An Eligible Bachelor

by Veronica Henry

  So lately he’d been rather tense. He was desperate for a project that would re-establish him and give him some respect. The hot new talent didn’t even bother to send him their manuscripts any more, though he had plenty of crap from middle-aged women with empty-nest syndrome who thought they could write a bestseller. He just needed one hot project and he’d be back in the running.

  In the meantime, he knew he was being beastly to Henty, but she always managed to make him feel such a heel precisely because she didn’t nag and complain. He knew losing his licence like that was bloody catastrophic, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit to being in the wrong. He just prayed that the nanny idea would be a success. Actually, how could it fail to be? A chauffeur on tap, hot and cold babysitting, someone to do all the mucking out that he had to nag Thea and Lily to do. Maybe he and Henty could have a life at long last. In fact, he didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it sooner…

  While Johnny went out to buy eggs and bread, Honor lay in the bath and came to terms with the fact that she was going to have to let him meet Ted. She simply didn’t have any choice. She knew Johnny well enough to know that he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and she wanted to avoid ugly scenes at all costs. To protect Ted, more than anything. In return for her compliance, she prayed that Johnny would accept that things had to go along at her pace. Surely he would respect that she would know what was best for their son? It was a delicate situation, after all.

  She came down from her bath in fresh jeans and a sweatshirt, her short hair still wet and slicked back. Johnny was flipping slices of eggy bread expertly; the breakfast bar was laid with two places, with glasses of orange juice and a pot of fresh coffee waiting. He’d certainly made himself at home already, she noted. He gave her a smile.

  ‘Sit down. We’re nearly ready.’

  Honor perched on the other stool and watched him get out plates, then slide the golden triangles on to them.

  ‘There you go.’ He presented her breakfast with a flourish. She tucked in hungrily, eating it with her fingers as they always used to after a wild night out, dipping the corners into tomato sauce – he’d found that too. It was almost as if he was taking her on a journey back in time, reminding her of the good times they’d once had together. The infuriating thing was it was almost working. It was great to have breakfast cooked for you, great to have fresh coffee – Honor would normally never bother; the packet had sat in her cupboard for months – great to sit with someone who wasn’t going to ask you how magnets worked, or what the gearstick on a car was for. Just for once, of course.

  When she finished, she realized Johnny was staring at her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve got tomato sauce on your chin,’ he grinned, and reached out a finger to wipe it off. She recoiled hastily, grabbing a nearby tea towel to wipe it off herself. She didn’t want physical contact. She needed to keep a clear head.

  ‘I haven’t got leprosy, you know,’ said Johnny reproachfully.

  ‘I know,’ said Honor. ‘Listen,’ she continued firmly, ‘I’ve decided you can meet Ted. But I don’t want him to know who you are yet. I want to take this really slowly. I can’t just spring it on him suddenly.’

  ‘When?’

  Honor knew she was going to have to stand her ground.

  ‘Wednesday. After school. About… five o’clock. You can come for tea.’

  Johnny frowned.

  ‘Why not the weekend? It would give us more time.’

  That was precisely what Honor didn’t want. Plenty of time for Johnny to get comfy and get his feet under the table, and for her to be enjoying having him around, wanting him to stay longer. If it was a school night then she’d have to stick to their routine; she’d be able to kick Johnny out at half six saying it was bathtime.

  ‘We’re busy at the weekend,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Is there anything I can bring him? Does he collect anything? Lego or something? Do they still make Lego?’

  ‘Don’t bring him anything. You’re just an old friend of mine, remember? He’ll think it’s a bit weird if you turn up laden with presents.’

  ‘If he’s a normal little boy he won’t worry about it too much,’ Johnny said. ‘But if you insist.’

  He took her chin in his hand and turned her to face him.

  ‘You know what?’

  ‘What?’ said Honor, wary.

  ‘I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have as the mother of my child.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said primly, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  ‘I know you don’t believe me, but there hasn’t been anyone else since you, you know.’ Johnny was gazing at her intently. ‘I haven’t been a monk, of course I haven’t. But there hasn’t been anyone who comes close to meaning what you did.’

  He was staring at her, obviously expecting a reply, but she just smiled and shrugged rather helplessly.

  ‘What about you?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘Has there been anyone else? Have you had… relationships? Have you got someone?’

  Honor felt indignant. He was stepping over the line, poking his nose in where it didn’t belong. She couldn’t say yes, because that would be lying. And she certainly couldn’t say no, because that would imply that she’d attached some great importance to her relationship with Johnny, that she’d been preserving herself in aspic ever since she’d left him. Which of course she hadn’t.

  ‘That is absolutely none of your business. Now if you don’t mind I’ve got to go and pick Ted up, so I’d be grateful if you’d bugger off. And I don’t want any funny stuff. I don’t want you peering in the window to get a look at him or anything. You’ll have to wait till Wednesday.’

  ‘I’d forgotten just how tough you were,’ mused Johnny. ‘And how bossy.’

  Honor picked up his coat and car keys and thrust them at him.

  ‘Coat. Keys. Door.’

  He backed out of the room reluctantly.

