The Man of Her Dreams

by Kate McCabe

Genres: Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Piper McKenzie is young, beautiful and rich - the darling of the Dublin social scene. Married to handsome music promoter Charlie White and successful in taking over the family hotel chain, she looks to have it all. But when Piper discovers that her marriage is not what she thought it was, she's forced to question everything she has held sacred. Then news comes that could have devastating consequences for the future of the family firm, concerning her wayward brother Jack and his self-interested wife Corinne. When Piper escapes to Spain with her young daughter to try to piece back together her world, her path once again crosses with Eduardo Delgado, a doctor she had a love affair with years earlier whilst on holidays. But can a girl create a future on what-might-have-beens? Or can a broken marriage be mended by second chances?

Release date: May 1, 2013

Publisher: Hachette Ireland

Print pages: 384

Sample

When Piper McKenzie heard the captain announce that the plane was starting its descent, she put down her book, glanced out of the window and saw the sea suddenly appear. Then it was gone again and, in its place, a parched brown hillside studded with little whitewashed houses. Immediately, she swung into action. In quick succession, she folded her tray into the upright position and tightened the seatbelt around her waist. Then she shut her eyes and started to pray.

Piper had no fear of flying but she was terrified of landing. She had read somewhere that take-off and landing were when most accidents occurred. And she had taken the information very much to heart.

She gripped her armrests, prayed like mad and didn’t stop till she felt a heavy thump and heard a loud cheer go up from the other passengers. When she opened her eyes, the plane was safely taxiing along the runway to the terminal building. She thanked God and felt herself relax.

All at once, people were getting out of their seats and crowding the aisles while they dragged their luggage from the overhead bins. She smiled to herself. Each time she flew into Málaga airport, it was the same. All those pasty-faced travellers who had been shivering all winter just couldn’t wait to get off the plane and straight to their loungers beside the pool. She’d probably do the same herself, if she was in their shoes.

She slid her travel bag from under the seat and stood up to wait as the crowd pushed and shoved its way down the aisle. A tall, dark-haired man in a light linen suit stopped at her seat and indicated that she should go before him. ‘Please,’ he said.

Piper smiled and thanked him. At least there was one gentleman on board today. By the look of him, he was a businessman. The crowd moved towards the exit, like a human tide, and then it was her turn. The stewardess wished her a good day and Piper stepped out into the bright Spanish sunshine.

***

Twenty minutes later she arrived in the vast arrivals hall after collecting her luggage from the carousel. The place was packed but she quickly spotted her driver waiting at the barrier holding up a placard that read ‘SEÑORA McKENZIE’.

As she drew closer, she could see that he was a handsome young man, almost dwarfed by his chauffeur’s uniform and peaked cap. He welcomed her and gave his name as Pedro. Then he took a case in each hand and strode purposefully towards the exit, Piper following in his wake.

Once she was outside, the heat struck her like a smack in the face. But what impressed her most were the flowers. It was only April but already the place was ablaze with bright yellow, red and purple blooms. They were everywhere in pots, baskets and window boxes. That was when she knew for sure she was back on Spanish soil.

Pedro stowed her luggage in the boot of the car, took off his cap and wiped his forehead, then got into the driver’s seat and they set off. Before long, they had left the airport behind and were on the motorway. Down below she could see hotels and villas dotted along the coast and beaches crowded with people.

‘Did you have a good flight, Señora?’

‘Yes, thank you, very pleasant.’

‘Will you be here for long?’

‘Just a couple of days.’

‘I can tell you that the weather will be fine. No rain.’

‘That’s very good to know.’

The driver kept up a steady stream of conversation. Piper quickly realised that he was practising his English with her. They did it all the time. It was important to be able to speak English here on the Costa del Sol, particularly if you were in the tourist trade.

‘Have you been to the Costa before, Señora?’

‘Many times.’

‘Then you know the people like to celebrate. It is feria week in Marbella. Everyone will enjoy themselves. There will be eating and drinking and flamenco dancing.’

Piper loved flamenco: the throbbing guitars, the clacking of castanets, the women in their bright dresses with flowers in their hair, the men in their tight-fitting gaucho suits and dark hats, the intoxicating rhythm of the dance.

