First We Take Manhattan Read online

  A group of excitable women arrived with wedding outfits looking for matching hats. Relieved by the distraction, although the high-pitched squeals weren’t helping her headache, Sinéad abandoned her sewing to give them her full attention.

  After she had spent hours with them, they left without placing an order, and Sinéad’s feelings of doubt and insecurity escalated. She was tempted to pick up the phone and call Dylan. God, she missed him so much, and it had been days since they’d talked. But no. Feck it. He had been in the wrong. Why should she go crawling to him? He wasn’t exactly being supportive. He wanted her to pull herself together and stop feeling sorry for herself. As if she should just take losing her twin sister in her stride.

  And Dad was no better. She knew he was hurting, but why wouldn’t he let her comfort him and comfort her in return? Why was he shutting her out? Sinéad felt the familiar taste of resentment in her mouth, the same resentment she’d felt when Aunty Bridie had moved in to look after them after Mum had died, and it felt as if he’d abandoned them. He was selfish then and he was being just as selfish now. At least Max kept in touch regularly, but, if she stopped phoning or dropping in to see her father, she doubted he’d notice.

  There were only a couple of other customers that afternoon and Sinéad was just about to close up early when there was a rap on the door. She looked up to see her brother-in-law smiling in at her. Great, this was all she needed. Sinéad had always got on well with Philip, although she had been stunned when Sheila announced they were getting married. The couple behaved more like best mates than boyfriend and girlfriend. Still, she’d had to admit they seemed to make a great team. Sheila seemed content with Philip and he obviously adored her. Sinéad had thought he was going to fall apart when the search had been called off, but he’d coped quite well. Too well? That was the thought that constantly played on her mind. Something about him bothered her, but she couldn’t figure out what that was.

  As the weeks rolled into months she found it harder and harder to be around him. Right now, as she looked at him through the glass, she longed to scream at him to go away, but she didn’t have the guts. She forced a smile to her lips, though it probably looked more like a grimace, and went to the door to let him in. ‘Hi, Philip, you just caught me. I’m on my way to a meeting.’

  ‘Oh, good. I’m glad I didn’t miss you.’

  He embraced her and kissed her cheek, either oblivious to the hint or simply ignoring it. Bloody politicians. They were all the same. She steeled herself not to shudder or pull away. When he released her she went behind the counter to put some distance between them. He was looking as dapper as ever. The beautifully tailored taupe suit and shirt a shade darker were set off perfectly by the flamboyant silk tie. His brown brogues shone almost as much as his manicured nails and his hair was slicked forward to disguise his receding hairline. She had always assumed that Sheila was the one who’d selected his wardrobe, but he seemed to be doing just fine on his own. Her doubt and suspicion bubbled up again and she dug her nails into her palms that itched to slap him.

  ‘How’s business?’

  ‘Just fine,’ she lied.

  ‘Great.’

  ‘You seem pretty busy these days, Philip. Every time I pick up the paper you’re attending some opening or other.’ It sounded like an accusation, she knew, but she was past caring.

  ‘Yes, it’s all go,’ he said equably.

  ‘Was there something in particular you wanted to see me about?’ She glanced pointedly at her watch.

  ‘Oh, yes, of course, sorry. It’s about your birthday. I was thinking of booking a room in the Four Seasons, or would you prefer somewhere more low-key?’

  She stared at him in horror. Their twenty-ninth birthday was at the end of November and he wanted to celebrate it? ‘A birthday party without Sheila?’

  He flushed. ‘Well, no, not a party, of course not. It just feels wrong not to acknowledge it and it seems the perfect time to remember her and celebrate her life.’

  ‘Celebrate what? That it’s over?’ she retorted, making no attempt to hide her anger and contempt. ‘What’s the problem, Philip? Are you down in the polls and in need of some good publicity? Going to invite along a couple of hacks and play the part of the grieving husband?’

  Philip recoiled from the attack. ‘I don’t have to play the part, Sinéad. I miss Sheila just as much as you do. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her.’