  ‘Can I have your phone number? In case there’s a problem?’

  Exasperated, Honor picked up one of her business cards and shoved it in his top pocket. He rummaged in his coat and handed her one of his in return.

  ‘My mobile number’s on it,’ he said softly. ‘In case you want to talk. I’ll be on the end of the phone any time of the day or night. I know you’re pretending to be tough and in control, Honor. But there’s a lot we’ve got to think about.’

  ‘Johnny?’ she smiled. ‘Fuck off. I’ll see you on Wednesday.’

  Once she was quite sure Johnny had gone, Honor drove over to the Beresfords’ to collect Ted. Against her better judgement, she allowed herself to be persuaded to stay for lunch by Henty.

  ‘Please! Charles is in a bait – he got stopped last night for drunk-driving.’

  ‘Oh no!’

  ‘Yes. So he’s not a happy bunny, even though he’s pretending it wasn’t his fault. Though how he works that one out I don’t know. Anyway, if you’re here for lunch he’ll have to be nice. I’ve done an enormous leg of pork…’

  Honor hesitated. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to be a pawn in the Beresfords’ marital battle, but Ted and Walter were having a fantastic time outside on the bikes and what was the point of dragging Ted away from a slap-up Sunday lunch when the fridge was empty at home?

  Instead they had a hilarious time dissecting all the outfits from the night before. Honor noticed that Henty became very slitty-eyed when Fleur Gibson was mentioned, and Charles looked uncomfortable.

  ‘She’s a silly cow,’ pronounced Honor.

  ‘Tell Charles that,’ slurred Henty, pouring herself another glass of wine.

  ‘She’s a silly, dangerous cow,’ repeated Honor emphatically.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ drawled Charles, who knew when he was being got at. ‘But she’s got a fantastic arse.’

  He sat back with a smirk to enjoy the look of outrage on Honor and Henty’s faces.

  ‘You
should know,’ said Henty. ‘You had a good enough feel.’

  Charles blinked slowly. Like a lizard, thought Honor.

  ‘Perhaps it’s small,’ he said, ‘because she doesn’t sit around on it all day. Because she actually gets up off her arse and does something with her time.’

  Henty gasped, as if he’d thrown a glass of ice-cold water over her. Honor narrowed her eyes and glared at him across the table.

  ‘We could all open a shop,’ she hissed, ‘if we had rich husbands who put the money up.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Charles met her glare coolly. ‘By the way, who was the Paddy last night?’ He looked at her knowingly from under his heavy-lidded eyes, slipping the knife in when she least expected it.

  ‘Just someone I used to know in Bath.’ Annoyed with herself for not seeing it coming, Honor glossed over it as best she could. She’d thought for a moment the night before that Charles had suspected who Johnny was, but she’d hoped he’d been too drunk to actually put two and two together. Now she couldn’t be sure.

  ‘Someone you knew well?’ Charles persisted.

  ‘Just a friend.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, he grilled me for a good five minutes. About what you were doing and where you lived.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t tell him anything!’ said Henty.

  ‘Of course not. I’m not going to give away Honor’s secrets to a total stranger.’

  Honor squirmed, not sure if Charles was toying with her, or if he was just being his usual smarmy self.

  ‘You certainly didn’t look too happy to see him. Had he got something on you?’

  Honor shrugged.

  ‘He’s just not the sort of person I want to get mixed up with again. He’s in with the hard-drinking, racing crowd. Too fast for me.’

  ‘Ah, well, it’s in the blood, isn’t it? You can see that.’

  Charles’s final dig was so pointed that Honor stood up sharply to clear away, her cheeks flushing an angry red. She carried the vegetable dishes out to the kitchen. Henty followed her.

  ‘I’m sorry about Charles. He’s being completely obnoxious because he feels guilty about losing his licence.’

  ‘What on earth are you going to do if he can’t drive?’

  ‘Every cloud’s got a silver lining,’ grinned Henty. ‘He’s said I can get a live-in nanny. I’m going to book it first thing in the morning before he changes his mind.’

  ‘Good for you!’ said Honor.

  She stood by the kitchen window and took a gulp of fresh air. For a moment she wanted to confide in Henty. It was obvious Charles was suspicious and was going to spill the beans sooner or later. But she didn’t feel ready to share her secret yet. Tempting though it was to throw herself on to Henty’s comforting shoulder, she decided not to say anything. Henty had her hands full as it was. And she wanted to get things straight in her head before she shared the news with the rest of the world. She’d think about it tonight, when Ted had gone to bed.

  But by the time she got home it was late and, exhausted from barely having any sleep the night before, she fell asleep watching Heartbeat on the portable telly in her bedroom with Ted curled up next to her and didn’t wake up until eight the next morning.

  8

  It was a mad scramble to get Ted to school on Monday morning. Racing around trying to find either of them a pair of matching socks, Honor couldn’t believe she had slept so soundly, given the traumatic events of the weekend. Eventually Ted was dropped off and she made it back to the solace of her little kitchen to drink a cup of calming camomile tea and take stock of the chaos that had become her life. She had the whole day to herself, as the craft centre didn’t open for lunch on a Monday.

