LAURA COULD BARELY contain her excitement. As of today, Laura Connolly Design was open for business, and now she was officially proprietor of her own company! She looked around her small garage workshop with immense satisfaction. The presentation boxes had arrived a few days earlier, and Laura had been unprepared for the absolute joy she felt upon her first glimpse of them. For the Laura Connolly Design logo, she had decided upon a simple lilac, silver-tinged wording on a white background, and inside the box the jewellery would be presented upon white satin.
At Neil’s suggestion, she had put together small samples of her work – earrings and brooches etc – and had boxed and sent them out to selected gift and jewellery stores, hoping to ignite some interest.
Laura wasn’t fooling herself; she knew it would be some time before things began to move, but hopefully by Christmas she would have some idea as to whether or not the pricing structure had been correct, and her margins sufficient. If it hadn’t been for Neil, she would be selling her jewellery for half nothing, but he had insisted that she maintain a decent mark-up.
“I know you don’t want to price yourself out of the market, but remember that they’re handcrafted products, not the mass-market stuff already out there,” he had said. “If they cost too little, then people will think that they’re not worth much.”
If it weren’t for Neil, Laura would probably be giving them away.
Helen had suggested that she have an official Laura Connolly Design opening, invite all and sundry and perhaps gain a little publicity, but Laura wanted to leave such an outward proclamation until closer to Christmas, when buying jewellery would be foremost in people’s minds. For the moment, she was quite happy to start slowly, build up a decent catalogue, and hope that her profile might be raised by the Crafts Council and a few satisfied customers spreading the word.
Her family hadn’t been much help, though. As far as she knew, her mother hadn’t said a thing to anyone about the business.
So much for being proud of her.
Neil was becoming increasingly frustrated by Maureen’s attitude towards both the business and the wedding, and Laura was feeling the strain of trying to defuse the growing tension between the two of them.
Joe hadn’t said much, so she had no idea how he felt about the whole thing. For all Laura knew her dad could be secretly pleased for her but, because he always backed her mother, she had no way of knowing how he felt about it. Joe rarely let anyone know his personal feelings about anything – preferring instead to let his wife do the talking. It was a pity. Laura thought, because she could really do with someone in her corner. As for the wedding, Joe tended not to take any notice of Maureen’s rants about it having already experienced a similar scenario with Cathy’s wedding.
Still, her mother’s blatant lack of belief was difficult to handle. She had been so sure that Maureen would be thrilled, had been positive that her mother would be one of her greatest advocates, yet she was acting as though Laura’s plans were something to be ashamed of. It was hard to take. And she had heard nothing from her parents, not even a quick phone call to say good luck, when they knew well that – as of today – their eldest daughter was officially an entrepreneur.
Deep in thought, Laura sat down at her bench, and began working on the design for a necklace that she hoped would become a popular seller, particularly at Christmas. As she worked, she tried to come up with an interesting-sounding description for the website:
“Fine silver vermeil mesh with an overlay of filigree squiggles and curls, cloisonné enamel flowers and a centre row of coral and turquoise glass cabochons . . . this necklace will have everyone talking . . .”
Everyone talking? Laura made a face. Should she say things like that? She didn’t want people to think that she was blowing her own trumpet. But maybe that was what she was supposed to be doing. She was trying to sell not just the jewellery but the image.
She picked up her own personal favourite, one of the very first pieces she had designed since going out on her own. Going out on her own! Laura still couldn’t believe it. This bracelet was pretty spectacular though, and it had taken her ages to make – the fine silver metal chain being almost impossible to thread. She had strung shimmering crystal aurora beads on the chain and covered the metal clasp with blindingly bright aurora rhinestones.
Laura ordered from a UK distributor who had sourced the stones in Italy, and while she was pleased with the results, she needed more materials to really achieve the designs she wanted. While she was concentrating on four, maybe five strong lines, using metals, beads and stone, she wanted to try a rather unusual ethnic range, using leather, and perhaps shell, or wood. She didn’t know how well this might go commercially and this, Laura thought, was her biggest problem. The designs might look fantastic, but would people wear them? No, for the moment she should concentrate on the more conventional styles, and give them her own contemporary twist.
She was definitely going to experiment with her wedding jewellery, though. Laura had a clear idea of what she wanted in that regard. She was going to come up with something fabulous for Nicola and Cathy, something that her bridesmaids would hopefully treasure for years to come.
Laura was so engrossed in the work that she almost didn’t hear the doorbell ring.
A deliveryman stood at the door, holding the most amazing and unusual arrangement of flowers Laura had ever seen. That morning Helen had a gift basket of handmade chocolates delivered, Nicola had sent her a Good Luck helium balloon, and Neil’s mother, despite the fact that she was in hospital, had sent a magnum of champagne.
