The Would-Begetter

by Maggie Makepeace

  So what am I doing with Hector? she asked herself, as she walked into the restaurant. Toying with a minor aristocrat – ‘a bit of smooth’? Having a fling? Recharging the old batteries? Whatever. So I fancy him; and why not? There he is, over by the bar. Here goes…

  ‘Caroline! Lovely to see you,’ Hector said, coming to meet her. ‘You look wonderful.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Now, what will you drink before we’re bidden to our table?’

  Caroline noticed that Hector drank rather a lot during the course of the evening, but appeared none the worse for it. For her part, she stuck mainly to mineral water, the better to stay in control. Hector seemed fascinated by every aspect of her past life. She felt flattered, but still inclined to tease him. For his part, he was clearly eager to demonstrate his authority, summoning waiters with a flick of the fingers, and sending his fork back to be replaced by a clean one. He also demanded a fresh candle and a different kind of bread roll.

  ‘I’ve just been reading an article on the Human Genome project’ he had said over the starter, tucking in with gusto now that he had everything arranged to his satisfaction. ‘You’ve heard of the thing? They’re mapping all the millions of genes on our chromosomes. It’s quite fascinating. Just imagine if you had the blueprint for your entire genetic, make-up right there in front of you, on paper! Now wouldn’t that be something?’

  ‘I’m not a great believer in genetics, actually,’ Caroline said, sipping some of the liquor from her moules marinières from half a mussel shell, and then wiping her mouth with a napkin. ‘I’m convinced that nurture has far more influence on the developing person than nature. You’ve only got to look at the way that poor environments produce problem children. And then they all too often develop into adults with psychiatric problems who eventually get “cared for” in the “community” which, as far as I can see, is a fate worse than death. But if they’d been born into good homes and given proper parenting, then who knows?’

  ‘Oh I can’t agree with you there,’ Hector leant forward earnestly, ‘It’s well documented that manic depressive illness, for instance, is passed on down through families, regardless of social status. You must have come across examples of that yourself?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘You don’t have those sorts of problems in your family?’

  ‘Oh I didn’t say that. No, what we’re talking about here is not the occurrence, but the mechanism, right?’

  ‘Well… yes… but personal experience is always relevant, isn’t it.’

  ‘I always try to keep off the personal when exploring issues,’ Caroline said. ‘Anecdotal evidence can be very suspect.’

  ‘But still valid, surely?’

  Caroline laughed. ‘You’d have to defend it. It’s your stock-in-trade as a journalist.’

  ‘I’m not being a journalist now,’ Hector said, reaching forwards and taking her hand. ‘I want to know all about you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you fascinate me. Tell me for instance about your parents. What sort of people are they?’

  ‘They live in a small castle in Scotland, and have a guard dog called Offenbach. I think that says it all.’ Caroline suppressed a giggle.

  ‘Really?’ Hector looked impressed.

  Caroline relented. ‘No,’ she said, ‘actually they live in a semi in Watford and have a Jack Russell terrier called Fergus. They’re very ordinary and elderly and lovely, but I’m afraid of no possible interest to the Press.’

  ‘Please’ Hector said, ‘I’m being serious you know, and I’m not the Press. I just happen to think you’re someone rather special, and I want to fill out this mental picture I have of you; give it depth, foundations…’

  ‘You mean you want to find out which pigeon-hole to file me in?’

  ‘Well, yes if you like. I mean, if a person had spent his adolescence in hospital, say, he might turn out rather differently than if he hadn’t. History leaves its mark, and I find people’s scars interesting.’

  ‘Oh I see,’ Caroline said, breaking into a wide smile. ‘You’re after the skeletons in my cupboard: deceived lovers, drug abuse, corruption in high places… yes?’

  Hector sat back as their main course was served. He was frowning and his face looked flushed. I must be careful, Caroline thought, not to push him too far or he’ll go right off me, and this whole evening will be a complete waste of time. As the waiter withdrew, they both started talking at once.

  ‘You’ve got me all wrong…’ Hector began.

  ‘Forget it,’ Caroline said, ‘I’m…’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I’m sorry too. I can never resist a tease. Just tell me what it is you want to know and I’ll do my best to give you straight answers.’

  ‘How about if I tell you things about me, and then you tell me things about you in return? Then we could really get to know each other.’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘Right. Shall I start?’ Hector drew a deep breath. ‘I’ve had a vasectomy.’

