessary it was to get things going. She hadn’t moaned,
she had just mucked in and did what she had to do. Why, now, when she needed it, couldn’t he be as supportive of her? The trouble with Terry was that everything had to revolve around him. His
little dramas with VAT inspectors were far more important than his wife’s novel.

Maggie straightened her shoulders, put her cover carefully back in her bag and walked out the door of her husband’s office. Terry never even noticed she was going. He was explaining
something in a file to the inspector and was all charm and smiles.

Well fuck you, mister! Maggie thought, anger beginning to replace her disappointment. You can just go to hell as far as I’m concerned because I’ve had it with you. She strode out to
the foyer and waited impatiently for the lift. Angrily, she jabbed the buttons on the two elevators. If Terry Ryan thought for one minute that Maggie was going to go on being the good little wife
that she had been for the past six years, he could go and scratch himself. Before she had married him she had been vibrant and happy and full of life. And look at her now: fraught, harassed, full
of guilt because she feared she was neglecting her children and him. She should be over the moon with excitement because of the great opportunity she had created for herself. Maggie marched into
the lift, the doors closed silently behind her and she descended smoothly to the ground floor of the large modern office building. She ran down the steps and five minutes later was driving back
towards the city and not in the direction she had intended before her encounter with her husband.

She wasn’t going back to Wicklow this evening: she was going to phone her mother and ask her to keep the children overnight. Nelsie would probably moan, but let her! Maggie had always been
more than a good daughter; now she was calling in her markers. She was staying in the city tonight, because tonight was the start of the rest of her life. If Terry didn’t want to be part of
it that was his loss.

As she drove along Baggot Street she felt her resolve strengthening. For too long she had been living in a vacuum. Her spirit had slowly been eroded and she had ended up frustrated and vaguely
unhappy. She loved her children; they meant the world to her and she would never neglect them. But by God she owed it to herself to have a life for herself as well. She didn’t want to slide
into middle age, bitter and regretful that she hadn’t taken her chances. From now on she was going to take her writing and the opportunities it provided seriously. This was not a game any
more – nor a hobby. This was business and she was going to embrace it all: the writing, the marketing, whatever was called for. Terry didn’t understand and he never would, but there was
someone who did. Maggie pulled over and stopped the car beside a phone booth. She was on double yellow lines but she didn’t care. One quick phone call was all it would take. Rooting in her
bag, Maggie found the number she was looking for.

Twenty-Five

She saw Adam before he saw her. She had seen him drive into the car-park, from the umbrella-shaded table she was sitting at in the beer-garden of the Addison Lodge. She knew it
was ridiculous and corny and the reaction of a sixteen-year-old but her heart had started to pound, her mouth got dry and her palms started to sweat.

‘You idiot, Maggie!’ she murmured, but there were only a couple of tourists and a grandmother and two grandchildren in the garden, and they gave no indication of having heard
her.

She watched as Adam uncoiled himself from the car, hungry for the first look of him. Had he always been that tall, that broad? Maggie was a tall woman herself but she had always had to tilt her
head to look up at Adam Dunne. He loped across the car-park with that lithe rangy stride that she knew so well and then he saw her and stopped and smiled, and for the second time that day she felt
ridiculously happy. Her own mouth curved in an answering smile and it was as if there were no-one else in the universe, let alone the world. The noise of the traffic faded away; the other people in
the beer-garden might as well have dissolved into thin air. Maggie and Adam’s eyes met and they held each other’s gaze for what seemed like an eternity.

‘Hi,’ she said, suddenly shy.

‘Hello, Maggie.’ Adam leaned down and kissed her gently on the cheek.

‘I’m sorry about not ringing when I said I would. I—’

‘Maggie, you don’t have to apologize for anything,’ he said quietly. ‘I had no right to ring.’

‘I’m glad you did.’ Maggie looked him straight in the eye. ‘I missed you, Adam.’ Maybe she was mad; no maybe about it: she
was
mad. This man was footloose
and fancy free, a decade younger than she was, and she knew it would be the easiest thing in the world to fall in love with him. By arranging to meet him, she had taken that first dangerous step.
But it felt so very good to see those dark-lashed hazel eyes smiling down at her, to look at him smile and to know that he was as glad to see her as she was to see him.

‘How’s your little girl?’ Adam pulled out a chair and sat down beside her.

‘She’s fine, Adam, back to normal.’ Maggie couldn’t take her eyes off him. He looked so lean and muscular and healthy, his tawny hair streaked with blond after weeks
spent working in the sun. She fought down the urge to run her finger along his jaw and across his mouth.

‘Would you like another drink?’ He indicated the shandy she had been drinking.

‘OK,’ she agreed, wishing she felt more in control of the situation. She was acting so gauche, more like a lovesick teenager than a mature woman in her mid-thirties!

‘Relax, Maggie.’ Adam leaned over and patted her hand. ‘I’m even more nervous than you.’

Maggie laughed and relaxed instantly. He knew her so well, it was uncanny. That was what had drawn her to him all those months ago when they had started going to his writers’ group
together. She watched him as he went into the bar to order the drinks and knew she should take to her heels, get into her car and scorch down to Wicklow. Make up your mind now, Maggie: go, or stay
and face the consequences, she argued silently with herself. The strength of her reaction to seeing Adam for the first time had shaken her. She realized that what she felt for him was no mere
fleeting physical attraction. She took her car keys and the book-cover out of her bag. She badly wanted to show it to him and tell him her news. If she used the keys he wouldn’t find out
about her novel until some time in the future – perhaps not until he saw it in a bookshop – and that wasn’t what she wanted. If she left now, she’d have some chance of
making her marriage work. Maggie thought of Terry’s reaction when she had popped in to see him with the cover. Taking a deep breath she put her keys back in her bag and placed the cover of
City Woman
on the table in front of Adam’s chair. She could feel the tension ease out of her body and when Adam came out she was smiling.