  He looked so sincere, Sinéad thought, so why didn’t she trust him? Why did she feel he had something to hide? Sometimes it felt as if she was losing her mind. And, the way Dylan looked at her lately, it was obvious he thought so too.

  She met Philip’s eyes and was filled with doubt at the hurt that she saw there. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just having a bad day.’

  He accepted the apology with a brief nod. ‘I understand. I have days like that too, believe me.’

  ‘I suppose getting everyone together is a nice idea,’ she relented, ‘but you’d better clear it with Dad first.’

  Immediately Philip’s expression relaxed. ‘I did talk to Kieran, but whether he heard me or not is another thing. You know what he’s like. Max was there and he said to go ahead once you were happy about it.’

  Happy? Sinéad thought. Yeah, feckin’ delirious. But she nodded and squeezed his arm. ‘Why not?’

  He hugged her and she tried to relax in his embrace. Max and Dylan were right. This wasn’t any easier on him. She should cut him some slack.

  ‘Great, I’ll be in touch. Enjoy your evening, Sinéad. Give Dylan my best.’

  ‘Will do,’ she said and stood in the doorway, watching him stride down the town nodding and greeting people, and immediately her doubts and suspicion returned. If only he knew the thoughts that raced round her head and the dreadful dreams she had. They all involved Sheila and death, and in each and every one her dear devoted husband was standing over her, smiling broadly.

  Chapter Two

  Max Fields sat in his family home in Monkstown and looked from his vacant father to his fidgeting sister. He was finding it hard to feel any sympathy for either of them any more. They were so bloody self-absorbed. Sinéad, who had always been the more emotional twin, had become more moody and hypersensitive than ever – he wondered if she was on something. His father was even harder to fathom. He had never been a ‘hands-on’ Dad. Sure, he loved and was proud of them but always from a distance. It had been hard on the girls. They’d seemed to need that attention, whereas he’d always been quite happy in his own company and that hadn’t changed.

  Despite having dated some gorgeous women, Max felt no inclination to settle down. A few hours in the company of any of them and he was ready for some space. He was obviously a chip off the old block. Dad had been without a long-term partner since Mum had died almost twenty years ago and seemed perfectly content. But Sheila’s death had turned him into a shell of his former self and Max couldn’t understand why. Sheila had been his pet, presumably, because she was very like their mother.

  ‘It’s like he’s lost his wife again,’ Max’s latest girlfriend, Natalie, had told him with a wise nod. ‘Sheila’s been the key maternal figure in your lives.’

  ‘No, my aunt was,’ he’d replied.

  ‘But you said that none of you were that close to her.’

  And it was true. Bridie had been a steady, reliable figure in their lives but there had been no cuddles, and he couldn’t remember any of them ever confiding in her. He’d come to believe that she had moved in to look after them out of a sense of family duty. And then, poor woman, when they no longer needed her, dementia had set in and robbed her of her freedom for a second time.

  ‘Well, there you are, then. Sheila was the surrogate mother. Oh, and she drowned, too!’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ he’d said automatically, though he did think that his sister had killed herself.

  A few times after she’d been drinking, Sinéad had suggested foul play and even said Philip might have murdered her. It was
laughable. Max worried about his sister and her business. She was an easy target in her vulnerable condition. Sheila had protected and pampered her twin far too much. He’d like to see Sinéad finally stand on her own two feet.

  Max had considered talking to Dylan about it, but quickly dismissed the idea. What was the point? The man seemed fed up with the whole situation and it probably wouldn’t be long before he left for pastures new. Fresh fields. Max snorted at his own joke. God, he wouldn’t mind escaping himself sometimes, so who could blame Dylan? Granted, Sinéad was gorgeous but she was definitely high-maintenance at the moment.

  Max wasn’t equipped to deal with it. His was a world of figures and spreadsheets. You knew where you were with numbers: they were so much more reliable than people. It was a pity Aunty Bridie was in a home for the bewildered. She’d have been the perfect woman to get Sinéad back on the straight and narrow. She wouldn’t tolerate this self-obsessive rubbish from either her brother-in-law or her niece.

