‘God no, we’d end up rowing. She hates shopping even more than I do. She’d tell me I look good in a sack just to get me to buy something,’ Hilary said gloomily.
‘And what about Niall?’
‘Are you mad! We’d be divorced!’
‘I’ll come with you then,’ he’d offered. ‘I adore clothes shopping.’
‘Would you? That would be a bit of craic! We’d have a laugh.’ She’d been delighted with his unexpected offer.
He’d been indefatigable, walking the legs off her, plucking dresses that she hadn’t even noticed off the racks. Making her twirl and parade in front of mirrors but never satisfied with what he saw.
‘How come you know such poshies?’ Jonathan asked, having taken pity upon her and agreed to her suggestion of a coffee to revive them. They chose the Westbury as it was near by and, after the noise and bustle of Grafton Street, Hilary enjoyed the calm serenity of the first-floor lounge as they sat eating cream cakes and drinking strong, aromatic coffee.
‘Rowena was actually a friend of Colette’s,’ she explained, offering Jonathan an éclair. ‘Their parents are legal friends and Rowena and Colette went to the same stage school—’
‘That figures,’ Jonathan said archly. ‘I bet Madame always got the principal role.’
‘You shouldn’t be so pass-remarkable,’ Hilary said, defending her friend.
‘Sorry. I just took agin her when she pooh-poohed our plans for our proposed interior design project. She was quite derisive.’ Jonathan grinned unrepentantly. ‘You were saying about Rowena?’
‘For some reason we always clicked. She likes trad so she’d often come to a session with me when Niall was playing. She’s lovely. You’d like her. She’s real dreamy and ethereal and doesn’t give a toss about keeping up with the Joneses type stuff. And Pete, her fiancé, is sound. He’s a floor manager in RTÉ. That’s where they met. She works in RTÉ’s make-up department but she hardly wears any herself.’ Hilary licked some cream off her finger. ‘Her father is loaded! He’s building them a big pile in North County Dublin.’
‘Lucky girl,’ sighed Jonathan, who longed to have a house in the country.
‘Do you know something – we’re doing the lighting. I must introduce her to you, I bet she’d love some advice about decorating,’ Hilary said, topping up their coffee and settling back in the comfortable armchair, legs stretched out in front of her.
‘Don’t get comfy,’ Jonathan warned. ‘This is just a pit stop.’
‘I can’t face any more,’ she moaned. ‘Let’s forget about it or else go back and buy that red-and-black dress in Pamela Scott. I liked that one.’
‘Hmm, it wasn’t bad but you could do better, I know it! The right dress is out there for you and we are going to find it.’ Jonathan was relishing the challenge.
‘But my poor feet are killing me,’ she protested.
‘Now, now, Granny, take a deep breath and centre yourself. I’ve got a place in mind where I think you could be lucky and it’s not far,’ he coaxed. ‘Humour me.’
He had brought her to a small boutique off Clarendon Street that she didn’t even know existed and made for a rail of colourful cocktail and evening dresses, flicking through the hangers with a professional eye until he made a selection. ‘You’re so tall you should revel in it,’ he proclaimed, handing her a hanger with a rich cerise V-necked dress that flowed elegantly to the knee. ‘I have a feeling about this,’ he said excitedly. ‘Get in there quick.’ He led the way to the dressing room.
‘And perhaps this wrap to finish it off?’ the assistant offered helpfully, producing a gossamer-fine, silky cream wrap from another rack.
‘Ooohhhh! Yessss!’ approved Jonathan. ‘Perfect.’
And it was perfect, thought Hilary gratefully. The ruched panelled V-neck showed off her tan and hid a multitude at the midriff and flowed gracefully over her hips to her knees. Sheer silk stockings and cream high heels and a clutch finished the wow factor and her husband’s eyes had widened in appreciation when she’d modelled it for him. ‘Verrrrry niceeee!’ he declared appreciatively as she pirouetted around for him.
‘That chap has great taste,’ he added a touch grudgingly. ‘He’s quite the all-rounder, isn’t he?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Hilary looked at him, surprised.
‘Nothing, he just seems to be accomplished at everything he does,’ Niall remarked.
‘You hate coming shopping with me for clothes.’
‘I know,’ her husband conceded with a wry smile. ‘I couldn’t have done better myself.’
‘Nor could I,’ Hilary acknowledged, loving the way the ruches hid the round curve of her tummy, and emphasized her shapely waist. Left to her own devices, she would never have found as stylish and flattering a dress and knowing that she looked really good was an added bonus. It was going to be a big shindig and every social diarist in Dublin had been invited. Rowena had confided to Hilary months ago that the wedding was turning into a huge impersonal gala-style event and she didn’t know half the people who were coming. ‘I would have loved a wedding like yours – it was such a terrific hooley and so intimate. I swear to God, Pete and I just want to take to our heels and forget the whole thing,’ she said miserably, the very antithesis of the happy bride-to-be.
‘Great idea, if they want a lift somewhere I’ll drive them,’ said Niall when Hilary had told him of Rowena’s comment. Hilary knew if she did agree to his suggestion that Jonathan accompany her to the wedding her husband would actually be delighted. Niall and her new friend had yet to meet but they had spoken on the phone and enjoyed some banter and she was very confident that when they did meet they would get on very well.
‘Maaaam? Tipsy is coughing up a fur ball! I thinking she’s choking,’ Sophie yelled up the stairs.
‘Why is it always “Maaaam”?
