Lola has every reason to be interested in who Paddy's marrying—because although she's his girlfriend, she definitely isn't the bride-to-be. Heartbroken, she flees the city for a cottage by the sea. But will Lola's retreat prove as idyllic as she hopes?

Not if journalist Grace has anything to do with it. She wants the inside story on the de Courcy engagement and thinks Lola holds the key. Grace knew Paddy a long time ago. But why can't she forget him?

Grace's sister, Marnie, might have the answer but she also has issues with the past. Her family is wonderful but they can't take away memories of her first love: a certain Paddy de Courcy. What will it take for Marnie to be able to move on?

And what of the future Mrs de Courcy... Alicia is determined to be the perfect politician's wife. But does she know the real Paddy de Courcy?

Four very different women. One awfully charming man. And the dark secret that binds them all...

Read the first pages of This Charming Man.

Lola

Day Zero. Monday, 25 August 14.25

The worst day of my life. When the first wave of shock released me from its fiendish grip, I couldn’t help but notice that Paddy hadn’t called me. Ominous. I was his girlfriend, the media was going wild that he was getting married to another woman, and he hadn’t called me.

Bad sign.

Called his private mobile. Not his ordinary private one, but the private private one that only I and his personal trainer have. It rang four times, then went to message, then I knew it was true.

End of world.

Called his office, called his home, kept ringing his mobile, left fifty-one messages for him – counted.

18.01

Phone rang – it was him!

He said, ‘You’ve seen the evening papers?’

‘Online,’ I said. ‘I never read the papers.’ (Not relevant, but people say the oddest things when in shock.)

‘Sorry you had to find out in such a brutal way. Wanted to tell you myself but some journalist – ’

‘What? So it’s true?’ I cried.

‘I’m sorry, Lola. I didn’t think you’d take us so seriously. We were just a bit of fun.’

‘Fun?’ Fun?

‘Yes, only a few months.’

‘Few?! Sixteen of them. Sixteen months, Paddy. That’s a long time. Are you really marrying this woman?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why? Do you love her?’

‘Of course. Wouldn’t be marrying her if I didn’t.’

‘But I thought you loved me.’

In a sad voice, he said, ‘Never made you any promises, Lola. But you are a great, great girl. One in a million. Be good to yourself.’

‘Wait, don’t go! I have to see you, Paddy, please, just for five minutes.’ (No dignity, but couldn’t help myself. Was badly distraught.)

‘Try not to think badly of me,’ he said. ‘I’ll always think fondly of you and our time together. And remember . . .’

‘Yes?’ I gasped, desperate to hear something to take edge off the terrible, unbearable pain.

‘Don’t talk to the press.’

18.05 to midnight

Rang everyone. Including him. Lost count of number of times, but many. Can be certain of that. Double, possibly triple figures.

Phone was also red-hot with incoming calls. Bridie, Treese and Jem – genuine friends – offered much comfort even though they didn’t like Paddy. (Never admitted it to me, but I knew.) Also many fake friends – rubberneckers! – ringing to gloat. General gist: ‘Is it true that Paddy de Courcy is getting married and not to you? Poor you. Is terrible. Is really, really terrible for you. Is so humILiating. Is so MORTifying. Is so SHAMEing! Is so – ’

Kept my dignity. Said, ‘Thank you for kind wishes. Must go now.’ Bridie came to see me in person. ‘You were never cut out to be a politician’s wife,’ she said. ‘Your clothes are too cool and you have purple highlights.’

‘Molichino, please!’ I cried. ‘Purple makes me sound like a . . . a teenager.’

‘He was too controlling,’ she said. ‘We never got to see you. Especially in the last few months.’

‘We were in love! You know what it’s like to be in love.’

Bridie had got married in past year, but Bridie unsentimental.

‘Love, yes, very nice, but no need to live in each other’s pockets. You were always cancelling on us.’

‘Paddy’s time is precious! He’s a busy man! I had to take what I could get!’

