The Impossible Search for the Perfect Man

by Martyn, Susie

  Just before I leave, there’s the roar of a very expensive-sounding engine from outside, followed by the clip-clop of very high, very pointy heels as Amanda M-T makes her way into our office for just about the first time ever.

  ‘Hellair,’ she says in that silly way that posh people do, as she flips her highlights over her shoulder. ‘Do I need to register? Not me personally of course…’ and she giggles in a girly way as if no-one’s ever said that before, which they have, of course, gazillions of times.

  Agnes steps forward. ‘Good evening Mrs Mankly-Talbot. Can I take it you have a horse that you’d like us to look at?’

  It transpires that Amanda and Dick have bought Paris a little show-jumper. Only a little one. And it only cost thirty five thousand, she tells us, because after all, Paris does still have the sweet little horse she won at Hickstead on last year, but apparently this new little one was too good to miss. She waves her braceletted wrists around as she gesticulates flamboyantly and then I notice. I can’t miss them. Because Amanda may be stonking rich and drive an extremely fast car, but she also has massive calves. And I mean woppers. As well as a husband called Dick. I try not to snigger. It just goes to show, doesn’t it, that absolutely nobody has it all.

  When I get home, I make myself a cup of tea and settle down to call Leonie. I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. But it’s Pete who answers. Not sounding his usual self at all. I try to draw him out, but to be honest, I haven’t seen him in ages - not since Arian and I went our separate ways and my efforts are far from successful.

  ‘How are you Pete?’ I ask brightly. Not that I expect him to tell me.

  ‘Um, Fine. Thanks. And you? Leonie says you’re doing well in your new place?’ His words are slow, as though his brain is floating in glue.

  ‘It’s lovely. Come over with Leonie sometime, I’d love to see you.’ I genuinely would like to see him. Them. And slightly selfishly, I think it would be even better if he reported back to Arian that I’m doing absolutely just fine on my own...

  ‘Oh. Yes.’ He says absently, not sounding like Pete at all. This is very odd. He sounds tired, rather than disinterested. And he’s clearly not in the mood to talk.

  ‘I’ll ask Leonie to call you, okay?’ he says.

  ‘Great. Thanks. Bye then, Pete.’ But he’s gone before I even finish talking.

  No sooner have I put the phone down than it rings again. It can’t be Leonie already can it? It’s not. It’s Marcus. You could have knocked me down with a feather. Marcus? Calling me at home? I must have messed something up, is the first thought that comes to mind. I can’t imagine in a million years why else he would be calling me.

  ‘Hello Lou.’ Tired, but definitely friendly. I breathe out cautiously.

  ‘Hi Marcus. This is a surprise.’

  Then immediately think oh shit, he’s found out that it was me who set him up with the warty horse.

  There’s a brief silence. ‘Oh. Is it? Actually Lou...oh look, are you busy, or could I come over?’

  I’m flabbergasted. I’m not sure what’s going on here. We’ve never spoken about anything outside of work - until now. So either I’ve done something wrong or he thinks I fancy him, which I most definitely do not. He’s not my type. At all. But caught by surprise, I’m not quick enough.

  ‘Erm, okay,’ I say, not terribly enthusiastically.

  ‘Great. See you in a minute then.’

  Oh fuck. Okay, so I do not fancy him, I remind myself, but nor do I want Marcus in my cottage in its current state. He’ll think I’m a complete slut. Like a dervish I whirl around stacking magazines, plumping cushions and stacking the dirty plates more tidily in the sink so it looks like there’s fewer of them. Then, just as the doorbell rings, I catch sight of my flustered reflection in the mirror. Excellent. My normal ‘been through a hedge backwards’ look. Still, it’s too late to do anything about it. And it’s only Marcus, after all. Smoothing my hair, and with a deranged Elmer barking excitedly, I open the door.

  It’s okay, I tell myself. It looks as though Marcus has come straight from work anyway. He’s quite scruffy but actually, I like that.

  ‘Hello,’ I say brightly, at the same time he says hi, then we just stand there, smiling self-consciously at each other. Awkward doesn’t even begin to describe it and I’ve still no idea what he’s doing here.

  ‘Um, would you like a drink? Coffee? Wine?’ I offer.

