Ninemile House Page 16

  “Suitcase?” Derry came into the room, her voice taking on a hysterical edge. “What do you want a suitcase for? You’re not going anywhere.” Puzzled she went and stood behind her sister.

  “B-but, you want me to go, don’t you?” Gabby’s slender frame shook as a sob broke through. “B-back to Ninemilehouse. Back to the nuns.”

  Derry’s hand flew to her mouth. “God, no! Whatever gave you that idea? Of course I don’t want you to go. Why would I want you to go? This is your home, now. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  “But, your things. What I did . . .” Gabby trailed off, with a guilty little shrug of her shoulders.

  “Things,” Derry said, turning her gently round and looking into the eyes so much like her own, “can be replaced. You can’t! Besides, if anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I shouldn’t have gone wading in there with my great clod-hopper’s feet, sticking my nose into your business.” She put her hands on Gabby’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “And I won’t be doing it again. You can rest assured on that score. Your business is your business, Gabby. If you want to tell me something, I’ll listen, but that’s entirely up to you. You’re not here under sufferance. You’re here because you’re my sister, all right? And because I love you. Now come here.” Pulling the other woman tightly into her, she gave her an affectionate hug. “In any case, I never really liked those glasses. They were a wedding present from someone who clearly didn’t like us.”

  CHAPTER 17

  The morning of the elections dawned without Derry bringing up either the subject of Gabby’s baby again or James’s adultery – either real, or imagined. Indeed, sometimes, so normal and loving did her husband appear that she was even able to forget all about it for a while, but then, inevitably, the phone would ring, mostly legitimately, occasionally not, and she would find herself tipped head-first back into the nightmare again.

  In any case, regardless of whatever happened down the line, today of all days, James needed his family by his side and she had taken the day off from work and arranged with the twins’ school for them to have the time off as well. And just in case the other woman might be lurking somewhere near, she had gone all out to make a big impression, dressing up in a beautiful, navy, 1940s style Armani suit with a nipped in waist and a tight skirt with a sexy, but discreet split up one side. A lacy cream camisole beneath the jacket contrasted beautifully with the masculine tailoring of the suit and sky-high Christian Louboutin navy patent shoes, (she’d worry about the blisters later), and a well matched Chanel handbag gave the finishing touch and drew the outfit together. With her hair in a sleek French pleat and her make-up understated, but for a dramatic slash of berry-red lipstick, the woman that looked back from the mirror at her, was the epitome of sophisticated glamour. Deliberately, she wore no jewellery, apart from her wedding and engagement rings. Undeniably, it was a statement. “I am James Quinn’s wife. I am the one standing by his side today on this important occasion. I am his wife and these are his children. Do you really think he’ll throw all this away for a roll in the hay with some slag?” The psyching herself up act worked and when she emerged from her bedroom, she found Gabby and the twins waiting for her, the latter, dressed in matching lemon dresses, white hand-knitted cardigans, lace trimmed ankle socks and patent dolly shoes.

  “Oh, Derry!” Gabby’s hands flew to her mouth and tears of emotion filled her eyes. “You look gorgeous, so you do. You look like one of them women off the TV.”

  “You do, Mammy,” Dara said, as Dilis nodded furious agreement. “You look pretty. Almost as pretty as one of my Barbie dolls.”

  Buoyed up by such an appreciative fan club, Derry smiled her delight. “Why thank you ladies and gentlemen, we aim to please.”

  Dilis giggled. “You’re silly, Mammy. There’s no gentlemen here. Only us and Aunty Gabby.”

  “Sweetheart,” Derry said, chucking her under the chin. “Sadly, there are very few real gentlemen anywhere as one day, sadly, you will no doubt discover for yourself.” Her attention focussed on her sister. “Gabby are you sure you’ll be all right on your own for a little while? Sheila will only be an hour or so, but you know you’re more than welcome to come with us, if you like.” This last was a lie. The truth was that James didn’t want Gabby present. Not because he disliked her. He didn’t. If anything the pair of them had thawed towards each other lately and Derry had even happened upon them once or twice happily engaged in conversation. His concern was that the excitement and the crush of people at the election venue might prove too much for her and Derry, once she had established that that was his true motive, could see the sense and was in full agreement.

  Gabby waved her away. “No. No. You go on. I’ll be absolutely fine. Don’t be worrying about me at all. Anyway, I’ll lock the door behind you, like you showed me and not open it to anyone but Sheila.”

  “Well, okay, then if you’re sure.” Relieved, Derry clapped her hands smartly, herding the twins towards the front door. “Right, come on girls, let’s go and see how many people vote for your daddy.”

  As the echo of their footsteps faded, Gabby turned the key in the deadlock and slipped the bolt into place. In truth she was frightened, but not half so frightened as if she had gone with Derry and he’d been there. The thought brought the blood rushing to her head and her breath came in short painful gasps. Would he have recognised her? She had recognised him immediately. But then, she had never forgotten him.