  ‘Did it hurt?’

  ‘NO! You’re supposed to say something relevant in reply to that, such as, “I’m on the pill”.’

  ‘Does it have to be the truth?’ she asked. Hector looked as if he might give up in disgust at any moment. ‘Well I could say I was,’ Caroline explained hurriedly, ‘but I’m not, so it would be a lie. But I’m glad you’ve been tied off. It’s always such a reassuring thought, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’re not keen on children then?’

  ‘Oh I didn’t say that. It’s just that at the moment my career is more important to me than babies.’

  ‘Women tend to change their attitude once they’ve got one, or so I’m led to believe,’ Hector said.

  ‘Well this one isn’t likely to. When, if, it ever happens, I have absolutely no intention of giving up my job.’

  ‘Oh,’ Hector frowned again.

  ‘Well, go on then.’

  ‘I will, when you’ve said yours,’ Hector said. ‘Otherwise it’s not fair.’

  ‘Oh OK. I give in. I use a cap and spermicide.’

  The waiter, who was holding a bottle over Hector’s glass at this moment, jumped, and spilt red wine on to the table. Hector, strangely, appeared not to notice. He was smiling broadly. He paused calmly whilst the nervous waiter reappeared with a cloth and mopped up the mess, and then he leaned towards Caroline confidentially and said, ‘My sister has diabetes’.

  ‘Oh that’s tough…’ Then she saw the irritated look on Hector’s face and said hastily, ‘Well I haven’t actually got a sister, but… um… I had measles when I was four. Will that do?’

  Hector sighed. ‘My IQ is 140,’ he said.

  ‘Heavens! Mine’s 125… I think. Or is that the beginning of my PIN number? I never can remember.’

  ‘I vote Conservative,’ Hector said grimly.

  ‘Yes, you would. I’m a Lib Dem myself.’

  ‘I’m divorced.’

  ‘I guessed as much. I’ve never made the mistake of getting married.’

  ‘I have a private income on top of my salary.’

  ‘I’m fabulously wealthy too.’

  ‘Now you’re just pissing me about.’ Hector looked hurt.

  ‘Well, it’s just that this strikes me as a most peculiar way to conduct a conversation. Is this how you normally chat someone up?’

  ‘Would you like a sweet?’ the waiter enquired.

  ‘Go away!’ Hector growled. ‘We’re not ready’

  ‘Certainly sir.’

  ‘OK,’ Hector said to her. ‘One more, and then we’ll stop. Right?’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘C-haugh!’ He cleared his throat. ‘Last one. Um… several of my wife’s family suffer from achondroplasia (that’s hereditary dwarfism, you know).’

  ‘Were they much in demand during the pantomime season? Sorry, sorry… er… right, well my brother is a congenital idiot, or so I’m always telling him. Look, I’m sorry Hector, but this is r
idiculous. It isn’t getting us anywhere. If we must go on playing silly games, I’d rather do word-association. Better idea – why don’t you take your mind off disease and destiny, by having a nice sticky pud from the trolley over there? I’ll just have coffee, thanks.’

  Jess took off her boots and curled up in one of Caroline’s plush sofas.

  ‘Glass of wine, a G & T or what?’ Caroline asked her.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any cider?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘White wine would be lovely then.’

  ‘So,’ Caroline said, bringing it over, ‘tell me all about what’s been happening to you since school. The five years between us seemed a chasm then didn’t they? They hardly register at all now.’ She sat back opposite Jess, smiling, sipping a gin and tonic.

  ‘You’re still streets ahead of me,’ Jess said, looking round the room. ‘This flat’s marvellous, and I love that painting.’

  ‘It’s one I bought from Vivian, a friend of mine who runs a gallery. You must meet him one day, you’d like him. You’re not married then?’

  ‘No,’ Jess blushed.

  ‘No children?’

  ‘God, no!’

  ‘Very wise. I have absolutely no intention of breeding just yet either – maybe not ever.’

  Jess thought, well, that wasn’t exactly what I… I mean, chance would be a fine thing… ‘Oh,’ she said.

  ‘It always infuriates me that people with families who are replicating their own narcissistic, imperfect, egocentric genes down the millennia (and vastly overpopulating the world in the process) then have the nerve to complain that the voluntarily childless are selfish!’ Caroline said.

  Jess laughed. I needn’t have been concerned about Caroline and Hector, she thought amusedly; they won’t last a moment. They’re totally incompatible!

