An Eligible Bachelor

by Veronica Henry

In the hallway she turned to him, dropping her bag and letting her coat slide to the floor. He wrapped his arms around her and they kissed a kiss that she wanted to preserve for ever. It was so right, so full of promise: it fizzed with anticipation, yet at the same time it cemented the feeling they obviously both shared, that they had each found something special.

  And that first time Honor went to bed with him, she couldn’t deny his touch was magical. She quivered at the mere brush of his fingertips as he ran his hands over her, knowing instinctively where to touch. For the first time in her life she lost control, begging him to stop yet pleading with him to carry on. Now she understood how ecstasy could be agony. He moved her to a higher plane. She’d always enjoyed sex, but this was something different. This was verging on the immoral. It turned her into an animal, driven by a new set of needs, with an insatiable appetite and constant craving for him. And he seemed just as hungry for her.

  The first few weeks were perfect.

  Out of bed, as well as in, they enjoyed each other’s company. They had a hectic social life, combining her friends and his, and were out as often as they could be, bearing in mind they both worked sometimes unsociable hours. They ate out, drank out, danced, partied, entertained, went to the theatre and the races, and became must-have guests at most social events in Bath: charity dinners and balls, fashion shows and gala evenings, wine-tastings and concerts. Honor was getting by on an average of five hours sleep a night. She was as high as a kite on the thrill of it all, and it didn’t detract from her work. If anything, it made her more focused and efficient – the Jefferson went from strength to strength, and Maddox was delighted. There was only one thing he had reservations about, and that was Johnny.

  ‘Watch him,’ he cautioned Honor strongly one day, and when she protested he said nothing.

  After three months, Honor heard Maddox’s words ringing in her ears. Johnny was becoming increasingly irresponsible and unreliable. He swore undying love then disappeared for days on end, not answering her calls. It drove her to despair and distraction. And he drank far, far, far too much. When she remonstrated, or voiced concern, he poured scorn on her, making her feel like a killjoy, a stick in the mud. His friends were on the whole like him – hard living, hard drinking – and Honor was never entirely comfortable in their company. They were wealthy, self-assured and rather ruthless. She found it disconcerting that Johnny fitted in with them so well. And gradually she noticed her friends drawing back – the supper invitations weren’t quite so forthcoming. Was it because Johnny was a bit full-on, always having to be the centre of attention at the dinner table, coming on to all the women? On more than one occasion Honor had seen her female friends exchanging glances when Johnny had flirted with them. At first they had giggled and blushed under his innuendo; after a while they were just uncomfortable with it, presumably because Honor was their friend. Honor wondered what he got up to on the evenings out when she couldn’t accompany him, when he hit on women who had no loyalty to her. It was obvious Johnny was a pathological flirt. The question was, how far did he take it when she wasn’t there?

  After six months, she realized she was thoroughly unhappy, as his cavalier attitude began to eat away at her. The more she complained, the worse he became, so she stopped complaining and became morose and miserable instead. When they were together she was twitchy and irritable; when they were apart she tortured herself, imagining him sliding those magic hands up another girl’s leg. She knew he did it because she’d seen him, on numerous occasions, though when she remonstrated he just laughed. It meant nothing, he assured her. Then don’t do it, she wanted to scream but didn’t, knowing that to pull on the choke chain would make him strain further at the leash.

  She began to wonder if she could live without him. No one had ever matched the thrill he could give her. Everyone else paled into insignificance. And he could still reduce her to putty. But was that thrill worth the accompanying agony? He was, she decided, like the most insidious class A drug, the one that gave you a high you couldn’t live without, and a subsequent craving that superseded common sense. She had to make a decision. Were the few occasions that he made her feel a million dollars, brought her to the brink of mind-blowing, earth-shattering ecstasy, worth feeling miserable and worthless the rest of the time? After all, it wouldn’t be long before her work started to suffer. She was keeping it together, but her increasing preoccupation and shattered nerves were going to take their toll eventually. She was jumpy and irritable, a constant knot of worry in her stomach. And she felt sick, couldn’t eat. Maddox pulled her in and gave her a roasting.