  Just as Sheila and Sinéad had completely different personalities, Bridie was nothing like his mother. While Maggie had lost herself in her needlework and had seen herself as a free spirit, Bridie had been a pragmatic woman with her feet firmly on the ground. It was hard to see someone so intelligent slip into dementia. Not that he did. Dad and Sinéad visited occasionally but Sheila had been the dutiful one who’d accompanied her on her doctor and hospital visits. She’d been the one to arrange the home help and, when it was clear that Bridie could no longer be left alone, organise the admission to the nursing home. It was Sheila who had arranged the house sale and dealt with the solicitors and it was Sheila who had continued to visit Bridie in the nursing home and take her out occasionally, for a treat. She had insisted on bringing her home for the day last Christmas, though no one else had been all that keen on the idea. But Sheila had bullied them into submission. They always spent holidays together. It was the Fields tradition and one that Bridie had kept going. They owed it to her, Sheila had argued. It was the least they could do. It had been a difficult day. Philip had been full of bonhomie and Sheila had cooked up a storm, but they were all in shock at how much Bridie had deteriorated. They had always gathered at Sheila’s on these occasions and, now Christmas was looming, he wondered what would happen.

  His eyes drifted back to his father slumped in the chair. The temptation to book a flight on Christmas Eve was immense. He could go somewhere hot with Natalie and lose himself in her body and drink himself into oblivion, but how could he desert them? He resigned himself to the fact that they would all have to be miserable together.

  ‘Do you think Philip will still have us all for Christmas?’ he asked.

  His father gave him a blank stare while Sinéad’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘How can you even think about celebrating Christmas without Sheila?’

  He shrugged. ‘Just wondering what will happen. We can’t leave the man to face it alone, and what about Bridie?’

  ‘As if Philip would ever be alone,’ his sister said, her voice bitter.

  ‘Oh, give it a rest, Sinéad,’ Max said, weary of her insinuations. How she could think Philip would have had anything to do with their sister’s death was beyond him. They had been a very close couple. Philip had always been proud of Sheila and her achievements. And, quite apart from being a successful entrepreneur, she’d been an excellent hostess. The guy must feel lost without her. The job was probably the only thing keeping him going.

  He looked over at his father. ‘What do you think, Dad?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Christmas.’

  ‘It won’t be the same, will it? Not without Sheila.’

  ‘No, of course it won’t.’ Max struggled to keep his patience. ‘But shouldn’t we spend it together the way we always do?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Then we should just have a quiet day here,’ Sinéad insisted.

  Max glared at her. ‘Fine, let’s do that but with Philip.’

  She shrugged. ‘I’m sure he’ll have other plans.’

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Whatever you think. I need to sleep.’ He stood up and shuffled towards the door.

  Max glanced at his watch. It wasn’t even eight o’clock, but this was the norm now. Dad spent most of his time either in bed or walking.

  Sinéad hurried after him and kissed his cheek. ‘Will I bring you up a cup of tea, Dad?’

  ‘No, love, I’m grand.’ He patted her hand. ‘You get on home.’

  Max stood up. ‘I’ll give you a lift.’

  ‘Are you sure, Dad? I can stay if you want.’

  Max sighed at the almost desperate note in Sinéad’s voice. He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze as their father waved away the offer. ‘Come on, Sinéad. Let him rest.’

  Outside, Sinéad hesitated by the car door. ‘You know, I think I’ll head into the shop for a while. There’s some work I’d like to finish off.’

  ‘At this hour?’

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s easier to work when there are no interruptions.’

  ‘Hop in, I’ll drop you down.’

  ‘It’s only a ten-minute walk.’

  ‘I need to take a look at the books, so now is as good a time as any.’

  ‘Oh, not tonight, Max,’ she groaned.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take them home with me and leave you to create.’ He grinned, happy that she was at least working. In the early days he’d had serious doubts that the business would survive without Sheila at the helm. Sinéad had no understanding of how to balance the books and showed no interest in learning. ‘I think you need to hire someone to help you out,’ he said as he reversed out of the driveway.

