'So what happened?'

'Ricky died.'

Jennifer nodded and bit her bottom lip. 'I'm sorry.' She paused. 'What was he like?'

'What was he like?' repeated Ben. He looked at the ceiling and fought back the tears. 'He was brilliant, funny, loyal. Everybody wanted to be his friend. He had this magnetic charm that attracted people, men and women. Girls loved him.' He smiled and shook his head, remembering the time Ricky had three girlfriends on the go at once and the mayhem that ensued when they found out about each other.

'But?' said Jennifer.

'There was this other side to him ... how can I describe it?' He thought of the time a twelve-year-old Ricky started a fire in a pile of dry leaves that destroyed a wood shed, and then pleaded innocence; a slightly older Ricky flashing at the horrified Bosnian maid who'd handed in her notice shortly thereafter; and older still, Ricky stealing drink from the drinks cabinet and topping the bottles up with water. 'He didn't know how to moderate his behaviour and he'd no sense of responsibility. He wouldn't listen to my parents when they tried to get him to stay on and do A-levels. He didn't see the point, not if he was going into the family business. So he left school at sixteen with just five O-levels. He was stubborn, hot tempered and wild. There was nothing he liked more than a party. And Dad didn't help. He spoiled him. Ricky got everything he wanted without earning it and he took it all for granted. As soon as he pa.s.sed his driving test, Dad gave him a brand-new BMW and he had a penthouse apartment overlooking the Lagan by the time he was twenty.'

Jennifer gasped and said, 'And what about you? What were you doing when all this was going on?'

He shook his head. 'That flashy lifestyle didn't appeal to me. Dad paid for me to go through uni and bought a flat near the university which I lived in until I moved here. That was all I wanted.'

'So what about Ricky?'

'By the time he was twenty-four, he was driving that d.a.m.ned Ferrari.'

'And is that the car he ... he crashed?'

'It was the car he died in, yes,' said Ben and curled his fist into a tight ball. 'Seven years ago this month. Dad never should've given it to him. These sports cars are difficult to handle even for an experienced driver.'

'I'm sorry,' said Jennifer in that soft voice of hers. 'I can see how much it pains you to talk about this and I appreciate you telling me.' She waited a few moments and added, 'But what does Ricky's death have to do with where you are today?'

'You met my father, Jennifer, you know what he's like.' Her cheeks coloured and she lowered her eyes, her lids a pale shimmering shade of coffee. He took this to mean she had not liked him. It came as no surprise; not many people did.

'My father's a tough man, physically robust. He never had a day's sickness in his life. And he's mentally strong too. In all my years growing up, I never saw him display a shred of self-doubt. As a little child I thought he was invincible.' He paused, and hesitated, the memory of the time following Ricky's death painful to recount.

'You don't have to tell me any more,' said Jennifer and she placed a hand on his forearm.

He stared deep into her calm, chocolate brown eyes, searching there for the peace he could not find in his own heart. 'No, I want to. I want you to ... to understand, Jennifer. After Ricky died, my father fell to pieces. He stopped going to work. He wouldn't even get out of bed. It was just awful. We were all so worried. His wife Ca.s.sie couldn't do anything with him and even my mother came round to try and talk him into coming out of the bedroom. The doctor put him on anti-depressants, but it made no difference.'

'So what happened?'

'It was the end of January and I was sitting on the bed one day talking to him. He'd given up talking himself by this stage and he had a beard he wouldn't let anyone shave him, let alone do it himself. And he'd lost so much weight. It was as much as Ca.s.sie could do to persuade him to shower. And then he came out with it, just like that. He asked me if I would join him in the business. It was the most animated I'd seen him in weeks. There was such wild hope in his eyes. What could I say? I said yes. And he was back to work within a week, completely restored.'

Jennifer bit her lip and looked very solemn.

'I felt that I didn't have a choice,' he said, gently releasing her hand. 'We agreed that I'd finish my degree I was in my final year and then go into the business. But I wasn't any good at it. I'm still not.'

'I'm sure that's not true,' she said loyally, withdrawing her hand onto her lap.

'I was weak, wasn't I? I should've stood up to my father.'

She looked surprised. 'Quite the contrary. You put your father before yourself. If you hadn't agreed, what would've happened to him?'

'I honestly don't know.' If he had saved his father, as Jennifer implied, he'd sold his soul in the process.

She played with a ring on the middle finger of her left hand. 'But I also think your father manipulated you.'

