Free Happy Ever After by Patricia Scanlan Page A

to read how Posh maintained her zero size by drinking a special tea. She’d definitely give that a try, Melissa decided as she read her horoscope and saw that a new romance was coming her way. Perhaps she might meet a hunk at the art exhibition – but, somehow, she seriously doubted it. She lay sprawled on the bed, picking at a spot that had been annoying her all day.
    Aimee rubbed her aching feet and yawned. How she would love to collapse on to the sofa and stay put for the rest of the evening. The last place she wanted to go was her mother’s art exhibition, but she couldn’t let her down. Juliet was so excited about it and, to be fair to her mother, she rarely imposed on her. From what Aimee had seen of her mother’s paintings so far, she had a natural talent for art. Juliet had been terribly upset at having to give up playing tennis because of injury and had thrown herself into her new hobby. If she had to live with her father, she’d need a hobby that engrossed her too, Aimee thought caustically, wondering what he would have to say to her tonight. Several of Ken’s golfing buddies had been at the O’Leary wedding, and she wondered had they made any comment about it.
    Well, her autocratic father, the esteemed Professor Davenport, wouldn’t be able to look down his aquiline nose at her career for much longer, she thought, strolling out on to the wraparound balcony of their penthouse. Aimee gave a deep sigh which came from the depths of her. Today was the day she had worked towards all her working life, and the prize had finally come to her. She’d been offered the position of managing director of a new company. Roger O’Leary and Myles Murphy, two of the country’s leading businessmen, had come to her with a proposal to set up their own events and catering company, which would cater for the very top-end clients – clients who didn’t have to ask the price of things, clients who wanted seriously to impress, clients to whom money was no object, clients like themselves, who owned helicopters and private jets, who holidayed in Sandy Lane and the Maldives. The mega-rich. The people thoroughly insulated from recession, who would never have to stint on their entertaining.
    It had been an exhilarating meeting. Roger had proudly introduced her to Myles, a tall, distinguished man in his late fifties who said little but took everything in, interjecting a pertinent comment here or there. A far different type to the loquacious Roger, whose enthusiasm for the venture could hardly be contained.
    ‘I’ve been thinking Celtic Carousing Events and Catering would be a good name,’ he declared exuberantly. ‘You know – the Celtic tiger and all of that. Let’s be a part of it.’ His little round face, glowing with excitement, reminded Aimee of one of those big cookies that had two currants for eyes and a red cherry for a nose. Aimee and Myles glanced at each other. ‘Tacky,’ she could almost hear Myles say.
    ‘Perhaps a bit obvious; a little more subtlety might work better,’ Myles murmured. ‘Especially now that the tiger’s more of a scrawny cat,’ he added dryly, referring to the economic downturn.
    ‘Oh!’ Roger was disappointed. Subtlety was not his strong point. He liked to be full on.
    ‘How about something like Hibernia, which is the ancient name for Ireland? Or Hibernian Festivities . . . Celebrations . . . Dreams . . .’ suggested Aimee.
    Myles nodded. ‘I like it,’ he approved. ‘More class.’
    ‘You see, I told you she was the woman for the job, Myles,’ Roger said, generously accepting defeat, rubbing his podgy little hands together and winking at her. ‘Now, with your contacts and ours, we can’t fail. We’ll rent some impressive offices, with good views, maybe here in Ballsbridge—’
    ‘A more central location would be better, actually, Roger, and with easy parking,’ Aimee pointed out. ‘Businesspeople like yourself who are in town a lot might find it less time-consuming