Woman to Woman (43 page)

“It was a clumsy attempt, I’d had too much to drink,” Leo stuttered.

“I never meant to hurt or offend her.”

Aisling could feel the tension leave her body. She never thought he’d confess. She had won. Now she wanted him hung, drawn and quartered. No, that was too easy. She wanted him alone in a room with herself, Vivienne and Fiona wielding baseball bats. Maybe too bloodthirsty.

“But I deny ever having made advances towards Mrs. Moran before,” Leo added sharply.

“This was a one-off occurrence for which I am profoundly sorry. In fact, I had planned to apologise to Mrs. Moran today if I upset her with my clumsy advance.”

The way Leo was telling it, Friday’s incident had become a love scene between a love struck admirer and his shy secretary, instead of an attempted grope. Aisling had had enough.

“Your behaviour was disgraceful!” she snapped at Leo.

“You are an absolute pig who made my life a misery. You deserve to be locked up and I shall see to it that you are!” she shrieked.

“How dare you try something like that on anyone. You completely abused your position and …”

“Mrs. Moran,” interrupted Edward firmly. “this is not the time for an argument which would only cause further distress.

If you are willing to accept Mr. Murphy’s apology, we can leave it at that.”

“I will accept Mr. Murphy’s apology when he makes it to me.” said Aisling angrily.

“Apologising to you isn’t the same.”

“Quite right,” said Edward.

“Mr. Murphy?”

Leo’s face was a picture. He was still pale under his tan but he had two red spots on his cheeks.

Leo turned to face Aisling. He could barely look at her and kept his eyes trained on some spot behind her head.

“I apologise if my attentions on Friday upset you, Mrs. Moran. It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” She smiled at him, a satisfied smile.

“Mr. Richardson she said. If everyone was going to be formal, she might as well too.

“I’m afraid that I would find it difficult to work with Mr. Murphy again and I would like some other position within the company.”

She hoped she wasn’t pushing it too far. Her contract was still only temporary and, for all she knew, they could have booted her out of the company on the grounds that they only had one position to be filled and she was rejecting it. But she didn’t think that was going to happen.

It was perfectly obvious to Aisling that Edward Richardson’ saw Leo as the guilty party. He would do his best for her, she was sure of it.

“I -understand,” he said.

“If you’d excuse me, ladies, I want a word with Mr. Murphy. I’ll talk to you when I’m finished, Mrs. Moran. Thank you.”

“No. Thank you, replied Aisling, rising to her feet.

Outside the door, she hugged Vivienne with delight.

“We did it she whispered.

“I’m so glad Vivienne whispered back. That bastard deserved to be brought to court, so he got off lightly. Well,” she amended, “maybe not. Wait till you see him when Edward is finished with him. Edward is furious about the whole thing.

I told him about the temp who complained and he went ballistic. He’s going to give Murphy a verbal warning.”

“Really?” Aisling asked.

“Yes. Sexual harassment is an extremely serious charge nowadays, Aisling, and the firm has taken on several harassment cases over the past few years. So think how damaging it would be to the firm if news

of this got out? Come into my office and wait for Edward. But don’t talk about what’s happened. Caroline is there. She doesn’t know anything about this. It would be better to keep it that way.”

Aisling arranged her spider plant so that the spindly leaves hung over the edge of the desk. She put a small framed photo of the twins beside it, and placed the little soapstone box, in which she kept paper clips, in front of the picture. The window was right behind her, so she adjusted the position of her VDU screen until it no longer reflected the bright sunlight streaming in the window. There. She was settled. Vivienne had certainly been busy on Monday. She’d got a brand new desk for Aisling, a right-angled one which meant she had lots of space for both her computer keyboard and her wire baskets.

The senior secretary had despatched four of the filing cabinets in her office to the file room and had made enough space for Aisling’s new desk. There were three desks in the office so there wasn’t a lot of room, but Aisling couldn’t have cared less. She was working with two women she liked and Edward had asked her to be secretary to Anthony Green, one of the firm’s new partners. She’d met him at the fateful partners’ lunch and immediately liked him.

What was more, Vivienne explained, he was just married and never stopped talking about ‘my wife’.