He looked away, unable to confess all of it, unable to explain why he felt so beholden to his father. Why the debt could never be repaid, no matter what he did.

'Ricky died almost seven years ago, Ben,' she went on quietly. 'You've done your bit. But isn't it time you moved on? Did what you wanted to do?'

'But you don't understand, Jennifer. I'm Alan's only heir. And he's obsessed with handing on the business to his descendants. That ambition is the driving force behind everything he does, every decision he makes.'

'Ah,' she said, exhaling softly, as understanding took hold. Her pupils contracted and the smile faded slowly from her pretty face. 'That's why he doesn't like me. He thinks I'm too old for you, doesn't he? He knows I could never give you children.'

He grasped her hand and squeezed it, desperate to see her smile restored. 'How can he dislike you when he doesn't even know you?' he said flippantly, avoiding answering her question. He could not bear to see her hurt. But she was right. His father had made his feelings about her very clear and left Ben doubting his own judgement. Should he be more concerned about the age gap between them? Given that she had a grown-up family, Jennifer would probably not want more children even if she could have them. But he didn't want them either. He wanted only her.

She turned her face away from him. He touched her chin with the curve of his finger. 'Look at me,' he said and when she raised her eyes to his they were full of tears. 'Oh, darling, why are you crying?'

'I'm so sorry about Ricky,' she said, brushing away tears. 'And about you.'

Wordlessly, he went and stood by her then, still perched on the bar stool. He enveloped her in his arms and she wrapped hers around him and clung to him so tight it hurt. He pressed his lips to the crown of her head, his nostrils filled with the heady, feminine scent of perfume and shampoo. He felt desire rise in his groin, but his feelings for her were more than just l.u.s.t. He wanted to hold her in his arms every day, to protect her, to know she was his. He was, he realised, starting to fall in love with her.

And yet, though he felt such a strong connection with Jennifer, deeper than any he'd known before, and he wanted to tell her everything, he could not. Something held him back. He could not explain his part in Ricky's death. The words simply would not come. He knew that had he made different choices that night, things would've turned out very differently. Ricky would still be alive.

He wanted to explain this to Jennifer but fear held him back. Fear that she would judge him as harshly as he judged himself. And he could not bear to lose her good opinion. He was trapped, like a car caught the wrong way in a traffic jam, between duty and guilt, unable to turn, unable to escape. Sandwiched between these disempowering emotions, slowly inching forwards along a tedious road he had never wanted to travel.

He clung on to Jennifer all the tighter, and tears p.r.i.c.ked his eyes. If only she would love him, he felt certain that he could find the courage to break free of his father and change his life.

Chapter 13.

Jennifer stood with a gla.s.s of champagne in her hand, smiling inanely as people trooped into Carnegie's from the bitterly cold December night. She'd dressed smartly in a uniform of sorts a knee-length, long-sleeved black dress from Phase Eight, a wide leather belt, high-heeled patent boots. She'd piled on the make-up and jewellery and all in all she felt well, and appropriately, dressed for a winter restaurant opening. But her appearance wasn't responsible for her nervousness.

Nor was it fear that people might not like the interior design. Ben had loved it and she thought it one of her most successful commissions. It was breathtaking, there was no doubt about it. Sparkling chandeliers cast a flattering glow on the scene below windows layered in gorgeous fabric, rich berry-coloured candles burning in each window recess; deep carpet the colour of crushed blueberries; chairs upholstered in richly textured, zany fabric and leather; the finest crisp, white Irish linen; and tasteful prints adorning the walls. The room was cla.s.sic and timeless without being old-fashioned.

No, Jennifer's anxiety stemmed entirely from Ben's presence in the room and the fear that they might somehow, inadvertently, betray the fact that they were seeing each other. Their heart-to-heart in Ben's flat a fortnight ago had confirmed all her doubts about the long-term sustainability of a relationship between them. One day soon Ben would want children and she could not give him that. Not because she was barren plenty of women popped babies out in their forties but because that chapter of her life, as a mother, was over. Initially she'd been upset, but she was trying to be more sanguine about it. Marriage might not be on the cards but, as Donna said, 'Stop agonising over it, Jennifer and just have fun!' But she couldn't help wondering if, given her relationship with Ben was ultimately doomed, she should finish it. She searched for Ben's mop of wavy hair amongst the crowd, but he was nowhere to be seen.

