Michael nodded his agreement, before saying sarcastically, ‘I know.’
Michael finished his drink, enjoying the burn as the whisky went down. He was pleased with Jeffrey Palmer. He would do a good job but, more than that, everyone would know that if Patrick Costello was still in the mix, Jeffrey Palmer wouldn’t have got a look in. It was Michael’s way of letting everyone know that he was his own man. He would make any changes he thought necessary, and on his own terms. He had to make sure the people around him were all his men. Patrick Costello had taught him the importance of loyalty, and how giving certain people not just your trust, but also the chance to earn from that trust, was worth more than anything. He knew the truth of that first hand, and now he was going to use that knowledge to his advantage. In his own way, he had loved Patrick Costello; he had been like a father to him. But, like Patrick, he knew that, where business was concerned, emotions had no place. He had the capacity to overlook such trifles; he had understood that when Patrick had insisted he carry out murder for him. He knew now that if he had failed, he would still be no more than a drone, a nobody, and that was something he would always thank Patrick Costello for. He had educated him on the finer points of being a player in the Life. Without him, Michael would be nothing.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Josephine was busy; she had cleaned the house from top to bottom, and now she felt she could face the task of clearing out her overfull wardrobes. She was piling clothes up on the floor, trying to decide which to take to the charity shop, but she was finding it hard, she needed all of them. She was happy, still pregnant, feeling good, and that was what she was focusing on. Michael was so wrapped up in his new role, he didn’t have time to think about her. That suited her, she was quite happy enjoying this by herself. This time it was going to be different, she felt that in every way. She felt stronger, more in control of everything this time. It was scary and exhilarating keeping such an enormous secret to herself.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored wardrobes. She could see the swelling under her clothes and she wanted to cry with happiness. She had to do it this time if it killed her. Unlike with the other pregnancies, she felt full of energy, without the familiar dragging feeling inside her belly, or the constant tiredness. She woke up feeling rejuvenated, ready for each new day. She had gradually lost contact with all her old school friends – they had all had babies, and she had not been able to stand it in the end. She still saw them socially, but that was about it. She had hated herself for the jealousy she had felt every time she had seen them hold the babies they had produced, hated herself for not being happy for them, for the bitterness she felt. It was nature, a natural thing that was expected of any woman, and yet she had been denied it over and over again. But not this time.
She heard Michael bounding up the stairs; as always he had come in search of her. It was so touching. She felt a rush of love wash over her. He stood in the bedroom doorway, and she marvelled at the sight of him. He was such a good-looking man, and he still had the power to excite her, make her want him.
‘You having a clear out, then?’
She smiled at him, happy to see him. ‘Not before time, Michael. I’m starting on your wardrobes next.’
He grinned. ‘Go for it. I’m enjoying seeing you so lively.’ He was quiet for a few moments before saying softly, ‘It suits you.’
Josephine laughed. ‘What suits me?’
He was beside her now, and pulling her into his arms. She loved the feel of him, he made her feel so safe and secure.
He kissed her forehead gently, before saying, ‘Being pregnant, Josephine. It suits you, darling. But when were you going to tell me?’
She pulled away slightly to look into his eyes, and she could see the sorrow there, mixed with bewilderment and happiness. ‘How long have you known, Michael?’
He hugged her to him closely. ‘A while, Josephine. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me yourself.’
She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. He knew, and now she felt a fool – of course he would have known. He wasn’t stupid. But she had really believed she had kept it secret, and that she had done so for his benefit, not hers.
‘Oh, Michael, I didn’t tell anyone, not a soul – no one knows. I thought if it all went wrong, I wouldn’t have to live with the feelings of inadequacy. I wouldn’t have to listen to the well-meaning clichés. If no one knew I could deal with it all myself.’