  ‘For God’s sake, you look like a heroin addict. What are you playing at? Where’s your self-respect? Dump him. This is not what it’s all about.’

  ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘Yes, I do. He makes you scream when you come, right?’

  Honor looked at Maddox in horror. He gave her a cynical grin.

  ‘Honey, I wrote the movie. Ten times over, just changed the names. Trust me. The guy’s a bum. He’s never going to give you what you really want. And the sex thing?’ He shrugged. ‘If you want your pussy to rule your life, then carry on. But there’s more to life than multiple orgasms.’

  Honor managed a resigned smile.

  ‘That’s easy for you to say’

  ‘You just have to find something else to fill the hole. If you’ll pardon the pun.’ Maddox twinkled apologetically. ‘It’s like any addiction. You can recover.’

  Honor found it chilling that Maddox had used the same metaphor she had. But it helped her realize she was addicted to Johnny, and he was doing her no good. As she drove back from the Jefferson that evening, she decided to take control. She’d talk to him that weekend, tell him she wanted a break. Then she’d be able to see if she could live without him.

  Once she had made the decision, she felt happier. She fell asleep feeling calmer than she had done for weeks, and actually slept, instead of waking up and torturing herself about what Johnny was up to, how he would behave while they were out over the weekend, whether he would phone and cancel without telling her what he was doing instead: all the things that had reduced her to a nervous wreck over the past few weeks.

  But the next morning she woke feeling sicker than ever. She drew on her dressing gown, stumbled to the bathroom and threw up. She finished retching and sat on the floor in front of the loo, pushing back her hair from her sweaty forehead with a trembling hand as a terrible thought occurred to her. She’d felt queasy for a few days. They had been out for a Chinese the previous Saturday and it hadn’t agreed with her. But surely that still couldn’t be making her feel ill?

  There was another possibility.

  Even sicker with dread, she pulled on a tracksuit and made her way down to the parade of shops at the end of the road, where there was a chemist. There was no point in speculating…

  As soon as her suspicions had been confirmed, Honor phoned in sick, praying that Maddox wouldn’t take it upon himself to call and interrogate her. When he had an idea he was like a dog with a bone, and she would have to be in a coma for him to leave her in peace. Thankfully, he was scheduled in for tennis, one of his other passions, and a lunch, so she should have the morning at least with no interruption.

  She sat on the sofa cross-legged, clutching her tummy, while she decided what the hell to do, wishing for the first time in her life that her mother was in the country. Even though Rene wasn’t the cuddly, comforting type, she was decisive and no-nonsense. She’d certainly have an opinion, and she wouldn’t be shocked or judgemental.

  At first, Honor couldn’t believe that she’d made such a classic and clichéd mistake, when she was so organized and sensible. She never went overdrawn, was never late paying her credit card bill, double-checked her bank statements against her cheque book stub, had regular smear tests and dental appointments, serviced her car annually and kept it topped up with oil and water and checked her tyre pressure before a long journey. How could someone that efficient be ca
ught out? But then her life recently, with its irregular hours, had played havoc with her body clock. The pill she was on required her to be meticulous. Somewhere along the line she had been too slapdash with her contraception. She was supposed to take her pill at the same time each day, but she remembered, with a twinge of regret, that twice she’d stayed over at Johnny’s unexpectedly and had taken it eight hours late, reassuring herself that her body couldn’t really know what the time was, and a third of a day couldn’t really make that much difference. But obviously it could.

  She’d taken a risk and she’d been caught out. And the consequences nearly took her breath away. She wondered just how many women had been in her situation, their lives turned upside down because of a split second, a fusing of two tiny cells. Millions, probably. Her only consolation was that many of them would have been in a far worse predicament than she was. Her eyes filled with tears as she conjured up images of terrified young girls subjected to hideous indignity with knitting needles and bottles of gin.