But these were from Neil.
‘Congratulations, LC, Guess who has designs on your heart?’
As she read the card attached, Laura tried to hold back the tears. He was being so wonderful – people were being so wonderful. Blast her family! What did it matter what they thought? As long as she had Neil behind her, surely everything would be all right?
* * *
Helen checked her watch. She was sitting in the bar of the Stillorgan Park Hotel and Miriam Casey was late. Forty minutes late. If there was one thing Helen hated, it was professional discourtesy. If the woman was going to be late, why the hell didn’t she ring ahead and say so?
As if on cue Helen’s mobile rang.
“Helen?” The woman sounded rushed and harassed. “Miriam Casey here – listen I know this is awful, but could we possibly postpone this meeting until some other time?”
Helen bristled. She had been up all night working on a presentation for Mizz Casey and now the cow was cancelling! Blast her!
“Miriam, I have to admit I’m disappointed. I have a table booked and –”
“I know, I know and I’m very sorry, it’s just that one of the kids has taken ill, and I really can’t leave him. Tell you what, why don’t you stay for lunch and bill it to the company? Please,” she insisted, when Helen hesitated, “ifs the very least I can do.”
It certainly is, Helen thought, after dragging me all the way out here for nothing.
So it looked as though Helen wasn’t the only woman struggling to hold a career and motherhood together. Although she certainly wouldn’t let something like a sick child get in the way of business. Couldn’t the childminder deal with it?
She shook her head. “Call me when you want to reschedule,” she said shortly, putting her phone back on the countertop.
Great! So much for rushing around like a madwoman earlier, trying to get a full day’s work into one morning. Despite Miriam’s offer she didn’t fancy having dinner on her own. She debated going back to the office but it was such a gorgeous day . . .
Helen paused. It was just after two. She could just collect Kerry from pre-school and go home early, but there was hardly much point in doing that, when Jo was probably already on the way. And, Helen thought, Kerry didn’t need collecting from Jo’s until after five, so for the first time in as long as she could remember, she had an afternoon to herself! She mentally hugged herself. This was brilliant!
Maybe she should head out to Laura’s and see how she was getting on in her first day in business or – even better – visit Nicola at the leisure centre, maybe stay for a massage or a long soak in the spa. She sighed. That would be absolute bliss.
Then, of course, there was the other option – an option that Helen could rarely resist. Grafton St was there to be conquered, so how better to spend an idle afternoon than shopping? She needed to get an outfit for Laura’s wedding, Kerry’s tantrums having ruined her last opportunity, so why not? She already had something in mind, maybe a racy little Julien McDonald or Jenny Packham number, something to get them all talking in Glengarrah.
Helen checked her watch. She could be in town by three, and still have plenty of time before she needed to pick up Kerry. And even if she was a tiny bit late, Jo wouldn’t mind.
She finished her soda water, and glanced idly up at the television before leaving. Then Helen stopped dead in her tracks and her eyes widened as she watched the sports bulletin. On screen, one of her favourite footballers was pictured smiling at the camera, and holding a rival team jersey against his chest.
“I don’t believe it!” she said to the barman. “Can you turn up the volume, please?”
The barman looked amused, and reached for the remote. “Bit of a shock, wasn’t it?” he said indicating the news story. “He’ll get some reception when he goes back to his home ground.”
“But he’s been with them since he was fourteen years of age!” Helen stood rooted to the spot, amazed. “I can’t believe he’s signed for a rival team.”
“Well, that’s what forty-five million quid will do for you.” The barman shrugged and went to serve another customer.
Helen sat back down to watch to the remainder of the bulletin, her head still shaking in amazement.
“Someone you know?” a male voice piped up from her left.
“Sorry?” she asked, looking at him through dark eyelashes. It was almost second nature to Helen to flirt with any male who spoke to her, let alone one who looked like this. He was tall, lean and almost painfully good-looking, his tanned high cheekbones and slate grey eyes staring directly into Helen’s dark ones.
“That guy,” he indicated the television. “Is he a friend of yours or something?”
Helen laughed. “Oh no,” she said, feeling little ripples of anticipation flood through her at the sight of his solid physique. “He’s a footballer.”
“Oh right.” Mr Perfect looked confused. “It’s just –”
“It’s OK,” she interjected, waving him away with a grin. “I get a little excited sometimes, that’s all.”
“I’d like to be around when you get really excited, then.”
He gave her a meaningful glance and Helen almost blushed. Almost.
