Finishing Touches (35 page)

Laura was really torn. She knew that Jill, her elder sister, who was a single parent, would never go through a church wedding if
she
got married, and to have her other daughter married
in a registry office was almost as much a scandal for her mother as Jill’s situation.

Laura’s wedding would be a chance for Anne Quinn to be seated by her husband in the front of the church, giving an appearance of family harmony, and to thumb her nose at Jennifer Casey,
Peter’s mistress. With deep misgivings, Laura asked Doug if he would mind a church wedding and he assured her that it didn’t bother him one whit, if that was what she wanted. To think
of walking up the aisle with her father, to have him give her away and then to have to listen to him pontificating in his father-of-the-bride speech was enough to make her physically sick. Peter
had been furious at the idea of a registry office wedding with just a few close friends to celebrate at a restaurant after it.

‘I wouldn’t give it to them in this town to say I couldn’t have a reception for my daughter. I’m going to pay for your reception, miss, and let that be an end to it. Book
the Port Mahon Arms Hotel,’ Peter ordered. ‘We’re not going slumming it in the Harbour Way Hotel like some of them in this town who think they are my betters.’

Laura was tempted to tell him to go to hell. Only the surprised and pleased expression on her mother’s face made her hold her tongue. This one thing she would do for her mother but after
that, Peter Quinn would never ever again tell her what to do.

Then the arguments about the guest list and the menu started, until in the end Laura had just thrown up her hands at the whole affair. Let them do what they wanted, argue as much as they liked;
they
wanted to host the wedding, let them. She had given them Doug’s guest list and her guest list and left them at it. If they wanted to argue about inviting Aunt Nellie and Uncle
Billy, let them.

The stress of it all made her break out in a rash. Three days before the wedding she got a plethora of spots on her chin, and her eyes watered from an infection. It was no wonder Aileen had
shrieked when she saw her at the airport. Rinsing her cup out, Laura sighed ruefully. Radiant bride indeed! A banshee would look more radiant than she was, right this minute. Still, Aileen was
going to give her a facial and massage in the morning and do wonders with her make-up on the day of the wedding, so all was not lost. Doug wouldn’t recoil in horror at the sight of her.
Yawning hugely, Laura went to bed and dreamt that in the middle of the ceremony she turned around to find her father and his mistress making love at the back of the church as Anne stared at them, a
silent scream issuing from her mouth.

Laura woke up crying.

Aileen was in that delicious state between waking and sleeping. She stretched luxuriously in her old bed, which was now Judy’s, and thought how nice it was to be at home
with the girls. Although she loved London with its fast, urgent pace of life, she really missed her pals. But she had done the right thing going over there to work. There were far more
opportunities for beauticians because of the bigger market, and she was glad she had given up her job as a permanent and pensionable officer of the Corporation. Aileen was just not permanent and
pensionable material.

Ending her affair with Liam had been the hardest thing she had ever done. Even now after all this time, just thinking about him could make her want him. In his arms, her restlessness would cease
and she would become contented, almost serene. And then he would go home to his wife, and she would wonder was their marriage really on the rocks. Did they really not make love any more, as Liam
assured her? And if that were the case, why then didn’t he just end it once and for all and come and live with Aileen.

She had been tormented and besotted with him, craving his company and their wonderful sessions of sensual lovemaking that made her want more and more. The loneliness she felt when he left her to
go home to his unloved wife was indescribable. Desperate to assure herself that Liam Flynn’s marriage was really on the rocks, she had rung his wife, just to hear the voice of the grouchy,
tetchy woman that she imagined Monica Flynn to be. The pleasant, cultured voice that answered her call made Aileen’s insides go cold and she had hung up, palms sweating.

That woman sounded nothing like the woman Liam had described to her. She even sounded quite young. Maybe they had visitors! Somehow, the next weekend, she had managed to edge the conversation
around to the family and Liam had confirmed her worst fears by telling her that because they had the house to themselves at the moment his wife had decided to redecorate, and if there was one thing
he hated, it was decorating. He dreaded having workmen in the house because it interfered with his creative processes when he was designing buildings and drawing up plans.