‘I am taking my novia to the feria. Her name is Carmencita. She is very beautiful. She likes the feria very much. Perhaps you will go too.’

Piper would certainly like to go to the feria but she doubted she would have time. She was here on her father’s behalf to look over a hotel he was interested in buying. ‘We’ll have to see.’

By now they had reached the outskirts of Marbella and their progress slowed as the streets got narrower and they encountered more traffic. But at last Pedro drove into the grounds of a hotel close to the seafront. He pulled up at the entrance and stopped. ‘We have arrived,’ he said.

Piper gazed out of the car. She checked the information she had been given. Hotel Azul was described as small and comfortable. It had thirty-two bedrooms on three floors, a lounge, dining room, café/bar with terrace, enclosed gardens with a swimming pool and a gate that led down to the beach. It seemed a fair description of the building she was looking at now.

She got out and tipped the driver. A porter in a red waistcoat came hurrying down the steps to collect her luggage. He was followed by a stout little man in a dark suit, who made an elaborate bow and introduced himself as the manager, Señor Hernandez.

‘Welcome to Hotel Azul, Señora McKenzie. We have been expecting you. I trust you are well. Your journey has gone to plan?’

‘My journey was perfect, thank you.’

‘Very good. Señor Guzman has called to say he will be here at four o’clock. He has instructed me to make you at home. So, if you would follow me, please?’

They went up the steps and into the lobby, Señor Hernandez leading the way and the porter struggling behind with the cases. Piper glanced about her: the lounge seemed neat and comfortable, quite spacious. They got into the lift and the manager pressed the button for the third floor. Then they were walking along a corridor. Señor Hernandez stopped when they came to a room at the end, produced a key and, with a flourish, pushed open the door.

Piper stepped into a beautiful room, with a large sliding window leading on to a bright terrace. She could see pots of crimson geraniums flaming in the sun. In the centre of the room was a table with a large bowl of freshly cut flowers. Above was a sparkling crystal chandelier. There was a writing desk, built-in wardrobes, a dressing-table and, to the side, an en-suite bathroom.

The manager beamed. ‘Do you like it, Señora?’

‘Yes, indeed, it’s beautiful.’

‘It is the bridal suite. You will find drinks in the mini-bar. And there is a menu on the writing desk. If you wish to have something to eat, please call Room Service and they will be happy to oblige.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’

‘I don’t think so.’

Hernandez smiled again, made another elaborate bow and was gone.

Piper opened the sliding door and walked out on to the terrace. Down below, she could see trim lawns, trees and flowers, and in the centre the calm blue water of the swimming pool. The beach and the sea seemed almost within touching distance. Yachts scudded on the horizon. What a magnificent view, she thought. I could sit here all afternoon.

But she had things to do. She returned to the room and drew the curtains. Then she undressed and went into the bathroom. As she stepped under the shower and felt the cold water hit her skin, she remembered what the manager had told her. The bridal suite, she thought. That’s interesting. She thought of her own honeymoon, just a few years earlier, and the high expectations she had entertained.

They hadn’t all been realised.

Some jealous people muttered that Piper had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Usually they said it behind her back, never to her face, for Piper didn’t take criticism lightly.

Her father was Henry McKenzie, a self-made man with a personal fortune of at least €50 million earned from his hotel empire, which he had built up from nothing in the space of thirty years. The family lived in a magnificent mansion on Howth Head, with stunning views over Dublin Bay. Henry kept a vintage Mercedes Benz in the garage, a yacht in the marina, and a holiday villa in Nice on the French Riviera. It was meant to be a retreat where he could get away from the pressures of business, but he worked so hard that he rarely found time to use it.

Henry and his wife, Rose, were not aristocrats. They were humble people who had never forgotten the hardship and poverty of the small farms where they had been reared in the west of Ireland. They knew the value of hard work and had tried to instil that understanding in their children, Piper and her older brother Jack. The pair had been sent to private schools because Rose, in particular, placed a high value on the benefits of a good education.

Sadly, Jack had shown little talent for study. He was a lackadaisical student with more interest in sport than books and dropped out of school at the first opportunity. He now worked as a manager in one of the family’s hotels and played rugby in his spare time for the local club, Suttonians.