  He looks tempted. ‘I could murder a beer if you’ve got one?’ Beer. Of course. And well, no. I don’t have any. I shake my head.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He looks slightly embarrassed at having asked. ‘Wine would be good?’

  I go to the kitchen where there’s quite a nice pinot grigio in the fridge. He follows, making approving comments about the cottage and asking things like how old it is. I get the feeling he’s as ill at ease as I am, which amuses me because I’ve never seen him anything other than ultra-confident and in control.

  I pour two glasses and pass one to him.

  ‘Cheers.’ We clink glasses and sit at my battered table. Elmer lays her bedraggled head adoringly on his lap and drools. Fickle bitch.

  ‘How are you settling in?’ I ask chirpily. A nice, neutral question.

  ‘Great, actually. I’m loving it! You’re nice people to work with.’

  Oh. I suddenly feel terribly guilty. About Henderson’s bloody horse.

  ‘Have you worked here long?’ he asks.

  ‘It feels like forever,’ I answer honestly. ‘In the best possible way. It’s actually only been about two years. Since my old horse was put to sleep.’

  ‘Oh.’ He frowns. ‘Do you have a horse now?’

  I shake my head. ‘My husband wasn’t keen. Said it was too much of a tie if we wanted to go away...’

  Then I stop because I don’t know what to say next. That my husband ran off with a tart, so I shouldn’t have listened to a single word he said, or the current version, which is that actually, I’m thinking about getting another one. Horse that is, not husband.

  Marcus surprises me. ‘I did hear about your husband. And I’m sorry. Er, actually I do know what it feels like. Well almost. I wasn’t actually married, but someone really messed me about. I have an idea what it’s like.’

  I find myself smiling at him. He’s being very nice and it’s very odd. I have to remind myself about how the female clients are always phoning and asking for him in breathy, girly voices, as if they’ve got nothing better to do with their day than play horses with the dishy new vet.

  I gather myself. ‘Well, I’m okay now. It could have been worse. And actually, I’m probably better off without him,’ I add for good measure, sounding far more of a hardnosed bitch than I’m feeling.

  Marcus shrinks back in his chair, looking most uncomfortable. Ha. Somehow it’s quite gratifying. He was probably thinking that poor, pathetic Louisa, still mourning the loss of her wayward husband, would be so very glad of his concern.

  By now though, Marcus has clearly thought twice about coming round here. He drains his glass rapidly and stands up. ‘Right. Well, I’m glad you’re okay.’ He gives me a quizzical look, which makes me feel rather dishonest. ‘That’s great. It’s good you’re doing so…fine. Erm, I’ll see you at work then.’

  And then he’s gone, leaving me more nonplussed than I’ve ever been in my life.

  6

  Another week or so ticks by, and with each passing day, life gets easier. People stop picking their way so carefully around me as they realise, unexpectedly, that I really am just fine on my own. I‘m starting to like that word. After all, I don’t a man to define who I am. And then something else truly amazing happens.

  Miles comes trudging into the office one morning, looking even more unhappy than usual and before long Agnes drags out of him what the problem is. It takes her all of about thirty seconds.

  ‘Flaming Daisy Mitchell is the problem, if you must know,’ he says glumly. ‘She’s got this horse - well several, actually.
They’re all beautiful animals, but this particular one keeps going quite lame. He’s not a youngster, and he’s a bit creaky, but in between times, he’s fine to go hacking. And today she told me she wants him put to sleep. Doesn’t want the bother of an animal that’s anything less than straightforward.’

  Miles looks really upset and pissed off. Unfortunately this kind of thing happens sometimes and it’s probably better than the poor horse being doped up and sold on to an uncertain future, but even so.

  ‘Oh dear,’ says Agnes. ‘You really don’t look happy about this.’

  Miles is frowning. ‘Trouble is, he’s a nice old horse with plenty of life in him. It just doesn’t seem right. He’s not even that old. He’s just an inconvenience as far as she’s concerned.’

  We’re all silent. None of us like the sound of this. Then Agnes speaks.

  ‘Well, it’s perfectly obvious isn’t it?’ she says, quite matter of factly, as if we were all completely stupid or something. ‘Louisa should have him.’