‘Thank God I have you to come to,’ he murmured in her ear as his hand slid up under her jumper, the feel of his long caressing fingers against her breast making her ache with desire.
They had just had a meal and were cuddling in his car out at the back of the airport. It was dark and private, with only the occasional roar of a jet taking off or landing to disturb them. They
often made love there. Banishing her fears Aileen kissed him with a passion that aroused him frantically, and tearing the clothes off each other they made urgent, mind-blowing love. When he left
her home, Aileen cried her eyes out in the privacy of her bedroom.

The following Friday she took a half-day and drove to his house in Bray. She knew the address. It was on his business cards and she had found one of them once on the floor of his car and kept
it.

She knew she was being paranoid but she couldn’t really help it. She wanted to see if the workmen really were there and maybe she would get a glimpse of Liam’s wife, this menopausal
woman who was letting herself go. ‘You’re a fool; you’re crazy, nuts, pathetic, pitiful; you haven’t an ounce of pride!’ she cursed herself aloud as she pulled up at
the traffic lights at the church in Shankill. Just up the road was Bray, where he lived, and her heart started to beat a bit faster. ‘It’s not too late to turn around and go
home!’ she argued with herself, and caught sight of the driver in the car in the opposite lane staring at her. Aileen glared at him. Couldn’t a girl argue with herself if she wanted
to?

Liam lived on a quiet tree-lined road outside the town. Luxurious houses, all architect-designed, stood in their own grounds. Midway along, she found Valhalla, his house. Aileen slowed to a halt
and cast an eye around to see if anyone were watching her suspicious behaviour. Like most of the houses she had passed, it was well back off the road for privacy. Mature pine trees surrounded the
grounds and hid her from view. She could see a Spanish-style bungalow gleaming in the bright sunlight. An arched veranda encircled the house. Aileen gave a great sigh of relief as she spotted a
painter white-washing the outside. At least he hadn’t told her lies about decorating. She edged a bit nearer and her eyes widened as she caught sight of her lover’s car up the drive. He
had told her he was going to a conference of architects for the day and wouldn’t be able to meet her as usual for lunch. What the hell was he doing at home, then? It was only three-thirty? He
must be sick or something. A woman in shorts came around from the back of the house pushing a wheelbarrow, a tall, shapely woman, her ash-blond hair tied back from her face with a scarf. She smiled
at the painter and Aileen heard the man say, ‘You’ve a lovely garden here, Mrs Flynn.’

‘It takes a lot of hard work,’ the woman laughed as she began dead-heading with a secateurs. It was the voice of the woman who had answered the phone, and looking at her as she
worked energetically at her shrubs Aileen knew with a sinking feeling that this was not a woman who was letting herself go and sinking into menopausal middle age, as Liam had claimed at the
beginning of their affair. Monica Flynn seemed pretty vibrant from where Aileen was sitting. Just then, Liam walked out the front door and Aileen almost jumped, so unexpected was the sight of
him.

‘Monica, I’m off, darling,’ she heard him call to his wife. ‘You want some garlic and olives. Is there anything else?’

‘Don’t forget the After Eights,’ the woman called cheerfully. ‘Get a big box. You know JJ. He can’t stop once he starts eating them.’

Aileen didn’t wait to hear any more. Oh God, Liam must
not
see her here! She got into the Mini and scorched up the road as though the devil himself were on her heels.

‘Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!’ she swore, as she turned on to the winding coast road in the opposite direction to which she had come. Obviously Liam was going into the town to shop; he
wouldn’t be coming this way. Aileen had heard songs about heartache but she never realized that your heart could actually physically pain you. It was a searing pain that seemed to envelop
her, as images of what she had seen danced around her head.

Darling! He had called his wife darling! How could he? They must he having guests for dinner. Aileen knew JJ Doyle. He was also a Corporation architect and a friend of Liam’s. She pulled
the car on to the hard shoulder, crossed her arms over the steering-wheel, rested her head on them and bawled her eyes out. She felt so stupid and so, so used. ‘Liam, Liam, Liam!’ Over
and over she cried his name aloud. If only he hadn’t lied to her. If! If only she hadn’t come today. If only Monica Flynn had been a dumpy, dowdy woman. If only . . . Life was full of
if onlys. They were the two most futile words in the English language.

