And yes, Id love a drink.’
When Patrick had been served, they moved away from the bar to a less crowded area by the entrance to the ballroom. Still dying to know where Claire was, Dulcie was about to open her mouth when Patrick said, ‘Sorry, you asked me how work was going.’
Oh yes, that inspired conversation-opener. One of the all-time greats, along with ‘What about this weather we’ve been having lately?’ and ‘Where did you get that tie?’
But Dulcie, succumbing to the gin, was finally beginning to relax. She tilted her head to one side.
‘Well, to tell you the truth, I’m amazed you’re here. ‘I mean, it is only half past eleven on Christmas Eve. I’d have thought you’d still be in your office, slaving away over your computer, up to your eyes in work ...’
‘I sold the business.’
.. and what about tomorrow? Don’t tell me you’re taking Christmas Day off too. Good grief, Patrick, is this any way to build an empire? Does Bill Gates take time off on Christmas Day?
How can you ... you ... you did what?’
Dulcie’s voice faltered and died as – at long last – his words sank in.
He shrugged.
‘I sold the company.’
‘But ... but when?’
‘Signed the contract yesterday afternoon.’
Aware that she was asking the wrong questions in the wrong order but unable to do a thing about it, Dulcie said inanely – as if she cared – ‘Who to?’
‘An American company: MegaCorps, in Dallas. They made an offer to buy me out ... and ‘I said yes.’ Patrick spoke casually as if the decision had been effortless, the simplest in the world to make. ‘They want me to work for them, do some freelance design stuff—’
‘You’re going to work in America?’ Dulcie felt sick. Within milliseconds her brain conjured up images of Patrick and Claire moving into their new home, a Southfork type of house with a huge pool and lots of cowboys striding about in stetsons, calling Claire ma’am and lassoing anything that mooed.
Dulcie blinked but the mental image wouldn’t go away. Now she saw Patrick and Claire hosting their annual barbecue, joining in the hoedown, cheering on the riders in the rodeo and hoisting excited children up on to their shoulders ... children with Patrick’s good looks, Claire’s saintly temperament and high-pitched Texan accents you could grate ice on .. .
‘No.’ Patrick’s voice dragged her back to earth. ‘God, ‘I wouldn’t live in Dallas if you paid me.’
Firmly, he shook his head. ‘I’m staying here.’
Just as well, thought Dulcie, light-headed with relief. He’d be useless at hoeing-down.
‘But why?’ she finally managed to say. ‘What made youdecide to sell the company after you worked so hard to build it up?’
Patrick shrugged again.
‘I just thought it was time to take a break. Work isn’t the be-all and end-all; there are more important things in life. So that’s it, from now on I’m going to keep the hours down, take things easy and enjoy myself.’
Dulcie stared at him, white-faced, wondering if she could possibly be hearing these words issuing forth from this mouth. She wanted to hit him.
‘What?’ said Patrick. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ Dulcie spoke through gritted teeth.
‘That’s what ‘I spent the last five years telling you to do. How many times did I say you shouldn’t be working so hard? But did you take a blind bit of notice? Like hell you did. You ignored me—’
‘I know, ‘I know,’ Patrick cut in. He held up his hand. ‘I made a mistake. You were right and I was wrong. There, does that make you happy?’
Was he serious?
Oh yes, great, thought Dulcie wildly, I spend five years telling you not to work so bloody hard, you take no notice at all, our marriage goes down the tubes, then you meet the girl of your dreams and decide you needn’t work so hard after all ... and you seriously expect me to be happy?
The urge to slap was overtaken by the urge to grab Patrick by the lapels, shake him until his teeth rattled, scream hysterically and call him a lot of names, stupid, selfish bastard being the least of them.
Either that or change the subject.
‘Oh yes, ecstatic,’ said Dulcie, tight-lipped. ‘So where’s Claire tonight?’
Off ministering to the poor, probably. Visiting orphans and sick children, something saintly like that. Well, the world needed another Princess Di.
‘Bali.’
Dulcie nodded. Of course, he’d had to stay behind to sign the contract. Bored already with the subject of Saint Claire, she said dully, ‘When are you flying out, tomorrow?’
Patrick shook his head.
‘I’m not going.’
‘Oh.’ Dulcie felt her heart begin to accelerate. ‘Why not?’
‘It’s over. We aren’t seeing each other any more.’