“Paul Conroy,” he said, extending a hand, and flashing a set of perfect teeth.
“Helen Jackson.” She gave him her most flirtatious smile.
“So, are you waiting for someone, Helen, or is this just my lucky day?”
It was a line if ever there was one, but Helen didn’t care. Right then he could have asked her if she came here often and it would be the sexiest thing Helen had ever heard. And those eyes – it was as if he could see right through her. Just then Helen wouldn’t have minded if he did.
“Well, I was waiting for someone but he appears to have let me down.” She sighed.
It was lame to be fishing for compliments, but Helen didn’t care. Anyway, it worked.
“Silly, silly guy.” Paul shook his head and put a hand under his chin.
The way he was looking at her sent an involuntary shiver of excitement down her spine. The dark, downy hairs sneaking over his sleeve sent her imagination sprinting, and she began to imagine running her fingers along his undoubtedly hairy chest. She let the sensations work their way from her mind down along the rest of her body. God, if she touched him now, she wouldn’t trust the light bulbs to stay in one piece, such was the electrical charge between them.
God, it had been ages . . .
“So what are you going to do?” Paul asked.
“Sorry?”
“Well, are you going to join me for a drink, or do you have somewhere else to go?”
Helen smiled and sexily crossed her legs. Jenny and Julien would have to wait.
* * *
Less than an hour later, Helen was writhing uncontrollably beneath Paul on the bed, his lean sculptured body fulfilling every one of her earlier expectations.
It had probably been the most intense flirtation she had ever experienced. Every word they said to one another had been heavy with meaning, and Helen had enjoyed every second of it.
It wasn’t just the alcohol either, she decided – it was as if her mind had been taken over by some weird sensual drug. The man absolutely emanated sex, and Helen had felt unbelievably horny just sitting beside him.
Paul must have seen something in her eyes because at one stage he gave her an intense searching look and signalled almost imperceptibly towards reception.
Understanding immediately, Helen nodded instantly, before she changed her mind.
“Hold that thought,” he said, before walking purposefully toward reception. Again she forced herself to ignore the cliché. Who cared?
It didn’t matter that she didn’t know him, or anything about him – all that mattered was that she was more turned on than she had ever been in her entire life. She clung to his damp body like her life depended on it. She was an experienced and confident lover, but soon discovered that she was no match for Paul. He had her in ways she never thought possible, ways that had her cry out with ecstasy and pain in equal measures. It was as though she was in some kind of sexual dream, one that she didn’t want to end.
After what seemed like hours, Paul collapsed heavily on the pillow beside Helen, the hair around his forehead damp with sweat, and his tanned skin glistening in the afternoon light. She slung an arm across his chest.
Paul turned to look at her, his pupils still dilated with lust. “So, what was your name again?” he teased.
Helen kicked him in the leg. “Names were about as far as we did get before . . . this,” she smiled slyly.
“Well, this, as you call it, this was fucking fantastic.”
She shrugged. “If you say so.”
“What?” Paul’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding me, right?”
There was a slight twang in his voice that Helen hadn’t noticed before. She laughed. “Of course, it was fantastic.”
“Well, now we should at least get to know one another, don’t you think?” Paul began running a finger along Helen’s ribcage, and she felt herself respond almost instantly to his touch.
“Yes.”
“So, tell me all about yourself, Helen Jackson,” He traced his tongue around one of her nipples.
Helen breathing began to quicken once more. “I’m thirty, I work in sales, I’m not married . . .”
“No,” he whispered, putting a finger to her lips. “Tell me about yourself – for instance . . . tell me how you’re feeling now, how this feels.” He moved his hands lower along her body and Helen struggled to speak.
“Is this a getting-to-know-you exercise?” she asked him huskily, wrapping herself around him again.
Afterwards, they lay together in, Helen thought, a very comfortable silence. “So, what about you?” she asked eventually.
Paul sat up. “What about me?”
“Well, I know you’re a businessman –”
“Pensions,” he interjected.
“Pensions?”
“And investments,” he finished. “Not what you imagined, huh?”
Helen smiled. “No, not exactly.” She had thought him a partner in some high-powered corporation, not quite a pensions salesman.
“Does it matter?” he asked, kissing the nape of her neck.
“Of course not,” Helen moved his head upwards, and kissed him sensually on the lips.
“So what do you think?” he asked with a daring smile.
“About what?” Helen felt a tingle of anticipation. She knew where this was going. He wanted to see her again.
“About dinner on Saturday night?” Paul confirmed her expectations.
“I’d love to,” she said coyly, pulling him close to her, “but I think I need to know that little bit more about you first.”
Paul willingly complied.