Stand by Me (45 page)
‘It would be very difficult,’ replied Dominique slowly.
‘He did his best for us.’
‘I know.’
‘I still want to know where he is.’
‘So do I.’
Kelly twirled her burnished hair between her fingers.
‘Do you think he has someone else?’
Dominique said nothing.
‘Did he leave us for another woman?’ asked Kelly.
‘I don’t think so,’ Dominique replied. ‘I think the collapse of the businesses was the main thing.’
‘Was he having an affair?’ asked Kelly.
‘Why would you say that?’
‘Men do stupid things. Even fathers.’
Dominique sighed. ‘I know.’
‘Was he?’
‘That I don’t know.’
‘Why is it so hard?’ demanded Kelly. ‘How is it that you can love someone and hate them at the exact same time?’
‘One of life’s many mysteries,’ said Dominique.
‘The new owners have moved into Atlantic View.’ Kelly changed the subject abruptly.
‘Oh?’ Dominique had never mentioned meeting Paddy O’Brien.
‘I saw a furniture van there last week.’
‘You’d think they’d have enough furniture, what with all the stuff they bought from us,’ said Dominique ruefully.
Kelly grinned. ‘I guess they had their own, too.’
‘I guess so.’
‘I still think of it as our house.’
‘It’s hard not to.’ Although, since coming back from her futile trip to find Brendan, Dominique didn’t feel the same attachment to Atlantic View any more.
‘Maybe I’ll become a famous radio broadcaster and one day I’ll have enough money to buy it back,’ said Kelly suddenly.
Dominique laughed. ‘If you earn enough money, then you should buy your own place,’ she told her. ‘There’s no point in looking back.’
‘Do you believe that?’
‘Almost,’ replied Dominique. ‘Almost.’
Chapter 24
Old friends were best, thought Dominique as she stood in the bedroom of the Fairview house, the contents of her two suitcases laid out on the bed in front of her. People who had known you all your life understood who you really were. Maeve had always known that she wasn’t Dazzling Domino at all, just an ordinary person who’d wanted to lose her spots, get married, have a family and live happily ever after. Maeve knew that the big house and the diamond rings and the glittering social functions weren’t important. Maeve knew what really was.
Which was why, a couple of hours after she’d left Dominique to her own devices at the house, the doorbell had rung and a Pizza Express delivery guy had handed her a twelve-inch bacon and pineapple with extra cheese, which had always been her favourite. Dominique had texted ‘thanks’ to her friend, and Maeve had replied that she was welcome, and then Dominique had thought that they actually were getting old because she hadn’t done any text abbreviations and neither had Maeve. It was so unlike getting texts from Kelly, which took her ages to decipher.
The aroma of pizza still wafted around the house, but it was a homely smell. Dominique was already feeling relaxed here, liking the small but cosy rooms and the old-fashioned pine kitchen. The entire kitchen, she’d thought as she sat on the edge of the square wooden table chomping on a slice of pizza, would’ve fitted into one of her walk-in cupboards in Cork. Downsizing, she reminded herself. They were all doing it. Greg and Emma. June and Barry. Kelly and herself.
Greg and Emma had both met with solicitors and were moving ahead with a divorce. Because they hadn’t been affected financially by the collapse of Delahaye Developments, their future financial arrangements were all based around Lugh. Dominique hadn’t spoken to either of them in the last few weeks, but she knew from her conversations with Lily that Emma was hoping to keep Briarwood for Lugh and herself, while at the same time accepting that perhaps they’d have to sell it and move somewhere smaller.
June and Barry were still living together in Abbotsville, their family home. Again, according to Lily, they had so far been incapable of deciding anything about the future of their marriage. Their house was up for sale, but so far there was no interest in their custom-designed home at the price they wanted. Probably no interest at a hundred grand less, Lily had grunted. June always overvalued things.
Kelly had done her bit to add to her cash flow by selling her Micra. She’d bought a Vespa instead, which she rode to and from college. Dominique was terrified at the idea of her daughter whizzing around on a scooter, but Kelly had assured her that it was a cinch to ride and safe as anything. Dominique had traded down on her own car too. She’d sold her sporty silver Audi and bought a Ford Fiesta.
She picked up a backless white dress and slid it on to a hanger. There wasn’t enough room in the wardrobes for all of her clothes. When she’d first moved out of Atlantic View, she’d thought about donating some of them to a local charity shop, but she hadn’t been able to pluck up the courage to walk inside. In the past, she’d often given dresses and skirts to Angie’s Angel Boutique, but Angie was another person who’d cut her dead in the street one day, and she wasn’t inclined to leave clothes with her now.
She was glad to be able to lose herself in the anonymity of a city again. And tomorrow, she hoped, would be the start of a whole new life, because Kevin, Maeve’s adorable partner, had arranged a job interview for her, and she was determined that she would get it.
As she drove along the narrow country roads that led to the Glenmallon Golf & Country Club, she wished the Fiesta had the Audi’s inbuilt satnav. She didn’t know this area at all well, and the sheeting rain was making driving conditions difficult. The thought of having to do the drive every day, especially in heavy commuter traffic, was daunting. But it would have to be done and, she muttered to herself, she had no right to be in the slightest bit iffy about it when she was lucky to have the opportunity to get work at all. Especially when it was thanks to someone she’d only just met. Kevin was the physio at the golf centre and he’d told her that they were looking to hire someone urgently as cover for the receptionist there, who was about to go on maternity leave.