Her head was throbbing to match the dull, heavy ache in her heart and she knew she couldn’t sit there for ever. The thought of driving into the rush-hour traffic oppressed her and how
could she go home and assume a façade of normality when she just wanted to lie down and die? Switching on the engine, she wiped her eyes and drove further along the coast. It was such a
lovely evening and the beauty of the blue, sparkling sea and green cliffs seemed to mock her misery. It was her own fault, of course. Getting involved with a married man led to nothing but
unhappiness and torment. And she had thought she could cope. ‘Ha! You idiot, Aileen O’Shaughnessy!’ she cursed herself bitterly. Driving past a sprawling bungalow she noticed a
Bed & Breakfast sign. She could always book in. It would save her the harassing drive into the city and she could be alone. She’d got paid today and because she hadn’t met Liam for
lunch for once she had cashed her cheque so she wasn’t stuck for funds.

Aileen prepared to reverse and caught sight of herself in the mirror, eyes swollen and red from crying, hair a mess. No-one would let her past the door looking the way she did. She wiped her
eyes, slapped on some foundation and eye-shadow and mascara, added a touch of lipstick, ran a comb through her hair and reversed back to the house.

It would look odd, she supposed, that she had no luggage. Then she remembered that she had a sports bag with some swimming gear in the boot. That would do fine.

A smiling, middle-aged woman answered the door and Aileen told her that she’d like bed and breakfast for the night.

‘Certainly, if you’d like to come this way, I have some single rooms free,’ the woman replied.

Aileen was shown to a pretty green-and-white bedroom with a shower and toilet
en suite.
It was lovely, very clean and just what she needed. And the price was reasonable.

‘Do you have a phone I could use?’ Aileen marvelled at how normal her voice sounded. It must be her theatrical training, she thought wryly. The woman led her down the hall and told
her that tea would be served at five-thirty if she wished to have some.

Aileen dropped the coins into the callbox and dialled Cassie’s work number. She hadn’t said she wouldn’t be home and it was only fair to ring and tell the girls so they could
lock up properly.

‘I won’t be home tonight, Cassie. I’ll see you some time tomorrow,’ she said in her most cheerful voice.

‘OK, Aileen, have a good time.’ Cassie obviously thought she was going out on the town with friends. Or else that she was spending the night with Liam.

‘Thanks. Bye, Cassie,’ Aileen said forlornly, her lower lip wobbling. By the time she got back to her room she was in tears again. Locking her door, she curled herself up in a ball
on the bed and sobbed like a child.

She lay on the bed for almost an hour weeping intermittently and then she got up and sat in front of the mirror at the dressing-table and stared at herself. She was not a pretty sight!

‘You’ll get over this, O’Shaughnessy, because it’s your own fault that you got into it. Now cut the crap. Stop being melodramatic and tidy yourself up and go down and
have some tea!’

She tied her hair up, undressed and took a shower. Wrapped in a soft fluffy bath-towel she sat once more in front of the mirror and applied fresh make-up. No-one, not even Liam Flynn, was going
to make her look anything but her best. Aileen had always loved making-up for a role and often spent hours experimenting with cosmetics. She was proud of the way she could change her appearance
just by styling her hair a different way and changing the shades of her facial make-up. She’d leave her hair up, she decided, as she lightly stroked on some blusher. Having dressed once more,
she unlocked her door and walked in the direction of the dining-room, which was right beside the phone. Several people were already seated eating and the lady of the house smiled at her from behind
the buffet-table which was laden with salads and cold meats and home-made breads and tarts and scones.

‘Help yourself, dear,’ she told her. ‘There’s a nice little window table vacant over there. I’ll send Mary over with the tea when you’re ready.’

Aileen didn’t know if she was hungry or not. It was ages since she had eaten but even though her stomach was empty, she didn’t know if the hollowness was from hunger or from the
shock of what she had seen earlier. Starving yourself isn’t going to help, she thought glumly, as she forked some cold meat and salads onto her plate and took a couple of slices of fresh
home-made brown bread. Sitting at her window table overlooking the road and the sea, she could hear a mixture of German, English and Scottish accents at the other tables in the room. There were
still quite a few tourists about, despite the fact that it was early autumn. The rest of the guests were tucking in and enjoying themselves hugely. Aileen felt terribly lonely.