Piper was different. She was the clever child, who had studied hard and passed her Leaving Certificate exams with distinction, gaining enough points to secure a place on almost any university course she wanted. Instead, she had chosen to study hotel management, and now worked closely with her father, helping him to run the business.

But her good fortune didn’t stop with wealth and intelligence. She had also been blessed with good looks. By the age of eighteen when she had left adolescence behind, she stood five feet seven inches tall, with a trim figure, long, slender legs, blue eyes, blonde hair and the face of a Botticelli angel.

Of course, she had men beating down the doors to woo her. But Piper had a high opinion of her own self-worth and wasn’t about to throw herself away on the first smooth-tongued Romeo who crossed her path. She had dozens of boyfriends, but if they didn’t hold her attention after a few weeks, she discarded them, like cast-off handbags.

By the time she was twenty-two, many of her friends were secretly whispering that Piper would never marry. She had set the bar too high. No mortal man could ever match her expectations. Then she ran into Charlie White.

***

They met one evening in Aunt Polly’s Boudoir, an exclusive club off Grafton Street where visiting rock stars and celebrities gathered to escape the attention of their fans. Piper being Piper, she had managed to secure a coveted membership card. She was enjoying a night out with some girlfriends when someone introduced her to Charlie. From the get-go, electricity sparked between them.

Charlie was twenty-eight, which might have accounted for some of the attraction, but he was also stunningly handsome. He was six feet tall, well-built, dark-haired and very good-looking. He had a droll sense of humour and a quick line in smart talk. He was in the music business and managed a rock band called Hell’s Kitchen, which gave him an edgy street cred. Piper thought at last she had met the man of her dreams. Within weeks they were seeing each other almost every night.

Not everybody was happy about it. Her mother, especially, was nervous about Charlie’s intentions.

‘What kind of job is band manager?’ Rose wanted to know.

‘It’s exciting, Mum. Charlie meets all these important people in the music industry. He gets invited to glamorous parties. Mick Jagger is one of his friends.’

Rose crinkled her nose. ‘I’m not sure that’s any recommendation. How do you know he’s not after your father’s money?’

‘Because he doesn’t need it. He’s got plenty of his own. The music industry is very lucrative.’

‘That doesn’t mean anything. Some people can never get enough money.’

‘Not Charlie. I think he’d still love me if I didn’t have a penny.’

‘Has he got a roving eye?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know damned well what I mean. Is he interested in other women?’

Piper was shocked. ‘Not at all! He only has eyes for me.’

‘Well, let me give you some advice. Keep your legs crossed till he puts a ring on your finger. Then you’ll know if he’s serious or not.’

Before long, Charlie and Piper were the best-known item in Dublin, the acknowledged king and queen of the social scene. The photographers adored them and the gossip columnists were forever writing stories about them. Their pictures were rarely out of the tabloids, coming out of nightclubs or going into parties in fancy hotels. Piper loved every moment. She couldn’t get enough of the glamour and the limelight. She knew that thousands of women would have cut off an arm for just a little of what she had.

After just six months, Charlie proved her mother wrong and proposed. There was no question of Piper turning him down. By now she was madly in love. She thought that, with Charlie as her husband, her life would be complete. But she kept him waiting for another two weeks before she accepted, just to let him know that she wasn’t desperate.

They were married in her local church, the wedding of the year. The road was blocked for half a mile with reporters jostling for position and celebrities trying to park their Jaguars.

Piper looked radiant as she glided down the aisle on Charlie’s arm. The triumphant notes of the organ swelled up to the ancient rafters. The congregation rose as one from their seats and their applause followed her as she passed. In row after row, she saw smiling faces.

As the couple walked from the church into the bright morning sunlight, more people pressed forward eager to catch a glimpse. The official photographer pushed through, weighed down with cameras, and indicated that the groom should kiss the bride. She tilted her head and felt Charlie’s soft lips brush her cheek as the moment was recorded for posterity. Then people were showering them with confetti, blithely ignoring the signs that forbade littering the church grounds.

By now, the groomsmen and the bridesmaids had also filed out of the church and the photographer was lining them up for more pictures, fluffing up the folds of Piper’s dress and squeezing the group closer together so that he could fit them all in. Right on cue, Piper displayed the famous smile that had lit up the pages of dozens of newspapers.