That’s a relief said Aisling at eight forty-five on Tuesday morning as she finished arranging her belongings on her new desk.

There’s a price to be paid when you’re irresistible to men,” Vivienne pointed out. She opened a black compact and peered at the mirror as she carefully applied some lipstick.

“I

was afraid I’d have to ask you to wear a chad or in to work.”

“Harassment is nothing to do with sex appeal,” Aisling shuddered.

“It’s a power trip for the pig in question. Anyway, I haven’t exactly been fighting admirers off with a stick since Michael left, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Vivienne said.

“I didn’t mean to be flip. I was trying to be complimentary. The only reason you aren’t beating men off with a stick is because you don’t get out enough.”

“Where am I supposed to go?” demanded Aisling.

“Most of the people I know are couples that Michael and I both knew and they don’t invite me to be the odd one out at their dinner parties. My best single friend is Jo Ryan, and she’s over five months pregnant.

“After a day at work, she just goes home and conks out on the settee unless she’s house-hunting. The only other option is to go to singles’ nights out and I haven’t the nerve.”

“Why don’t you come out with me?” asked Vivienne.

“I’ve a couple of girlfriends I go out with once a week and we’d love to have you with us.”

“Would they mind me tagging along?” asked Aisling.

“I wouldn’t have asked you otherwise,” said Vivienne sensibly.

“We’re going out for a meal on Thursday. Probably just pizza and a glass of wine, nothing expensive. You’d enjoy it.”

“OK, I will come. I’d love to.” Aisling was delighted. She hadn’t been out in ages lunch in McDonald’s with the twins didn’t count and the thought of a night out and adult conversation was bliss. She’d ask Fiona’s babysitter to mind the boys.

It never rained but it poured, she thought that evening once she’d got off the phone with Fiona. After fifteen minutes listening to Fiona’s shocked commiserations about the Leo Murphy affair That bastard, Daddy should have fired him!”

the conversation turned to the party the Finucanes were giving on Saturday night to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary.

“It’s not going to be a big party,” Fiona assured Aisling.

“Only about fifty or sixty people.” Fiona and Aisling had wildly different views about how many people constituted a big party.

“I’m doing Marks and Spencer’s dips and cocktails, which even I can organise so don’t feel you have to volunteer to help. All I want from

you is your presence at nine o’clock in a devastatingly glamorous outfit.”

“No problem Aisling replied cheerily.

“Should I wear the Dior off-the-shoulder number or would the Versace sequin ned miniskirt be better?”

“Come in your bikini, darling. I’m inviting all the eligible single men I know, so I want you in something noticeable.” The in a bikini would be noticeable, but not necessarily in the right way, Fiona,” Aisling said, thinking of her stretch marks.

“Don’t knock yourself, Aisling, but do wear something sexy.

I’ve told them all you’re a red-hot career woman who wore out her last man, so don’t let me down!”

Aisling hung up laughing.

There was absolutely nothing red-hot in her wardrobe and she couldn’t see herself shopping for anything that would make her stand out from the crowd.

She wasn’t that confident about her new figure. And she didn’t have either the time or the energy to trawl the shops during lunchtime. But she could always get her hair done on Saturday morning when the boys were at soccer. Maybe she’d get a few inches cut off or have it styled differently.

Wednesday was manic. Caroline was sick so Vivienne and Aisling had to divide her work between them. Another new partner started work and he didn’t like his new office, wanted help working his computer and required business cards immediately.

And then the men putting in the new alarm system managed to turn off the electricity, losing all the computer files that people were working on and hadn’t saved. The air in Aisling and Vivienne’s office was blue with swearing.

Yet in the middle of all the power cuts, lost files and surprised yells coming from the people stuck in the windowless file room, Aisling felt happy, almost serene.

She didn’t really mind if the power went off all day, as long as she wasn’t sitting in Leo Murphy’s office. She sang along to the radio going into work and tapped her fingers to the music blasting out of the canteen at lunchtime. Nothing could dim the relief she felt at the

thought that her ten weeks working for that bastard were over. He’d stayed out on Tuesday, ‘ringing his lawyer, no doubt’, muttered Vivienne.

On Wednesday he kept his office door shut, an unusual occurrence unless he had a client in.