'Hi, Mum,' said Matt's voice and Jennifer turned to find him standing beside her, dressed in immaculate chef's whites with a black chef's cap on his head. He gave her a peck on the cheek and shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

'Don't worry, sweetheart,' she whispered, leaning in to adjust his skewed and spotless black-and-white checked neckerchief. He was so preoccupied he didn't even seem to notice her doing it. 'It's going to be fabulous.'

'It'd better be. Jason had me in here at six o'clock this morning prepping.' He filled his cheeks with air and blew it out, rubbing his hands together.

'I'm proud of you, son,' she said and he beamed.

'Thanks, Mum. Look, I'd better get back to the kitchen. Just wanted to say h.e.l.lo. Oh, and by the way, this doesn't look too bad,' he said with a wink, holding out his hands to indicate the surroundings. 'You did a really good job,' he added and disappeared back to the kitchen.

She grinned, just as pleased with his approval as she had been with Ben's. Matt had moved out the week before and the house was weirdly quiet. She missed him terribly. Lucy hadn't been home since Oren's visit, but she and Jennifer were back on speaking terms. Lucy was spending next week with Oren's folks down in Enniskillen and then coming home for the rest of the holidays. With Donna's words of advice to make a friend of Oren ringing in her ears, Jennifer took a drink of champagne. Easier said than done. But still she must try. She worried how Lucy would react to the news that she was dating Ben Crawford. Fearful, not just of Lucy's reaction but that of her father and Matt, she'd asked Ben to keep their budding relationship a secret for now.

The room began to fill up with well-dressed men and glamorous women Jennifer didn't know but who clearly knew each other. The air was filled with high-pitched shrieks of recognition between women who acted as if they'd just discovered each other on a desert island. In order to fit in as many people as possible for the opening, Ben had opted for a hot buffet and some tables had been cleared to make standing room for guests. At last she recognised a face amongst the crowd Ed O'Donaghue, chairman of the Ballyfergus Small Business a.s.sociation. She was so relieved to see a friendly face that she kissed him on the cheek, only to discover his face unpleasantly filmed with sweat.

'I don't mind telling you that I'm a bit nervous, Jennifer,' he said, getting out a cotton handkerchief and dabbing his round face, while she discreetly did the same to her lips with a hankie. 'Ben's asked me to say a few words about Glenvale, you see. He's going to put a collection box out for the course of the evening.'

'You'll be just fine, Ed.'

She glanced around appraisingly and compared herself to the well-heeled guests, feeling suddenly drab in her all-black outfit. Most of the women wore bright dresses, either floor length or very short indeed, and there were lots of fake-tanned, bare shoulders on display. 'I expect people here will contribute quite a bit,' went on Ed, clearly excited. 'It could boost our coffers substantially.'

Jennifer caught a glimpse of Ben and her stomach flipped. He was moving easily through the crowd, in a smartly cut black suit and an open-necked white shirt, with a ready smile and a few words of conversation for everyone, grand or humble. She watched the curve of his high, faintly coloured, cheekbones when he smiled and the way his long, black lashes brushed his cheek. How could she have contemplated finishing with him only a few moments earlier? No matter that her heart might be broken later, she would trade the future sorrow for a few, s.n.a.t.c.hed weeks of happiness now.

When he moved towards her, she glanced up with a carefully prepared look of polite neutrality on her face.

'Jennifer, I'd like you to meet my mother, Diane,' said Ben, guiding a very tall, tanned redhead by the elbow. It was hard to believe she was Ben's mother. Her face was flawless and her rich red hair fell about her face in youthful, flattering waves. Jennifer sucked in her stomach.

Diane, dressed in a diaphanous halterneck gown in shades of green shamrock, pine, viridian and emerald held the bottom of the champagne flute in both hands like a chalice. 'Ben tells me that you're responsible for the interior design.'

'That's right.' Jennifer summoned a smile, utterly intimidated by this beautiful creature. The nails on her long elegant fingers were painted with iridescent green varnish, like the plumage on a mallard's head. She held her long neck erect like a swan and looked down curiously at Jennifer, a professional, practised smile on her face.

'She did a fabulous job, don't you think?' Ben beamed and placed a hand on Jennifer's shoulder. The familiar gesture which, under other circ.u.mstances might have produced a thrill in Jennifer, made her recoil in self-consciousness.

'Superb,' said Diane, the smile fixed like glued dentures. Ben said, looking towards the door, 'If you'll excuse me, I have to go and speak to someone.'