‘Look into each other’s eyes,’ the photographer said, and Piper turned to her husband and gazed soulfully into his face. ‘Now, if you would please hold your bouquet a little higher …’

She followed his instructions and the photographer went down on one knee and shot yet more pictures.

The congregation was pouring out of the church and the bridal party was in danger of being engulfed. The photographer shook his head in dismay. ‘That’s all we can do for now,’ he said, bowing to the inevitable. ‘We’ll have to finish the shoot at the reception.’

As Piper and Charlie passed out of the gates of the church, mayhem ensued. A horde of press photographers and reporters burst past the posse of burly security guards and descended on them, like a swarm of magpies. Piper continued to smile as the guards forced a way through to the waiting limousine, she and Charlie following. Piper stepped into the car, drew her dress in behind her and sat down. Charlie got in beside her. The door closed and the driver began to make his way slowly through the throng.

She felt Charlie’s arm slip round her shoulders. She gazed into his handsome face as he drew her close and kissed her, not a mere peck for the photographer but a deep kiss, brimming with passion. ‘I’m glad that’s over,’ he murmured. ‘Now it’s official. We’re man and wife.’

‘Yes,’ Piper whispered.

‘You know I love you,’ Charlie went on. ‘The memory of this day will be engraved on my heart for ever.’

Piper closed her eyes. She had dreamed of her wedding day since she was a little girl. She had prepared for it for months, endured endless sessions with the dressmaker, spent countless hours poring over guest lists and menus, talked to florists and caterers, and prayed that everything would go off just right.

And it had. The weather had been perfect – a bright, sunny May morning without a cloud to dull the sky. She knew she looked gorgeous in her beautiful silk dress. The media had their photographs. Tomorrow her face would be splashed all over the front pages.

Beside her sat one of the most sought-after men in Dublin. Ahead of her was a lavish reception, to be attended by the great and good of Irish society. And then they were off on honeymoon – two weeks in a sun-drenched hideaway with nothing to do but relax and enjoy their good fortune.

Piper thought she would never be happier.

***

That had been four years ago. Now she put all her energy into her marriage and the family business. She had a three-year-old daughter, named Sofía, and a live-in nanny, Margie Cooke, so she could continue to work with her father. People said Piper had finally grown up.

But not everything had turned out as she had hoped. Charlie’s work had continued to grow as Hell’s Kitchen’s career took off. It took up most of his time. He was constantly negotiating contracts with promoters and recording companies so she saw less and less of him. Even when he was at home, his phone was rarely silent until she insisted that he turn it off. Piper resented the way his work intruded into their married life. She wanted him to herself, and didn’t like sharing him with strangers. They had argued about it, and Charlie had promised to slow down but he never did.

Sadly, the wonderful future she had hoped for with her husband was colliding with cold reality. There were even times when she began to wonder if her mother had been right and she had made a terrible mistake by rushing into marriage with Charlie White.

Piper stepped out of the shower, dried herself and put on a light dress. She took a bottle of mineral water from the mini-bar, poured it into a glass, added some ice and went to sit on the terrace. She took out her phone and rang home.

‘How is my darling daughter?’ she asked, when Margie answered.

‘Oh, Piper, it’s you! Did you get to Spain all right?’

‘Yes, everything went to plan. Is all okay at home?’

‘We’re fine. Sofía is right here beside me. We’re reading a story. Would you like to talk to her?’

‘Sure, put her on.’

Her little daughter was on the line at once. ‘When are you coming home, Mummy?’

Piper smiled. ‘I’ve just got here, honey. Are you being a good girl?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you behaving yourself for Margie?’

‘Yes, Mummy. Will you bring me a present?’

‘What would you like?’

‘A dolly.’

‘I’ll bring you a Spanish one. You can start thinking of a name for her. But I want you to promise you’ll do whatever Margie tells you.’

‘I promise.’

‘I love you, sweetheart. I’m missing you.’ She felt a tug at her heart-strings as she ended the call. She hated being separated from her daughter.

Next, she tapped in her father’s number. ‘I’ve arrived.’

‘How was the flight?’

‘Smooth as silk.’

‘Well, I don’t need to ask about the weather. I’ve already checked. Twenty-two degrees Celsius. Not too hot for you?’