‘I half-expected you to be gone, you know,’ Adam said, half-seriously, half-joking, as he placed the glass of shandy in front of her.

‘It was touch-and-go,’ she admitted, taking a satisfying draught of the cool tart drink.

‘What made you stay?’

‘I was thirsty,’ she said flippantly and met his steady gaze. ‘I stayed because I wanted to, more than anything in the world.’ The look in his eyes made her catch her
breath.

‘I missed you like hell: all I could think of was coming home to see you again.’ Adam gave a deep sigh. ‘Maggie, I don’t know what you’ve done to me. All I know is
that I’m as confused as bedamned.’ He sat down, took a gulp of his beer and put his glass down. His eye caught the cover in front of him.

‘Hey! Hey! What’s this?’ A stunned look crossed his face and then he was leaping out of his chair and pulling her to her feet. ‘You’re being published! You did it!
Oh Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, I’m so
proud
of you.’ She was enveloped in a bear-hug that squeezed the breath out of her lungs and she hugged him back, wishing the moment would
never end.

‘I want to hear everything,’ he said, his eyes dancing with delight. They sat down again and Maggie, unable to keep the grin off her face, told him all that had happened from the
moment she had sent off her precious manuscript to Enterprise Publishing until her lunch meeting that day with Sandra and Carol.

‘This is unbelievable,’ he kept saying over and over. ‘You’re going to be published. I always knew you could do it, Maggie, you’ve got real talent. It’s just
great.’

‘I feel I’m in a bit of a dream myself,’ Maggie confessed. ‘I shouldn’t really be here at all, you know. I’ve still got rewrites to do and my editor is
screaming for them.’

‘The famous deadline strikes again. It’s a different ball-game when contracts are signed, isn’t it?’ Adam reflected. ‘You’re not doing it for fun any more,
Maggie; it’s big business now.’

‘Yes, it’s a bit scary when you think of all the money that’s being spent.’

‘Ah, scary nothing, Maggie Ryan. You’re well able for it. Publishers aren’t the St Vincent de Paul, you know: they don’t do these things for charity. They know bloody
well they’ve got a bestseller on their hands and of course they’re going to spend a lot of money promoting it and you. Otherwise they would never publish so soon after taking it on. And
why? Because there’s money in it for them – that’s what they’re in business for.’

‘Mmm, maybe you’re right, I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ Maggie said cheerfully. ‘I know nothing about publishing.’

‘Well, lady, it’s time you learned because it’s going to be your scene for quite some time to come.’ He drained his glass. ‘Would you like another drink?’

Maggie shook her head. ‘Oh look, Adam,’ she said, pointing, ‘look at the bride. She must be having her pictures taken in the Botanic Gardens. God, I haven’t been there
since I was a child.’ They watched a bride in a flowing white gown step out of a white Rolls-Royce. Her veil fluttered and the lemon-gowned bridesmaids fussed around, their laughter carried
on the summer breeze.

‘Come on and we’ll go for a stroll before we have something to eat.’ Adam stood up and reached out a hand to pull her to her feet. Lightheartedly, Maggie stood up. What a
lovely way to spend a summer’s afternoon, she thought happily. They crossed the busy road and walked towards the big dark green wrought-iron gates. ‘I must bring the children here some
day,’ Maggie said as she watched a child in front of her skip excitedly towards the little drinking-fountains. They had always been a source of great fun when Maggie and her brothers had been
brought to the gardens as part of their annual visit to the city. Immaculate beds of flowers and shrubs dotted the lush emerald lawns and ahead of them the great domed curve of the glasshouses
glittered like diamonds in the afternoon sun. The bridal party stood under a magnificent oak tree as the photographer arranged the bride’s train to his satisfaction and one of the bridesmaids
sneaked a quick puff of a fag.

Adam and Maggie stood with other onlookers admiring the scene for a time and then, taking her hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Adam led her along the winding path towards
the river. Maggie smiled as she saw a sign outside one of the glasshouses saying that perambulators were not allowed. ‘Look, Adam, even the signs are still the same. It’s so Victorian,
isn’t it?’

‘You should bring the children here in the autumn; they’d love it! The trees are glorious and the leaves underfoot are so crunchy and crisp. I’ve often seen red squirrels
collecting nuts.’

‘It’s shameful, really, not making the most of the amenities we have in the city. I’m always a bit wary in the Phoenix Park, which isn’t that far from us. This is much
nicer: there’s no traffic, it’s really peaceful and it’s free! Definitely, when we come back from Wicklow, I’m going to bring them here for an afternoon.’

They walked on under the leafy trees as Adam told her about his work in the UK and how Telecom were offering yearly contracts for people who wanted them. ‘The money’s great, but I
missed my friends and I missed you.’ They had reached the rose-garden and the heady scent of the hundreds of blossoming roses enveloped them. Maggie leaned her head on his shoulder.

‘I missed you too, Adam. I tried hard to put you out of my head. I couldn’t. I know I shouldn’t be here with you but I don’t care any more. It’s like hitting my
head off a stone wall with Terry: he has no idea of the emotional support I should be getting from him. He has never given it and he never will – marrying him was a big mistake in my life. I
care for him; anybody who knows Terry couldn’t but. But I don’t love him any more. When I got the news about being published, you were the first person I wanted to tell. I don’t
know what it is about you, Adam, but you seem to know what’s in my mind; you understand about my writing – you just seem to understand me.’ She smiled up at him. ‘And, boy,
am I confused . . .’