‘Also,’ Bridie said, ‘you never read the papers, you know nothing of current affairs.’

‘I could have learnt,’ I said. ‘I could have changed!’

Tuesday, 26 August

Feel the whole country is looking at me, pointing and laughing. Had boasted to all friends and many clients about Paddy and now they know he is marrying someone else.

My equilibrium destroyed. On a photo-shoot in the Wicklow Hills for Harvey Nichols Christmas catalogue, I ironed oyster-coloured silk bias-cut Chloe´ evening dress (you know the one I mean?) at too high a heat and burnt it! Scorch mark in the shape of the iron on the crotch of iconic dress worth 2,035 euro (retail). Destroyed. Dress was intended to be the pivot of the shoot. Was lucky they didn’t charge me (i.e. bill me, not have me arrested, but could be either, actually, now that I think about it).

Nkechi insisted on taking control – she is an excellent assistant, so excellent that everyone thinks she is my boss – because my hands were trembling, my concentration was in ribbons and I kept having to go to portaloo to vomit.

And worse. Bowels like jelly. Will spare you the details.

20.30–0.34

Bridie and Treese visited me at home and physically restrained me from driving round to Paddy’s apartment and demanding audience with him.

3.00

I woke up and thought, Now, will go! Then notice Treese was in bed beside me. Worse, was awake and prepared to wrestle.

Wednesday, 27 August 11.05

Constant loop in my head: He is marrying another woman, He is marrying another woman, He is marrying another woman. Then every few hours I think, What?! What do you mean, he is marrying another woman? As if discovering it for the first time, and SIMPLY CANNOT BELIEVE IT. Then am compelled to ring him, to try to change his mind, but he never picks up.

Then the loop starts again, then the surprise, then I have to ring him, then I get no answer – again and again and again.

Saw picture of this so-called Alicia Thornton. (In the newsagent buying a Crunchie when I saw it on the front page of the Independent.) Snapper had caught her coming out of her Ballsbridge offices. Hard to be certain but looked like she was wearing Louise Kennedy. Said it all. Safe. Elegant but safe.

Realized I recognized Alicia Thornton – she had been photographed four times with Paddy in glossy society pages over last few months. Caption had always read, ‘Paddy de Courcy and companion’. When photo number three appeared, I had felt emboldened enough to question him about her. He accused me of not trusting him and said she was a family friend. I believed him. But what family? He has no family!

"Marian Keyes is the undisputed Queen of all Irish chick lit. (Even more then dear Maeve Binchy.) Right off, you can tell Keyes is the real thing. Her work was always more like Roddy Doyle's black and funny Rabbit family series than Sex and the City. In fact, if she just mentioned shoes a little less and varied the "eyes darkening with desire" part in the sex bits, she'd be a right little Michael Chabon. Or an Austen. Original, vivid, universal. As a summer read it has my highest recommendation. An edifying, uplifting novel."
—The Globe and Mail

"All the hallmarks of a classic read: characters we care about, and hard-hitting topics such as alcoholism and domestic abuse, tackled with Marian's trademark honesty...full of her usual sincerity and charm."
—Kay Ribeiro, Heat

"A novelist constantly pushing against predictability, a master of character-delineation, who can mix farce and sex with serious social issues. This Charming Man is Dickensian in its scale, plotting and determination to force the reader to grasp some of the grim realities of today's Ireland. Chick-lit it isn't. A great read it is."
—Terry Prone, Irish Independent

"A dazzling dance with the devil...Her skill at creating a feeling of universal anxiety and impermanence, while also keeping the page-turning flow of the novel's various themes, is what makes Keyes shatter-proof."
—Kate Holomquist, Irish Times

"Her storytelling skills never falter...There is no better writer for constructing comic scenes and setting up a punchline...Marian Keyes writes real literature, and her writing is of the highest order. Someone should give this woman a Booker."
—Padraig Kenny, Sunday Tribune