  My jaw drops wide open. Did she really just say what I thought she did?

  ‘There’s an empty paddock behind your cottage. Louisa. You know perfectly well. And even an old stable in the far corner. Old Charley Peach owns it. I’ve known him for years. Leave it to me.’ All spoken so firmly that none of us dare utter a word.

  She despatches Miles off up the drive to visit Paris’s new horse. After all, a despondent vet is the last thing we need moping around the office when we have so much work to do. And at least he’s safe from Paris, who still has a massive crush on Marcus.

  Agnes should be Prime Minister. I’m beginning to wonder if at the very least she’s a witch, but at any rate, she’s definitely extraordinary. Just a couple of hours later, she tells me that Charley Peach would be delighted to let me have it for a pittance of a rent and Agnes has already decided that the vets can keep an eye on Horace (the horse) if he needs them.

  And so the next day, when I get home from work, there is this huge gentle creature, mooching peacefully around in the long grass behind my cottage. Apparently Daisy Mitchell was delighted to wash her hands of him and so now it would seem, he is mine.

  Horace is lovely, a real gentleman, with the most impeccable manners. He’s dark bay with big, kind eyes and likes nosing gently in my pockets for sweets. How anyone couldn’t want him is unfathomable. It is absolutely love at first sight, as far as I’m concerned. Not so for Elmer, who’s extremely jealous and snarls at him. Then she eats his droppings.

  My days are getting busier. Seeing as it’s summer, Horace is turned out in the paddock day and night, but I like to go and spend time with him before breakfast and in the evenings, after work, I catch him up and groom him and in no time it’s as though he’s always been here.

  Emma loves him too and is quite envious. I’ve told her she can ride him whenever she likes, but she works such long days, she hardly ever has time. It’s one evening when we’re leaning on the paddock fence, waxing lyrically about how brilliant Horace is as he ambles around up to his knees in grass, that I broach my concerns about Jerome, the con-man astrologer. Emma, as I fully expect her to be, is instantly on the defensive.

  ‘Have you ever read his website Lou?’ she asks. ‘Only it’s quite uncanny how accurate he can be. It’s like he’s talking specifically to me… You should take a look sometime.’

  Perhaps I might, but I’m not telling her that.

  ‘And what about the times he gets it wrong then?’ I add confrontationally and more than a touch scathingly. ‘Don’t tell me - he’s always so accurate...’

  ‘Well,’ Emma is pensive. ‘Usually it relates to something that’s going on. I don’t know. It’s sort of helpful, honestly...’ She pauses. ‘You know, when my marriage went wrong, it was kind of a comfort. Everything he wrote seemed to confirm to me that I was doing the right thing, when I was finding it hard to be sure.’

  So that’s how it started. Jerome hooked her when she was at her most vulnerable. Poor Emma, if her only source of support was reading her stars. I can see I need some more ammunition. I’m determined to expose Jerome for what he really is, which is a crooked shyster who preys on defenceless women. I don’t why I think women particularly. Nor do I know why Emma is so vulnerable.

  ‘Why don’t you try a whole twenty four hours without tuning in to Jerome, including deleting those ridiculous texty things before you read them?’ I suggest brightly.

  Emma goes pink. ‘How do you know about the texts?’

  I give her a look. I mean, it’s just so obvious.

  ‘Maybe. I’ll think about it,’ she says, meaning well, but I know she won’t. She’s an addict, after all.

  I give up. But only for tonight.

  Miles comes over to check Horace. Or so he says. I think it’s just an excuse to come and admire him.

  ‘Nice old chap isn’t he?’

  We hang over the paddock fence again and gaze lovingly at my beautiful horse. I do a lot of that these days. Terrible time wasters, horses are.

  ‘I’m so glad you’ve taken him. Any time you’re worried, just let me know. He does have his moments.’

  Miles really does get far too attached to his patients.

  That evening, I get another surprise visitor, only this one hasn’t come to see my horse. It’s Leonie, looking pale and haggard, with dark circles under her lovely eyes. I feel a flicker of alarm.

  After I’ve made a pot of tea, we sit in the garden, so I can turn my chair and gaze lovingly at Horace.

  ‘So how’s Pete?’