  Without even thinking about it, she knew a termination was out of the question. Honor wasn’t religious, but she was a very firm believer in what goes around comes around. She only ever did things that she was comfortable with. She knew absolutely that she wouldn’t be able to live with having a baby aborted. That if she ever had trouble conceiving later, she would only have herself to blame. And if she ever had other children, she would never be able to sit down and tell them she had disposed of one of their siblings. She was twenty-nine. Hardly a gymslip mother. An abortion would just be for her convenience; the flushing away of a nuisance. That didn’t sit well with Honor in the least. She believed in facing up to her mistakes.

  Besides… a baby.

  She might be shocked. She might have cursed herself for her carelessness. But, strangely, she wasn’t frightened. She’d always wanted children one day: she wasn’t one of those career girls who grimaced at the prospect of losing her freedom and her figure.

  And obviously this baby was meant to be. After all, she could have gone on for years without making a conscious effort to procreate. There were hundreds of articles in the papers about desolate women who’d achieved huge success but failed to find their perfect partner and had therefore missed the baby boat. Honor couldn’t think of anything sadder. What would be the point of her being the female equivalent of Rocco Forte, but without issue?

  This baby wasn’t a mistake. This baby was showing her the way forward. Otherwise, she might have been seeking the next step on the career ladder, spending another five years increasing her power and her salary – and for what? A few more designer suits in the wardrobe and the chance to boss a few more people around?

  There was only one thing that made her falter, and that was what to do about Johnny. The night before, she’d gone to bed resolving to put their relationship on the back burner. But a baby turned all that upside down. A baby would mean some sort of commitment, perhaps moving in together, maybe even marriage.

  It was this that made Honor uncertain. She tried to reassure herself. Perhaps it was what Johnny needed to calm him down. A sense of responsibility and duty might give him some focus; make him grow up. They could make it work. Their relationship wasn’t all black: they’d had, still did have, some wonderful times. They could make each other laugh. She’d just have to find a way to deal with his dark side. Or maybe his dark side would dissipate.

  She tried to think about it in practical terms. He had a good salary as a vet. She could take maternity leave. Between them they could afford a nanny when she went back to work. She could sell her flat – it would give them a good deposit on a house somewhere. Try as she might, Honor couldn’t see a flaw in the plan. But then, she was a natural optimist.

  To misquote Peter Pan, she thought to have a baby would be an awfully big adventure.

  At five o’clock, Honor had a shower, got dressed and composed herself. She’d spent all afternoon mentally rehearsing her speech to Johnny. She would make it clear she wasn’t putting any pressure on him. It was her deal; her mistake. But as she pulled on her coat and went out to her car, she felt excited. She had a vision in her head of a little stone cottage somewhere just outside Bath, with a cosy kitchen, babygros drying on the Aga, Johnny coming in from work and giving the baby its bath while she put the finishing touches to their supper…

  She inched her way through the rush-hour traffic with everyone else trying to leave the city, and finally made it on to the road to Bradford-on-Avon. Johnny lived in a converted barn adjoining the farm of one of his wealthy clients, a barrister whose wife and daughters were horse mad. Johnny treated their horses in return for a nominal rent. The barn was thick with dog hair and mud, coffee cups and wine glasses, empty beer cans and take-away cartons. Honor had long given up trying to restore any order to the bachelor squalor. Her eyes flicked towards the digital clock on her dashboard. It was six thirty on a Thursday evening. He’d have finished his surgery by now; he’d be home having a shower or a power nap before going out. She turned into his drive, hoping against hope he would be there, suddenly needing his reassurance. He’d come through for her, she felt sure he would.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she drew up beside his filthy Audi estate. She jumped out of her car and ran to the back door. She could feel the tears welling up already; she knew she wasn’t going to be able to break the news calmly and with dignity. She just wanted to feel his arms around her.

  The news was on the telly; his jacket was on the breakfast bar, next to an open bottle of Becks. He must be in the bedroom getting changed.

  ‘Johnny!’ she called out, and pushed open the bedroom door.

  Underneath his Homer Simpson duvet cover were two heads. Johnny and his client’s leggy nineteen-year-old daughter Chloe. Chloe peered through the gloom.

  ‘Oh fuck,’ she said, then prodded the figure next to her. ‘Johnny, it’s the missus.’