  ***

  “Daddy! Daddy!” Excitedly the twins rushed up to James as he stood in the TV studio, awaiting the results of the first count.

  “Well. Well.” A great beam lighting up his face, he swung first one and then the other child high into the air, bringing smiles of approval to the faces of the watching bystanders. “If it isn’t my two favourite fairy princesses!” His eyes went over their heads to Derry, sweeping appreciatively over her. “And my one and only fairy queen.” Setting Dilis back on her feet, he walked quickly over and took her in his arms, breathing in the familiar smell of her Estee Lauder Private Collection perfume, a scent he associated with her and no one else. “You look absolutely beautiful.” Bending his head, he kissed her softly on the lips.

  A little overwhelmed, because she knew they were the focus of everyone’s attention, she smiled shyly up at him. “So do you.” And it was true. She didn’t know if it was something to do with the almost tangible aura of power emanating from him or just her biased opinion, but James Quinn was by far and away the most handsome man in the room.

  “Nice of you to say so.” He dropped another kiss, this time on her hair and checking quickly that the twins were nearby and not about to cause mayhem, led her off to meet his colleagues, many of whom she already knew and a few new faces too.

  “Hello, Mrs Quinn.” Sinead rushed up to her with what looked like a glass of Champagne. Her newly collagen enhanced lips pouted in one of her speciality insincere smiles. “A bit early for celebrating, I know, but we’re feeling confident. Aren’t we James? It’s in the bag.” She sent an arch glance in James’s direction.

  “No thank you.” Coolly, refused the drink, Derry automatically noted the expensive couture cut of the secretary’s dress, accessorised by what could only have been Prada. A sleek, gold torque, with a huge emerald at one end encircled her slender throat and matching earrings and bracelet completed the set, all of these items clearly unaffordable on her secretary’s salary. Derry’s mind flagged up the kiss and tell theory touted by Molly. Perhaps there was some substance in it after all and some rich old man was bankrolling her. Or some rich young man! Unbidden the thought flashed across her mind and startled her eyes flew between her husband and Sinead. And how clichéd would that be: Boss shags secretary. Such a common, seedy scenario, that even one of the more downmarket tabloids would refuse to give it houseroom. Unless of course, the boss happened to be a person of note – a young, charismatic politician for example.

  “Sinead!” Curtly, James’s voice cut across her thoughts. “M
ight I remind you that you’re here to work, not to play hostess with the mostest. So do you think you can take yourself back to the computer that’s been set up for you and finish those letters I dictated last night.”

  “Ja, mein fuhrer!” Shooting him a look of fury, Sinead clicked her heels smartly together and stomped away, spilling the glass of Champagne all over the place as she did so.

  “’God, what was all that about?” Derry raised her eyebrows.

  “Oh, nothing.” James shook his head. “Some times she just gets a bit above herself, that’s all.”

  Derry couldn’t pretend to be sorry. She disliked the woman, always had and she’d be a liar if she didn’t admit that watching her storming about the place with a face like a slapped bottom didn’t afford her a moment or two of real schadenfreud. There was more satisfaction to be found in the fact that Sinead could be crossed off her ‘other woman’ list of suspects. But, as a steady succession of others started to come up to James, shaking his hand or kissing him on the cheek in the continental way, some seeming a bit more enthusiastic in their support than others, she realised that she couldn’t afford for one second to get complacent. Even minus Sinead, there were more than enough other well-heeled, attractive contenders and, as the results of the vote started to come in thick and fast, she found herself distractedly looking about the place as though her husband’s mistress might suddenly stand up and declare herself. Not that there was anything in James’s expression to give her concern, one way or the other. On the contrary, he was more attentive than ever, taking her proprietorially by the hand to introduce her proudly to first one set of people, then another as, “my wife”, and generally making her aware of how much he appreciated her presence.

  Eventually, all the votes from every part of the country were in and, as the spokesman, called for quiet, she felt his hand tremble a little in hers, although the face he was presenting to the world was, as usual, smiling and supremely confident.

  Her heart welling up at this little bit of vulnerability shown only to her, she stood on tip-toe to kiss him. “Don’t worry, darling. It’s a steal. You’ll walk it. And besides, whatever happens, you’ve always got me and the girls.”

  James returned the kiss, his eyes mirroring the intensity of her own. “You know, that means more than anything.” He waved his hand vaguely about the room. “And despite what you think, if it came to a choice between you and all of this, I’d give it up in a heartbeat.”

  “Well, lucky you don’t have to,” Derry beamed, throwing her arms around his neck, as the final results were read out. James Quinn had retained his seat by not only a respectable, but a huge walk-over margin. As tumultuous applause rang out and his supporters surged forward to offer their congratulations, Derry retrieved the girls and, diplomatically leaving him to bask in the glory, bore them outside for a breath of fresh air.