Buoyed up by her victory over him, she no longer quivered when she heard his step on the stairs. Aisling knew he wouldn’t come near her ever again.

It was after six on Wednesday by the time Aisling left the office and hurried to the car in the pouring rain, a plastic bag held over her head to keep her hair dry. Her head was aching from working at double speed to make up for lost computer time, but she was still in good humour.

The twins waltzed out of the child minder house each carrying a balloon, a small plastic bag and a party blower along with their school bags

“Hiya, Mum!” they yelled in unison, obviously in the best of spirits.

“Where did you get the balloons and the sweets?” she asked as Paul thrust his small plastic bag at her and urged her to take one.

“Lome’s party replied Phillip thickly as he chewed on a toffee.

“She’s ten.”

“She’s Phillip’s girlfriend!” shouted Paul, dodging his brother’s immediate kick.

“She isn’t.” howled Phillip.

“Is! Is!” screeched Paul.

“Boys! Stop!” pleaded Aisling.

“I’ve got a headache. I hope Mrs. O’Brien hasn’t been giving you fizzy drinks she said once they were in the back seat of the car still squabbling energetically.

“Ribena.” said Paul, dodging Phillip’s well-aimed thumps.

“I

hate Ribena.”

“Well I love it Phillip answered.

They kept it up all the way home, scuffling and whispering threats at each other until finally Aisling told them she’d throw them both out of the car to walk home if they didn’t shut up.

At home, they belted up the stairs together, leaving a trail of school bags anoraks and sweets in the hall. Aisling just walked past the mess.

In the kitchen, she took a dish of lasagne out of the fridge and slid it into the oven. That was dinner organised. She quickly boiled the kettle, made herself a cup of tea and carried it into the sitting room where she slid off her shoes and sank into an armchair. She deserved a rest. She smiled to herself.

The lasagne would take around forty minutes and she wasn’t budging until it was cooked. The terrible twosome could kill each other upstairs if they liked, but she wasn’t going to investigate.

After dinner, the boys sat at the kitchen table and Aisling refereed while they did their homework.

“Phillip must work at his handwriting,” the teacher had written at the “teacher’s comments” section of his homework notebook. Looking at the childish scrawl all over his English copybook where sentences rambled with little regard for the lines on the page, Aisling could see what Miss Devine meant.

“I’m trying,” he said sweetly, leaning up against his mother.

Are you?” she asked.

“Yes.” Phillip nodded.

“I’m very good at maths. I got ten out of ten in my test yesterday. So did Paul. But Miss Devine took a mark off him because he broke Shane’s pencil.”

“Why did you do that, Paul?” asked Aisling, astonished that the quieter of the two had been involved in any sort of argument. Phillip was the truculent one, the twin most likely to fight. Left to his own devices, Paul wouldn’t have hurt a fly.

He was saying nothing. Eyes focused on his open copybook, he wrote slowly, his left hand bent awkwardly as he wrote.

“Paul. Talk to me!”

“Shane said you and Dad would get divorced and never live together again, so Paul took his pencil. It wasn’t Paul’s fault,” Phillip said defensively.

“Is this true?” asked Aisling quietly.

Paul nodded.

She put one hand on his dark head and ruffled his hair, trying her hardest to smile even though she wanted to cry.

Poor Paul. He did his best to pretend everything was all right when, deep down, he was a miserable little boy caught in the crossfire of a marriage breakup. Phillip had coped so much better. Or at least, it seemed that way.

He was eager to see his dad every Saturday and loved being driven around in her sports car. The time spent with their father was always jam-packed with excitement, Aisling complained to Fiona, because he brought them to McDonald’s, to the cinema or bowling. To make up for not being there all week. He gets the fun part,” she pointed out.

“Meanwhile, I get them up in the morning, dole out the Coco Pops, get them to school, pick them up at night, feed them, help them do their homework, wash their clothes and buy the groceries. I think we should swap now and again,” she added crossly, knowing in her heart that she would have hated it if the twins lived with Michael and not with her.

Both boys came back home happy and tired after the weekend, but the previous Sunday night Paul was very subdued. Would Dad ever be coming home to live with them again? He asked, staring at her with confused dark eyes.