  Honor stood stock-still for a moment, surveying the scene with horror, and then turned and fled.

  Later that evening Johnny had rung on the bell of her flat, wanting to explain.

  ‘What, exacdy?’ she’d snarled at him over the intercom.

  ‘It wasn’t what it looked like,’ he pleaded.

  ‘Please,’ said Honor wearily. ‘Just leave me alone. I’m going away for a fortnight. I’m taking the leave that’s owing to me. I’ll talk to you when I get back and not before. OK?’

  She hung up the phone. Thankfully, he seemed to get the message – she watched from the window as he drove away. Relieved that she’d bought herself some time by putting him off the scent, she sank down into the chair in her kitchen and put her head in her hands, wondering what on earth she was going to do.

  She had to go away. She couldn’t face seeing Johnny again. Not even for a moment. The nausea of pregnancy was nothing compared to the sickness she felt when she conjured up the image of him in bed with Chloe. She needed a clean break. She pulled a notebook and pen out of the kitchen drawer, and began to write lists. And, more importantly, do her sums. By ten o’clock that evening, she thought she had a plan. Utterly exhausted, she fell into bed, praying that she would sleep and wouldn’t be tortured by images of her treacherous lover in bed with a nineteen-year-old nymphet.

  The following morning she phoned the hotel to say she was going on sick leave immediately, and that she was handing in her notice. It was only half an hour before Maddox turned up. She let him in resignedly. She owed him at least part of an explanation.

  ‘What’s the little snake done?’ he demanded. ‘Dumped you? Cheated on you? Come on, Honor. I want to help.’

  ‘Look, Maddox. It really doesn’t matter what’s happened, because you can’t change it. But I’ve got to hand in my notice. I’ve got to move on.’

  Maddox was beside himself. He threatened one minute to sue her, then the next tried to shower her with vast sums of money to lure her back.

  ‘No one else understands how I want this place run,’ he grumbled.

 
‘I’m sorry’ Honor was trenchant. Then the colour drained from her face and she fled the room to be sick. When she came back, Maddox surveyed her beadily from behind his horn-rimmed glasses.

  ‘You’re pregnant,’ he said accusingly. And when she didn’t reply he knew he’d hit the nail on the head. ‘No problem. I’ll pay for a full-time nanny, and you can have a room at the hotel for the kid so you can see it whenever you want while you’re working. And you only need to work part-time. Just to keep the place afloat. You’re my right hand, Honor.’

  But endless wheedling had no effect. Honor felt as if she was letting him down, this funny little East Coast American with his yellow jumpers and his crisp chinos and his hair parted on the side, who’d given her so many opportunities. But as much as Maddox was a mover and shaker, a man that made things happen, he couldn’t turn the clock back for her.

  ‘I’ve got to leave Bath, Maddox,’ she said wearily.

  ‘What’s the bastard done to you?’

  ‘Nothing. But if you tell him anything, or where I am, I’ll burn your hotel to the ground,’ she threatened.

  Maddox knew when it was time to make a tactical withdrawal. Determined to win her over eventually, he gave her a hug and told her to call him any time of day or night for advice, counselling, ‘or just confirmation that the guy is a grade A piece of shit’. Honor smiled. Maddox could always be relied upon to tell it like it was, though if he knew the real truth she shuddered to think what his reaction might be. Maddox was the kind of guy who had murky contacts. Not that he was tacky enough to rely on them except in extremis. But she could imagine Johnny being found face down in a slurry pit with cement in his wellies.

  Over the next two days, she went through her flat like a dose of salts, despite the incredible tiredness that overwhelmed her and tried to lure her back under the duvet. She resolutely ignored what her body was telling her: time was not on her side, and she had to act fast before other forces intervened. She ruthlessly threw out anything she didn’t want or need, called in a designer dress agency to dispose of her wardrobe, followed by a housing clearance company, until she had nothing left but two suitcases of clothing, a box of kitchen utensils, another box of personal effects and a portable CD player, all of which could be fitted into the boot of her car.