‘I’m sure you’d be well able to do it,’ he’d said encouragingly, although Dominique wasn’t quite so certain. It occurred to her, as she yanked the steering wheel hard left, having almost missed the turn, that this was only the second time in her life that she’d ever gone for a job interview, and that she had absolutely no decent skills or experience whatsoever.
The only proper paying job she’d ever had was being a waitress at American Burger, which she’d originally believed was a stopgap until she got something better. But that hadn’t happened. She’d done the books for Brendan, but only for a short time. There had been a lot of hard work involved in her charity functions, but it still wasn’t the same as having a real job. Nobody would have shouted at her if she’d made a hash of a coffee morning or a garden party. It wouldn’t have mattered to anyone except herself - and, of course, the charity.
Now, for the first time in over twenty years, she was going for an interview. And she was scared witless. As she drove slowly up the long curving driveway to the hotel and clubhouse, she could feel her heart thumping erratically in her chest. The manager, Paul Rothery, had told her to come to the hotel reception and ask for him. Dominique hurried up the weathered steps, protecting her hair from the rain with her big leather bag, and stepped into the beautifully restored country house. She blinked a couple of times in the light from the huge chandelier that hung in the hallway before giving the receptionist her name and saying that she had an appointment with Paul. The pretty blonde smiled at her and told her to take a seat. But not before Dominique had seen the flicker of recognition in her eyes. There had been another piece about Brendan in the paper at the weekend, and a photograph captioned ‘Deserted Domino’, which had been taken as she’d left Atlantic View for the last time. (Well, she thought with inner amusement, the second-last time, because nobody had learned about her secret return trip, when she’d bumped into the new owner. She hoped he was enjoying living there even on a day like today, when the storm clouds would have rolled in from the ocean and the rain would thunder against the wide French doors.)
She perched on the edge of one of the reception area’s high-backed upholstered chairs and waited until the manager arrived.
Paul Rothery was around the same age as her; tall, dark-haired and with a long, narrow face.
‘Mrs Delahaye,’ he said, holding out his hand to her. ‘Dominique. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
‘You too.’ She was so nervous she could hardly speak, and she knew that her palm was damp with perspiration. She reminded herself that it didn’t matter that she had no specific experience for this job, because she was a good organiser and had arranged charity balls that had been resounding successes. Nevertheless, she was still shaking like a leaf as she followed him into a small, but equally elegantly furnished room.
‘I knew your husband,’ Paul said after he’d made some general conversation. ‘Not well, but I met him a number of times.’
‘Oh.’
‘He was involved in a lot of good work.’
‘I thought so.’
‘Have you heard from him at all?’
Dominique shook her head.
‘I have to admit that I agreed to interview you partly because I was intrigued,’ he said. ‘I thought that you’d left the country.’
‘Really?’
‘To live abroad with him. I’m sure I read that in one of the papers.’
‘Oh well,’ she said, as dismissively as she could, ‘you know what the papers are like.’ She tucked a stray lock of hair nervously behind her ear. ‘I’m sorry to hear that you’re not taking my application for the job seriously. I didn’t realise it was just because you knew my husband. I don’t want to waste your time.’ She stood up.
‘No, no.’ Paul waved at her. ‘Sit down, for heaven’s sake. I apologise. I didn’t mean to offend you.’
Dominique hesitated, then sat down again.
‘Do you play golf?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Brendan was a member of a local club, but to be honest, he wasn’t that into it and neither was I. Though we did go to the Ryder Cup one year.’
‘Nice.’
They hadn’t seen much golf. They’d spent most of the time in one of the hospitality tents, where Brendan had been networking with other businessmen.
She wondered if it was worth talking any more to Paul Rothery. She wanted this job. She hadn’t been sure at first. But suddenly it was important to her. She didn’t want to be rejected. She needed the work and she wanted to think that she hadn’t wasted her time during her marriage. She was a good organiser and surely that was what you needed to be to do this job well. Yet if all Paul Rothery really wanted to know was what her life was like since Brendan left, or whether she had some inside knowledge of his whereabouts, then there was no point in staying.
He started to ask her about her knowledge of computer programs like Word and Excel. Feeling that these, at least, were sensible questions, she assured him that she used them regularly. (She was grateful, then, for the time she’d spent composing letters and keeping accounts for her charity boards.) And then she said, quite abruptly, that she knew she could do the job, that she wasn’t a flighty, inexperienced kid, and she really wanted to know whether he was serious about giving it to her or not.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Paul. ‘I didn’t mean to imply that you were inexperienced. Or indeed that I was being too curious about your private life.’ He stood up. ‘Come on. I’ll bring you over to the clubhouse.’
The clubhouse was a five-minute walk along a covered walkway from the hotel. In contrast, it was a modern building, although sympathetically built to blend in with both the hotel and the surrounding countryside. It was warm and bright inside and decorated in a contemporary style. As he walked, Paul talked about the responsibilities of the job - making bookings, scheduling tournaments, helping with the organisation of private functions (at this last comment, Dominique smiled. Piece of cake, she thought). However, she was suddenly nervous again as Paul brought her over to the oak reception desk and introduced her to Agnes, a bubbly brunette who looked as though she was about to give birth any second.
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