the first of her erogenous zones he’d discovered – her hands crept around his back, slid up under his t-shirt.
He spoke with his mouth on her throat; his words vibrated deliciously against her. ‘You’re worth every cent, young one. Just promise me you’ll think about it.’ Then he
lifted his head and she opened her eyes reluctantly. ‘Let’s meet Tony and Marie for a drink and talk to them; you can show them your portfolio.’
She pushed his head down into her neck again and buried her hands in his hair. ‘I’ll think about it, I promise. Now, where were we . . . ?’
And a few nights later, over drinks in Jury’s bar, the four of them had come up with a few jokey ideas for the wedding planner business. And a while after that, she and Marie had got
together and sorted out a few more serious ideas.
‘Kiss the Bride’, Limerick’s first wedding planner service, had slotted beautifully into the market gap. Marie and Tony included Laura’s designs as part of their overall
package, and from then on she was rarely out of work – christening invitations inevitably followed the wedding ones; restaurant menus happened through a contact of Donal’s in the
catering trade; company brochures came along now and again. Orders for various leaflets and booklets trickled in steadily. And now, thanks to a contact in the Art College, there was a potentially
very lucrative schoolbook contract in the offing.
Not all the work appealed to her – illustrating leaflets for the likes of boiler companies, manufacturers of computer components or general hardware stores she found pretty
soul-destroying. A few times she was asked to design a brochure for the kind of holiday centres she knew she’d run a mile from. Sometimes she had to work with writers who had quite definite
design ideas of their own, and weren’t too happy if Laura begged to differ. She stayed up one entire night trying to make a block of horrendous apartments look inviting enough for someone
actually to want to live in one.
But every now and again the fun jobs came along: a boutique needing to update its logo, invitations to a children’s party, a seaside-themed mural for a fish restaurant owner who was quite
happy to let Laura have her way. And sometimes, whatever she was working on, she would find herself stopping and smiling, and thanking whatever lucky stars were responsible for her being able to
make a living doing what she loved.
Eventually she found herself sharing a studio with two of her friends from Art College. It was small for three of them, and cold in winter, with not as much natural light as they would have
liked, and the rent climbed steadily in return for a glimpse of the Shannon in the distance; but they got on well and had a laugh, and rounded off each week with a few beers in the pub two doors
away.
Sometimes, especially when the jobs were plentiful, she felt guilty that it had all been so easy. Donal laughed when she confessed this to him.
‘My darling girl, it’s your skill that’s got you where you are – not luck. You’re a talented illustrator, but not any luckier than anyone else – apart from
the fact that you’re married to me, of course.’ She lifted her head from the sketchpad in front of her, but his face was expressionless. ‘That was a lucky night, when I walked
into The White House and put my eye on you.’
She grinned. ‘Yeah, lucky for you, managing to snag the glamorous young barmaid. Be serious, though – you know what I mean. Look at Andrew, slaving away in that horrible computer
company five days a week: two weeks off when someone else decides. Same old routine, day in, day out – it must drive him mad. Every day is different for me; unless I’ve a tight
deadline, I can get up when I want, go into the studio or stay and work here, stop when I’ve had enough. Every job is different from the last one. Why should my lot be so much
better?’
He shrugged. ‘Look, love, he’s your
He spoke with his mouth on her throat; his words vibrated deliciously against her. ‘You’re worth every cent, young one. Just promise me you’ll think about it.’ Then he
lifted his head and she opened her eyes reluctantly. ‘Let’s meet Tony and Marie for a drink and talk to them; you can show them your portfolio.’
She pushed his head down into her neck again and buried her hands in his hair. ‘I’ll think about it, I promise. Now, where were we . . . ?’
And a few nights later, over drinks in Jury’s bar, the four of them had come up with a few jokey ideas for the wedding planner business. And a while after that, she and Marie had got
together and sorted out a few more serious ideas.
‘Kiss the Bride’, Limerick’s first wedding planner service, had slotted beautifully into the market gap. Marie and Tony included Laura’s designs as part of their overall
package, and from then on she was rarely out of work – christening invitations inevitably followed the wedding ones; restaurant menus happened through a contact of Donal’s in the
catering trade; company brochures came along now and again. Orders for various leaflets and booklets trickled in steadily. And now, thanks to a contact in the Art College, there was a potentially
very lucrative schoolbook contract in the offing.
Not all the work appealed to her – illustrating leaflets for the likes of boiler companies, manufacturers of computer components or general hardware stores she found pretty
soul-destroying. A few times she was asked to design a brochure for the kind of holiday centres she knew she’d run a mile from. Sometimes she had to work with writers who had quite definite
design ideas of their own, and weren’t too happy if Laura begged to differ. She stayed up one entire night trying to make a block of horrendous apartments look inviting enough for someone
actually to want to live in one.
But every now and again the fun jobs came along: a boutique needing to update its logo, invitations to a children’s party, a seaside-themed mural for a fish restaurant owner who was quite
happy to let Laura have her way. And sometimes, whatever she was working on, she would find herself stopping and smiling, and thanking whatever lucky stars were responsible for her being able to
make a living doing what she loved.
Eventually she found herself sharing a studio with two of her friends from Art College. It was small for three of them, and cold in winter, with not as much natural light as they would have
liked, and the rent climbed steadily in return for a glimpse of the Shannon in the distance; but they got on well and had a laugh, and rounded off each week with a few beers in the pub two doors
away.
Sometimes, especially when the jobs were plentiful, she felt guilty that it had all been so easy. Donal laughed when she confessed this to him.
‘My darling girl, it’s your skill that’s got you where you are – not luck. You’re a talented illustrator, but not any luckier than anyone else – apart from
the fact that you’re married to me, of course.’ She lifted her head from the sketchpad in front of her, but his face was expressionless. ‘That was a lucky night, when I walked
into The White House and put my eye on you.’
She grinned. ‘Yeah, lucky for you, managing to snag the glamorous young barmaid. Be serious, though – you know what I mean. Look at Andrew, slaving away in that horrible computer
company five days a week: two weeks off when someone else decides. Same old routine, day in, day out – it must drive him mad. Every day is different for me; unless I’ve a tight
deadline, I can get up when I want, go into the studio or stay and work here, stop when I’ve had enough. Every job is different from the last one. Why should my lot be so much
better?’
He shrugged. ‘Look, love, he’s your
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