  She wasn’t alone. Sinead was already out there, deep in conversation on her mobile telephone, her free hand animatedly illustrating some point or other. As she caught sight of Derry, she ended her conversation, rather abruptly, Derry thought, but then again, that might just have been pure coincidence.

  “So, he did it.” She gave Derry and the girls a mere twitch of her lips. “You must be very proud.”

  Derry nodded, forcing herself to sound pleasant. “Oh, I am, very proud of him. Still he deserves his success.”

  Tucking her mobile neatly away in her handbag, Sinead let out something approaching a snort. “Oh, indeed he does. If anyone deserves what’s coming to them, it’s the mighty James Quinn.”

  What an odd thing to say. More than a bit disconcerted, Derry watched her almost sashay brazenly back into the studio, the distinct hint of insolence in the set of her head. Just for a moment there, it had sounded as if she actually hated James. Derry shook the thought away. Sinead was odd. It probably ran in the family. Just look at Petey. What a shame she hadn’t remembered to mention she’d seen her with him.

  “Derry,” James beckoned her over as she returned with the children. “Come over here and let me introduce you to a friend of mine.” He turned to his companion, whom Derry immediately recognised as the man she had seen with James on the night of the political broadcast; the man who, seemingly, had somehow been responsible for upsetting her sister. “Derry, this is Mick Roberts. Mick, meet my wife, Derry, the only one of the pair of us with a modicum of common sense.”

  Mick Roberts smiled. “Mrs Quinn. I’m very pleased to meet you.” His grip was warm and friendly and, up close, Derry found he was striking, rather than handsome. Leaner than he had looked on the television screen, there was an air of the outdoors about him, tanned, slightly weather-beaten skin, eyes of that vivid blue, so startling they even seemed to dazzle their owner and a shock of salt and pepper hair, into which a few strands of gold were woven.

  “Derry, please.” Blushing, she gave him her hand, aware suddenly of how her scrutiny must appear, although it was fair to say that he seemed to be examining her every bit as intently, those wonderful eyes of his roving over each and every feature of her face, as though trying to imprint them on his brain.

  “I was just telling Mick, that he must come over for dinner one evening.” Totally oblivious to any undercurrents, James was beaming at them both. Proudly he grinned at the other man. “Not only does she look like a dream, but she cooks like one too. You simply haven’t lived till you’ve tasted Derry’s Boeuf En Croute, and I just happen have an excellent bottle of Chateau La Fite, the very thing to wash it down with, wouldn’t you say?” Modestly, his glance took in the TV monitors all around the room that were still displaying the voting totals. “All in all, I think we’re entitled to a little celebration.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Mick agreed amiably, as Derry dimpled up at both of them, causing his face to twist suddenly and his eyes to narrow in the way of someone who is striving to remember.

  “Just say the word, Mick,” Derry agreed. “You’ll be more than welcome.”

  As a passing acquaintance claimed his attention, he smiled and gave her what she fancied was a last searching glance, before turning away.

  “He’s got the hots for you,” James whispered, winding his arm around her slender waist and pulling her tightly into him. “But then again, who in his right mind wouldn’t?”

  “Well, he’s backed the wrong horse, so.” Derry covered his large hand with her own more delicate one. “I’m a one man woman. True blue.” She waited for him to reassure her, to assert that he too was true blue and that she was the only woman in the world for him. Instead he bent his head and kissed the top of her head. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do – for the moment.

  At the end of the evening, as they made their way out of the studio and James stopped to exchange last minute words with a group of supporters, Mick Roberts materialised by her side once more.

  “Derry.” His hand gripped her elbow, his voice low, almost urgent. “I hope you don’t mind me asking and I know it’s a strange thing to ask when I’ve only just met you but where exactly were you born?” Puzzled, Derry frowned up at him. “Please.” His grip tightened fractionally. “It really is important.”

  “All right then, Cork. Not too far from Sunday’s Well.” As the words left her mouth, his expression crumpled into one of such deep unhappiness, almost despair, that it left her quite shaken. With a slight dip of the head as if she had just confirmed something he had already known, he turned and walked away without any word of explanation, an air of abject defeat emanating from his bent head and rounded shoulders. “Mick Roberts,” she murmured after his retreating back, her journalist’s nose twitching like never before. “Who exactly are you? And what on earth is your connection with Sunday’s Well?”

  CHAPTER 18

  Much to Derry’s surprise, considering the episode with the flowers, Gabby went out with Mr Patel, on a date.

  “It’s just a stroll along the beach,” she told Derry defensively, but in Derry’s book a date was a date, regardless of
whether that took the form of a walk along the beach, a candlelit dinner for two or dancing naked till dawn. Dressed in her favourite navy blue pinafore and with her hair freshly washed and loose about her shoulders, Gabby went out the door wearing full make-up and not just her usual smear of lip gloss. She also smelled suspiciously gorgeous and it didn’t take too much working out to know that she had finally worked up the courage to help herself to some of the perfume Derry had put in her bedroom.