He walked off and Jennifer tried very hard not to be intimidated. Finding her voice at last she said, 'Ben tells me you run a model agency. That sounds interesting.'

'It has its moments.' Diane twirled her long hand in the air like a dancer everything about her was elongated and said, conspiratorially, 'Though some of the girls can be a real pain sometimes. They expect it all to happen without hard work on their part. I used to regularly put in twelve, thirteen-hour days when I was modelling.' She ran an appraising eye down Jennifer.

'Still it has its compensations,' she went on, touching the folds of her dress with long, bony fingers. Jennifer noticed the crepy skin on the back of her hands and the prominent veins on her sandalled feet, both of which betrayed her years. 'I do like the fashion side of it.'

'I read something quite interesting in the paper the other day about women in the fashion industry increasingly forgoing make-up,' said Jennifer, keen to get Diane talking so she could learn a bit more about Ben's mother.

Diane laughed. 'Yes, it started in New York with the Make-up Free Mondays.'

'Well, it's all very well if you're a natural beauty with flawless skin,' scoffed Jennifer, unclenching her stomach muscles a little. They were starting to hurt. 'But how many ordinary women fall into that category?'

'Not many I should think. And, once we're over forty,' said Diane, continuing with her conspiratorial tone, 'we need all the help we can get, don't we?' And she finished off with a friendly wink, her eyelid slicked with eyeshadow the same colour as her nails.

Jennifer smiled thinly. Throughout this conversation, not a single line had appeared on Diane's forehead, leading Jennifer to the conclusion that her handsome looks might well have been a.s.sisted by surgical means, and she felt uncomfortable with Diane's 'we're-in-the-same-camp' tone.

As if Diane could read her mind she said, 'I do wish Ben would hurry up and marry, though.' There was a pregnant pause. Jennifer blinked under Diane's close scrutiny and prayed that the heavy layer of foundation she'd applied earlier was enough to hide her red face.

'I want to be the mother-of-the-bride before my face and figure go,' went on Diane, flicking a lock of flame-coloured hair off her face. 'And I certainly want to be a grandmother before I'm too old to be considered glamorous! You'll understand that sentiment, I'm sure.'

Jennifer tried to laugh but, when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. Her tongue was thick and the roof of her mouth dry. Did Diane know or suspect that something was going on between her and Ben? Was this her way of warning Jennifer off? She took a sip of the champagne, licked her lips and fanned her face with her hand. 'Goodness, it's hot in here.'

'Is it? I don't feel it,' said Diane with a dismissive shrug of her insubstantial shoulders. She frowned disapprovingly at Jennifer's dress and said, 'Mind you, you are a bit over-dressed in those long sleeves.' Without drawing breath, she went on, spearing Jennifer with that intense, unsettling gaze of hers, 'Do you have any children?'

'Two. I have a son and a daughter,' said Jennifer, falling on the change of subject with relief, in spite of Diane's catty remark about her attire. She remembered that Diane had lost a child and compa.s.sion softened her anger.

'Was the young chef I saw you talking to earlier your son?'

Jennifer nodded and Diane added swiftly, with a laugh like broken gla.s.s, 'I almost mistook him for Ben. They're so alike, don't you think?' She scanned the crowd, her eyes settling at last on her son, who was talking to a gorgeous looking young woman, with a skirt practically up to her knicker-line. Diane spied them, smiled on one side of her face and said, 'There can't be much between Ben and Matt age wise.' She paused, pursed her lips, and slowly brought her gaze back to Jennifer. 'Can there?' she added pointedly.

'I ... eh ...' mumbled Jennifer, who preferred not to see the resemblance and felt slightly nauseous. There was a point to this conversation and Jennifer did not like it one little bit.

Diane craned her neck to look over the crowd she must've been over six foot in heels and her face burst into a radiant smile. She nodded and, having caught the attention of whoever it was she wanted, she said idly, all chummy again, 'I'm starving. I can't wait to sample the food. Jason's a remarkable chef.'

Jennifer nodded dumbly, believing the first part of this statement anyway. Diane looked as if she could do with a good, square meal inside her.

To her surprise, Alan Crawford appeared at his ex-wife's side. 'Ah, there you are, Alan,' she said, draping her arm over his shoulder like a shawl. They must've made an odd married couple, for Diane towered over her ex by several inches. 'This is Jenny ... sorry I didn't catch your surname?'