‘Not at all. I love it.’

‘You’re at the hotel?’

‘Yes.’

‘Room okay?’

‘It’s beautiful. They’ve given me the bridal suite.’

She heard her father laughing. ‘Probably the best room in the house. What’s your initial impression of the place?’

‘It looks clean. The staff seem smart and efficient. It’s close to the beach. There’s a stunning view of the sea from my terrace.’

‘Have you seen Guzman yet?’

‘He’s meeting me at four to take me on a tour of inspection.’

‘You know what to look for – hygiene, comfort, defects and potential problems. Make sure he shows you the kitchens. That’s important.’

‘I know, Dad.’

‘Don’t let him try to negotiate with you. Just find out how keen he is to sell. Keep your cards close to your chest.’

‘Okay. I’ll have more to report tomorrow. Love to Mum.’

There was a click and the line went dead.

Finally, she rang Charlie but was put through to his message-minder. She wasn’t surprised. Getting through to Charlie was like getting an audience with the Pope. She left a message for him to ring her as soon as he was free, then cancelled the call.

She went back out to the terrace, lay down on a lounger and let the sun warm her face. From somewhere near the beach, guitar music was drifting up to her on the breeze. Hotel Azul was small, thirty-two bedrooms in all, what was known in the trade as a boutique establishment. Her father had heard about it on the grapevine from one of his friends and sent Piper to carry out some reconnaissance. Once she had completed the inspection, she would type up a report and that was her work done. He would make the final decision about whether or not to buy.

It was very pleasant here. She felt herself relax. She closed her eyes and was dozing off when her phone rang.

‘Miss McKenzie?’

‘Yes.’

‘Guzman here. I’m on my way to see you. I should be with you in fifteen minutes. Can I take it that the staff are looking after you properly?’

‘Yes, indeed.’

‘Good. I’ll meet you in the foyer. I’m looking forward to talking to you.’

‘Me too,’ Piper said.

She got up quickly and went back into her room. For this meeting, she would have to dress up a little. She had brought a grey business suit. She went to the wardrobe where she had earlier hung her clothes and pulled it out, then put it on with a plain white blouse and black heels, brushed her hair and applied a little makeup. She selected a plain gold chain for her neck. She was just adding the finishing touches when the concierge rang to say that Señor Guzman had arrived.

Piper locked the door and went down in the lift. She found a tall, dark-haired man waiting. As she approached, he turned towards her. Señor Guzman had an olive complexion, a tiny moustache and creases around his eyes that told her he was about forty. He grasped her hand warmly and addressed her in perfect English, with only a trace of an accent. ‘My dear Miss McKenzie, it’s so good to see you. I hope you are rested after your journey?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘How is your dear father?’

‘He’s very well.’

‘Please give him my kind regards when you return. Now, you are here to see the hotel. Would you like a cup of tea before we begin?’

‘No, thank you,’ she replied. ‘I’m anxious to get to work.’

‘In that case, where shall we start?’

‘With the kitchens,’ Piper said.

She had brought a small voice recorder to note her observations. The drawback was that Señor Guzman would hear everything she had to say, but that couldn’t be helped. The alternative was to write notes, which would take for ever.

Señor Guzman led the way to a large area at the back of the hotel. The staff had obviously been warned that the owner was on the premises and were on their best behaviour.

The head chef and his assistants stood aside in their starched white aprons and watched silently as Piper inspected the polished surfaces, the ovens, the cooking utensils, the freezers and food cupboards. She knew how jealously chefs guarded their territory and resented intruders but she wasn’t going to let that deter her. She smiled politely as she continued her inspection and recorded her observations. It took forty-five minutes. Then Señor Guzman led her to the bedrooms.

She looked behind furniture and on window ledges for dust, opened wardrobes, inspected baths and showers. Then it was the turn of the games room, the laundry, the reading lounge and the bar. It was seven o’clock when they finally arrived in the dining room, with its large bay windows looking out on the gardens and the pool. Piper switched off her recorder.

‘We still have the gardens to see,’ Señor Guzman said.

‘Why don’t I leave that till the morning? The sun will be out. It will give me a better impression. There’s no need for you to come with me.’

‘As you wish. . .