  ‘Ellen said the same. She thinks I should get rid of Karen.’

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked, feeling exasperated. Though he agreed with Ellen, he wished his sister would start thinking for herself.

  ‘I could do with help, but where am I going to find a good designer who’s also willing to serve in the shop and be capable of doing the books?’ She sighed. ‘We’re looking for another Sheila.’

  ‘Or a couple of people.’

  She turned to look at him. ‘We couldn’t afford that, could we?’

  ‘Part-time, possibly. I’ll tell you after I look at the figures. You just concentrate on doing what you do best,’ he said as he pulled into a parking spot near the shop.

  After he’d collected the folder that Sinéad had stuffed her paperwork into and said goodnight, Max stopped off on his way home to his apartment in Donnybrook to pick up a curry. He ate it in front of the TV. Channel hopping but finding nothing that interested him, he decided to get stuck into Sinéad’s accounts. He figured she could probably afford to hire a part-time secretary and that would leave her free to devote her time and effort to her designs.

  It was a pity Dad hadn’t something to distract him. Giving up his job in the council had been a huge mistake. It would have given some purpose to his day and forced him to talk to people. He needed something to pull him out of this stupor. Yes, life sucked sometimes, but you just had to deal with it and move on.

  He contemplated having another beer before getting down to work, but decided to put on a pot of coffee instead. With a bit of luck he could get through it all tonight and he would be able to spend Sunday in bed with Naughty Natalie enjoying every inch of that glorious body.

  It was almost midnight, papers were scattered across the opaque glass dining-room table and he was pacing the room, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, which was shaking from a mixture of panic and anger. How could she have been so fucking stupid? After all Sheila’s hard work, after they had finally found success, Sinéad was letting it all slip away. He was filled with a sense of impotent rage and had a sudden flashback to an argument between his mother and father.

  Max had been tucking into his boiled egg and soldiers when the kitchen door had flown open and Dad had stormed in, shouting at his mother. It was years later that Sheila had told him the whole sto
ry. The electricity had been cut off and Dad had discovered, that instead of paying the weekly instalment into the account at the post office, Maggie had been spending the money on material and wool. He was furious. Max had sat in terrified shock until Sheila rescued him from his high chair and hurried him and Sinéad upstairs. The three of them had huddled together and listened as their parents rowed and then a door banged and there was silence. Mother had carried on as if nothing had happened, but, for days after, silence descended on the household once Dad got in from work.

  For the first time, Max could understand exactly how his father had felt. If he hadn’t had a couple of drinks he would be tempted to jump in the car and drive straight over to Mount Merrion and let Sinéad have it. He could phone but perhaps he should calm down a bit. Sinéad was so damn fragile at the moment. Who knew how she’d react? He was pouring himself another drink when the intercom buzzed.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Room service.’

  He smiled at the giggly voice of his girlfriend and pressed the button to admit her before going to meet her.

  ‘Surprise!’ She smiled at him when the lift door opened.

  ‘I thought you were on a night out with the girls,’ he said, pulling her inside and kissing her.

  ‘I was nearby and I thought I’d come by and tuck you in.’

  Max felt his anger abate as she stepped back and began to unbutton her shirt, her eyes teasing. She was just the right side of tipsy to be randy as hell and he felt his body react as she let the shirt slip from her shoulders and pulled him close, kissing him hungrily. Her body melted into his as her tongue invaded his mouth.

  ‘Come to bed, darling.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Your Natalie is in a very, very, naughty mood.’

  He groaned at the desire in her eyes and the beautiful, full breasts barely covered by the peach gauzy bra, and kissed her gently. ‘Sorry, sweetheart, I have some stuff I really need to do.’

  ‘You know, they say that you’re much more productive if you take breaks,’ she said, rubbing her body against his. ‘And I bet one of my special massages would help you concentrate better.’