'We've met,' said Alan without warmth, his gaze somewhere else, though he did take her hand limply and kiss her perfunctorily on the cheek. His mobile features twitched, and he said, 'Well, I suppose I've got to hand it to you, Jennifer. You did a first-cla.s.s job on the place. Top-notch, and better than that Calico woman.'

Though grudgingly bestowed, Jennifer lapped up the compliment and, putting her business hat on, she said bravely, 'I hope you'll think of me for future commissions then.'

There was a pause. Diane pressed her bony fingers into Alan's shoulder hard enough to make him visibly wince. 'Most of what Crawford Holdings does is on a ... a commercial scale, Jennifer,' she said. Alan looked at her sharply.

'Alan?' said Jennifer, her voice unintentionally, pathetically pleading. She had hoped that this would lead to more jobs like it and, G.o.d knows, she could do with the business.

'Diane's right,' he said brusquely, shaking his head. 'We don't usually do one-offs like this.'

Diane narrowed her eyes like a cat. 'Didn't Ben tell you? I'm a major shareholder in Crawford Holdings. And I have a seat on the board. So I do actually know quite a lot about the business.'

Jennifer stretched her lips into an approximation of a smile, feeling like her face was about to crack. 'Of course. I see.'

'But I'll certainly recommend you to my friends,' said Diane lightly. 'My girlfriends are always refurbishing. Fashions change so quickly, don't they? Apparently black sanitary ware is going to be the next big thing.' And she wrinkled her nose like Samantha out of Bewitched. 'Do you have some business cards I could hand out?'

Jennifer had no desire to procure business from Diane's friends, not if they were anything like her. But she wasn't good at thinking on her feet. Instead of pretending that she'd forgotten them, she heard herself saying, 'Of course. Thank you.'

She'd just pulled a handful of cards out of her bag when Danny, the tweed-suited photographer and sometime journalist from The Ballyfergus Times, interrupted with, 'Do you mind if I take your photograph, Jennifer? The three of you, if you don't mind?'

They huddled up together, all smiles, as if they were the best of buddies. Danny took the shot, scribbled their names into a notebook, thanked them profusely and moved on to the next group.

'Well, it was lovely to meet you, Jennifer,' said Diane, as soon as Danny was gone. She acknowledged Alan with an abrupt nod, turned her back on them both and walked off.

'Got to catch up with some people over there,' said Alan and he too disappeared, leaving Jennifer standing alone, clutching a bunch of damp business cards in her sweaty palm. The party should have been a celebration, but it had turned instead into a painful lesson in humiliation. She looked around desperately for Ben but he was engaged in animated conversation with two men about his own age. The confidence had been knocked out of her, like the stuffing of Lucy's first teddy bear, that now lay limp and bald in a box in the attic.

Though she tried very hard to fight against them, tears p.r.i.c.ked the back of her eyes. She could not, would not cry in public. Pasting a stupid, false smile on her face she made her way to the ladies' toilets with walls finished in pink plaster, the floor tiled in pink-veined marble and hand beaten bra.s.s sinks from India. She locked herself in a cubicle, sat down on the closed toilet lid and let the tears flow.

Diane and Alan had both known about her and Ben, that much was obvious, and clearly, one of their objectives in coming here tonight was to deliver their unequivocal message you are not welcome in this family.

But how had they found out? She stopped crying, dabbed her eyes with toilet paper and thought hard. She could think of only one explanation. Ben must have told them. She shook her head in disbelief. Maybe she'd misjudged him. Maybe he was more like his parents than she'd thought, or wanted to believe. Her heart hardened. If he could break such a simple promise, then how could he be trusted? Jennifer pulled herself together, collected her coat and left the party without, it seemed, anyone even noticing.

It was very late when the doorbell rang. Jennifer turned over in bed, pulled the duvet over her head and tried to ignore it.

But it kept on ringing. Two doors down the German Shepherd began to howl and Jennifer threw back the covers. 'Oh for G.o.d's sake,' she muttered irritably. 'You're going to wake all the neighbours.' She went over to the window, pulled back the curtain and looked down onto the street. Ben's car was parked haphazardly outside her house, the front wheel up on the kerb. She marched downstairs, not caring that her face was bare of make-up and she looked an absolute fright.

She flung open the door. Ben was standing there looking distraught and a little dishevelled, the collar of his suit jacket turned up.