  She was just about to sit down when there was a knock on the door. Hoping against hope that it wasn’t more trouble, she answered it to find a slender, elegant woman standing on the doorstep. Honor recognized her at once – she’d seen her coming in and out of Eversleigh Manor on any number of occasions. But what on earth was Madeleine Portias doing knocking on her door?

  ‘Honor McLean?’

  Honor nodded and Madeleine held out her hand.

  ‘Madeleine Portias. I hope you don’t mind me not phoning first. I got your address from your advert in the ball programme.’

  ‘Oh. Oh yes – wasn’t it your son who bid for the cake? Did you want to order it now?’

  ‘No, no. It said in your advert you do other catering.’

  ‘Well, yes. Not on a grand scale, though.’ Honor spoke with a note of caution, wondering if Madeleine was about to ask her to do the wedding.

  ‘I think you might be just the person I need to help me out of a tight spot.’

  Intrigued, Honor stood to one side to usher Madeleine in.

  ‘Come on in. I was just making camomile tea, if you’d like one.’

  Honor led Madeleine through into the kitchen and pulled out a stool for her to sit on, then flicked the kettle back on. Meanwhile, Madeleine explained her predicament, outlining her plans for the country house weekends.

  ‘I’m the last person to admit defeat, but I think I’ve overestimated my capabilities. I’d really like to try and delegate some of the catering. I can manage the main courses, because it’s not as if I have to do something different every week. I can stick to what I know – pheasant, duck or venison. It’s the other extras – the little things that are going to make a difference – that I worry I’m not going to have time for. And you’d be perfect.’

  ‘So what exactly are you looking for?’

  Madeleine extracted a list from her pocket and took a deep breath.

  ‘Nibbles to go with drinks when they arrive. An easy pudding for Friday night. A home-made soup and homemade bread for Saturday lunch. Cakes and biscuits for Saturday tea. Starters and a fancy pudding for Saturday night. And petits fours. And often there will be a cake – people are going to be celebrating birthdays and anniversaries. And I could do with a hand in the kitchen on the Saturday night – someone who knows what they’re doing.’

  Honor hesitated.

  ‘It’s an awful lot of work. I don’t know if I’ll be able to take it on, on top of everything else. And I’ve got a little boy…’

  Madeleine leaned forward eagerly.

  ‘You can do most of it in advance. You can use our kitchen for preparation and storage. Or you can do it at home and bring it in – whichever you prefer. You’d really only need to be there to help with the main course on the Saturday night – you’d be finished by eight thirty or nine. Your little chap can watch a video on the sofa…’

  Honor took the list off Madeleine and tried to take it all in.

  ‘I don’t know. I wouldn’t have a clue what to charge for a start…’

  ‘I thought I’d pay you a flat weekly rate. Say… a hundred and twenty pounds? You can bill me for the ingredients separately. And you can work at your own pace.’

  Honor turned the proposition over in her mind. The amount Madeleine was offering was generous and, even better, at least she would know exactly how much money she could rely on coming in each week. The craft centre was inconsistent: she hated the fact that some days she’d be thrown into a panic, while others, like today, she was left with nothing to do. Or worse, as sometimes happened, tied to the kitchen for a measly batch of shortbread or two quiches which weren’t really worth the bother of getting her pots and pans dirty. With this proposition she would know well in advance how many she was catering for. She could plan what to do, make better use of her time. And she thought it might be quite good fun. She’d passed the manor house so many times and wondered what it was like inside. Of course, she’d be downstairs rather than upstairs. But what else did she do on a Saturday night? Bugger all. She might as well be earning money and Ted wouldn’t mind watching a video.

  ‘Why don’t we give it a trial run? If it doesn’t work out we can think again.’

  ‘Can I have a think? And phone you this evening?’

  ‘Better still, come and have a drink. I can show yo
u the kitchen and so on. Say about six?’

  ‘That sounds lovely.’

  Madeleine left, leaving behind a faint trace of Cacherel. Honor sat down in disbelief. What a week this was turning out to be! She wasn’t really sure what to make of Madeleine’s offer, but she was grateful for one thing: at least it had stopped her thinking about Johnny.

  Having said that, it was at times like this when the fact she was on her own was never more apparent. She always had to make the decisions, and there wasn’t really anyone she could discuss things with – not things that really mattered. Her mother was always infuriatingly vague about anything important – Honor had known there was no point in even bringing up the MMR jab dilemma with her. So she was used to weighing pros and cons up in her own mind, and was quite prepared to take the consequences of her decisions.

  But sometimes it was tiring. Sometimes, she just wanted someone whose opinion she respected to say ‘Go for it!’ Or ‘Don’t even think about it!’

  Like this opportunity, for example. Once she’d written it all down on paper, worked out how many hours of her time she thought it might take up, it looked like a very attractive proposition. But there were downsides. What happened, for example, if there was a cancellation? Would she still get paid? And what if the whole venture was a failure, and she was laid off, having given up her arrangement with the craft centre? She’d just be left with the cakes, then, and although they were doing well they weren’t a reliable source of income.