  Leonie sniffs and a tear rolls down her cheek. I’m shocked. I can’t remember the last time Leo cried.

  ‘Terrible,’ she says, miserably. ‘Something’s dreadfully wrong, Lou. I even got to the point where I came out with it and asked him if he was having an affair. He went ballistic and threw his coffee mug at the wall. It really frightened me. It was his favourite one, too. Honestly Lou...’ Her huge brown eyes looked so sad. ‘It’s like he hates me. He can’t stand me being anywhere near him.’

  She picks up her mug of tea and sips it, trying to collect herself. ‘There’s another thing. He’s off sick from work. Apparently he semi-collapsed down route somewhere, and they had to fly him home as a passenger.’

  I sit there blinking at her. Blimey. That’s serious in the airline business, which is a most unforgiving environment. Poor, poor Pete. And poor Leonie too. The whole company will know by now. But far more important than that, there’s something seriously wrong.

  ‘At least one thing’s come out of it,’ she sniffs into a tissue. ‘The fleet manager wants him to see one of their doctors. He’s absolutely refused until now, but this time it looks as though he doesn’t have much choice. If he doesn’t go, he’s out of a job - it’s as simple as that. But he’s said he will and I’m glad. If someone can just tell us what’s wrong, then at least we can do something about it.’

  ‘When’s the appointment?’ I ask, hoping it’s soon.

  ‘Next week. Not too long.’

  But nor is it soon enough.

  Horace chooses that moment to wander over and obligingly place his great head close to Leo so she can stroke it. Very therapeutic, horses are. He doesn’t mind the tears rolling onto his nose one bit and just stands there with his eyes half closed, being comforting, while neurotic Elmer growls jealously from her lowly place at my feet. He ignores her. When you’re as wise and noble as Horace is, a scruffy dog with a loose screw isn’t a threat.

  Poor, poor Leo. What can possibly be wrong with Pete? Physically he seems quite okay, that’s what Leonie says, anyway. So what on earth can it be?

  7

  Oh my Lord. The parents are coming for Sunday lunch. Today. I’ve put it off as long as I can, and I’m steeling myself for the recriminations I know will be all too forthcoming from my mother. Dad will probably - and wisely - drink a little too much wine and fall asleep in the garden. I’d like to do the same. My mother isn’t easy at the best of times.

  I�
��m cooking leg of lamb, locally farmed, with jersey royals and asparagus. Mum’s bringing pudding. She insisted and I know better than to argue. It’s probably sherry trifle made from a packet, the only sherry, most likely, being in its title.

  Still, I tell myself. In a few hours it will all be over. For a few more weeks, or even months if I’m particularly lucky and maintain my air of elusiveness.

  Elmer barks ferociously when she hears their car. My mother’s never been a fan, but Elmer’s oblivious to this. She grabs hold of Mum’s skirt and wags her whole body delightedly before they’re even through the door. My mother brushes her off distastefully.

  ‘Darling. It’s not as nice as Plum Tree Cottage is it?’ she says sharply, her beady eyes glancing critically around in her search of something to slate, even though I spent a large part of yesterday cleaning and tidying.

  ‘Hello poppet.’ Dad at least looks pleased to see me. ‘Nice place you’ve got here. I like it.’

  Mum hmmph’s her disapproval. I kiss the cold cheek she proffers.

  ‘Come through to the kitchen and I’ll pour us some wine.’

  Already I’m tense as anything and they’ve been here precisely thirty seconds. I haven’t offered a guided tour, nor do I intend to. She’d take it as an opportunity to rip my new surroundings to shreds. For some unknown reason, my mother can rarely find it in her to say a good word about anything.

  ‘I see Arian let you keep the table?’ is the first thing she says, as she looks around the kitchen. I instantly rise to the bait.

  ‘Mum. It was always my table. Granny gave it to me, remember? He didn’t even like it.’

  There’s a warning note in my voice. Mum just adored Arian. I’ve tried to work out what it was, exactly, that endeared him to her so. Was it his glamorous job? His salary? His swanky car? Probably all of the above, thinking about it. And the fact that he cheated on her only daughter seems neither here nor there, because my mother, as I concluded some time ago, is an out and out snob.