Maeve Binchy - Quentins

"I feel free here somehow, independent," Ella explained to Deirdre.

I don't know why you bothered, you got your meals served to you back in your parents" place, and it's not as if you ever brought a bloke in here, by the looks of things."

"How do you know?" Ella laughed.

"Well, have you?"

"No, as it happens, but I might."

"See?" Deirdre was triumphant. "I don't know why you feel so free and independent, I really don't."

And in a way, neither did Ella know. She thought it had something to do with not having to think about her parents" marriage. They were old now, in their sixties, and they still clung to work rather than retire like other people of their age did. They could sell that big house in Tara Road for a fortune and buy a much smaller place. Then Mam would not have to go in anxiously to the law firm where she suspected that she was being kept on I from kindness. Dad would not have to go to what he saw as a changing world of money men.

They got on well together. Surely they did? As she had so often told Deirdre, they never had rows. Suppose they were to turn the house back into apartments, then the rent that would bring in would mean they could retire. She would say nothing yet, just let the idea develop.

She went back home to see them for supper at least once a week and every Sunday as well, but she never stayed over. She said she studied better in the flat. Some months later, she made the suggestion that they should let her room.

Never had anything fallen on such unresponsive ground. They were astounded that she should even think of it. They didn't want to retire. What would they do with their days?

Suddenly Ella's legendary laughter left her. She saw a very bleak future ahead. Imagine what desperate lives people must lead if these two, who were meant to be Happily Married, couldn't even bear the thought of being side by side at home instead of going to jobs which they found tiring and anxiety-creating.

I'd prefer to be a nun than have a dead marriage," Ella told Deirdre very earnestly.

Deirdre worked in a busy laboratory where she knew a great many men.

"You might as well be a nun, the way you live," Deirdre said. In fact, I think you are one in plain clothes." And as time went by Nuala still kept in touch from London. She had decided not to get a job after all, but instead to work in the company as a receptionist. Frank said it was better to keep all the family secrets within the family, she wrote.

"What family secrets does she mean?" Deirdre wondered.

"Probably that her brothers-in-law are screwing everything that moves in there," Ella suggested.

"Very droll." Deirdre still wondered what they could be hiding.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Dee. Remember them at the wedding in their sharp suits and their eyes never still, moving around the room? Those fellows have never known what it was like to keep proper books or pay proper tax in their lives."

"You think all builders are unreliable, that's your prejudice." Deirdre was spirited.

"No, I don't, look at Tom Feather! His family are aboveboard. Lots of them are. It's just Frank's lot make me shudder."

"If you're right, do you suppose they have our pal Nuala drawn into it all?" Deirdre wondered.

"Poor Nuala. I'd just hate to be wrapped up with that lot," Ella said.

"Now funnily enough, I'd find being wrapped up with Eric, that eldest brother, no problem at all," Deirdre laughed.

"You might get your chance, they're going to have a family gathering here in Dublin for Frank's parents. We're invited," Ella read at the end of the letter.

"Great. I'll get one of those suspender belt things."

"No, Deirdre, you won't, it's only three years since the wedding, they won't have forgotten you. We'll keep well away from Frank's family."

The party was very showy. There were even columnists and photographers at it. Frank and his three brothers posed endlessly as an Irish success story. They were photographed with politicians, celebrities, with their parents and their wives.

"It's very fancy for a fortieth wedding anniversary, isn't it... all this razzmatazz. I think that the old folk look a bit bewildered," Deirdre said.

Ella pushed her sunglasses back on her head to study the party more seriously. "No, they're well able for it, the mam and dad, for them it's a triumphal celebration. It's "Look at what a success Our Boys have made in life"."

"Why don't you like them, Ella?"

I don't know, I really don't, to be honest."

"Do you think Nuala's happy?"

I think so, a bit hunted. But she got what she wanted, so I suppose that's happy."

Ella always remembered that remark because just as she was saying it a man beside them was jostled against her by a press photographer. "Please, Mr. Richardson, can we have you in the group?"

"No, thanks all the same, but this is a family party. It's not appropriate."

"It would make sure we got it in the paper?" The camera man was persuasive, but not enough.

"No, thanks, as I said, I'd really much prefer to talk to these two lovely ladies."

Ella turned at the calm, very forceful voice. And she looked Don Richardson, Financial Consultant, whose picture was indeed often in the newspapers. But they had never done him justice. He was good-looking certainly - dark curly hair, blue eyes - but had a way of looking at you that excluded everyone else in the room. Ella knew she hadn't imagined this because out of the corner of her eye she saw Deirdre shrugging slightly and moving away. Leaving her alone with Don Richardson.

Ella had never been able to flirt. Her friend Nick said it was weakness in a woman. Men just loved that come-on look from under the eyelashes. Ella was too up-front he said, lessened the magic somehow. She wished she had listened to Nick. Now for the very first time she wanted to know how to do it.

Even if she had five minutes with Deirdre - but her friend had gone to hover in the danger area of Frank's brothers.

It turned out not to be necessary.

He held out his hand to her with a great smile. "Ella Brady from Tara Road, how are you? I'm Don Richardson. It's such a pleasure to meet you."

"How do you know my name?" she croaked.

"I asked a couple of people, Danny Lynch, the property guy, he told me. He lives near you, apparently."

Ella heard herself saying, "Yes, well, near my parents, actually. I've moved out of home, you see, and I have my own place."

"Why am I very pleased to hear that, Ella Brady?" he asked. He hadn't stopped smiling and he hadn't stopped holding her hand.

Chapter Two.

Ella got home from the hotel somehow on her own. She thought afterwards that she must have taken a taxi, but she didn't remember it. She sat down and looked around her for a long time before she took stock of it all. This was not Happening to her. This was the stuff of silly movies or magazine stories, which had to have the love-at-first-sight theme running through them. Don Richardson was just a known charmer, a professional who made his money by saying Trust Me to people, by holding their hands for a little too long, by letting his eyes lock into theirs. There was obviously a Mrs. Richardson in the room tonight, maybe a history of several of them. There were little Richardsons at home all of whom would need quality time. Ella Brady was not going to go down this road. She had mopped the tears of too many friends who had told her fantasy tales of men who were going to leave their wives. She would not join their number. Women had an amazing capacity to fool themselves, Ella had seen it over and over. She would never be part of it.

He was waiting outside the school next morning. Sitting in a new BMW and smiling as she approached. Ella wished that she had dressed better. But he didn't seem to notice.

"Are you surprised?" he asked.