  ‘Talking about selfish genes reminds me,’ Caroline went on, ‘your Hector Mudgeley seems fascinated by heredity?’

  ‘Oh?’ Jess was startled by the coincidence of thoughts.

  ‘Yes, we’ve been out together a bit, as I expect you know. Actually, I’m feeling rather guilty about him. I think I went a little too far last time.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Teasing him.’

  ‘Oh Hector’s got a very good sense of humour.’

  ‘Yes, he’s an amusing chap,’ Caroline agreed.

  There was a pause, during which Jess searched for something intelligent to say. ‘Tell me about Vivian’s gallery,’ she said. ‘I could do with some education in modern art.’

  The rest of the evening went well. Jess was flattered that Caroline would bother with someone like her, who had previously been so insignificant in her life. It’s probably because she’s newly back in the area, Jess thought, and finds she doesn’t know anyone now. Well that’s fine by me. They compared notes about the progress of fellow pupils and members of staff, and laughed about trivial things which had once loomed large. At eleven thirty she got reluctantly to her feet and said she really ought to be going. ‘I expect you’ll be busy tomorrow?’

  ‘As ever,’ Caroline agreed, escorting her to the front door, ‘but thanks so much for coming. It’s been really lovely to see you. We must make a regular thing of it.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ Jess said, bending down and thrusting her left foot back into its boot.

  ‘Oh, and Jess?’

  ‘Mmmmm?’

  ‘I have to ask… you’re not by any chance smitten with Hector yourself?’

  ‘Oh…’ Jess wobbled and clutched at the hall table to steady herself. She pressed her right foot firmly down into the second boot. Then she stood up straight again, pink in the face and smiled shyly at Caroline. ‘Heavens… no, of course not. Perish the thought!’

  ‘Oh good,’ Caroline said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. ‘That’s a great relief to me. You see, I just suddenly thought… I mean, I’d hate to step on your toes.’

  Chapter 3

  Hector felt vaguely uncomfortable about all the lies he had told Caroline in his attempts to draw her out and obtain some hard data. Well, some of it was true, he reminded himself. I do vote Conservative, and the private income and the divorce (well, the impending divorce), are real too. It was just the illnesses… He wondered if he’d made a complete prat of himself. Perhaps Caroline wouldn’t want to see him again? Did he, in fact, want to see her? She was a trifle sharp; a bit too ready to take the piss, but in truth, he had probably asked for it. The only really important question was her apparent dislike of full-time motherhood. Hector wondered how well-thought-out that idea of hers had been, and felt inclined to discount it. He decided that it was a common enough attitude in successful young career women, until time and the advent of the right man combined to transmute it into comfortable domesticity. It was not an insuperable obstacle. Hector poured himself a whisky and sat back, watching the pictures on his silent television. He always zapped the sound off during the advertisements. The telephone rang.

  ‘Hector!’ Caroline said. ‘I’ve had a bad conscience about you…’

  Excellent, Hector thought. That’s a good sign. ‘Oh?’ he said.

  ‘Yes. I hope you didn’t think I was laughing at you, last time we met? I’m afraid we tend to be a bit cutting in our family. My brother’s just the same…’

  ‘Oh, I’m all for sharp wits,’ Hector said, ‘especially when packaged so beautifully.’

  ‘Ah,’ Caroline said, ‘under the circumstances I suppose I’d better take that one on the chin, and thank you prettily.’

  ‘Come round to my house this Saturday evening,’ Hector said, ‘and do it in person. I’ll organise some food.’

  ‘Lovely idea. How do I get to you?’

  ‘It’s difficult to find,’ Hector said carefully. ‘Best thing would be for me to meet you in the pub in the village and drive you there,… here, myself.’

  ‘Well… all right then.’

  They arranged to meet at eight thirty. That should give me time, Hector thought, to do the necessary preliminaries, and also to get us a Chinese takeaway for supper. That cool-box thing of Megan’s keeps things hot as well, doesn’t it? Now, I must organise sheets…

  ‘Have you noticed,’ Barry asked Jess over a snatched snack lunch in the Chronicle’s coffee area, ‘Wendy’s not wearing her engagement ring any more?’

  ‘Can’t say I have.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s all off?’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘Jess? You wouldn’t find out for me, would you?’

  ‘Why?’

  Barry choked on a bit of cheese and onion crisp, and Jess beat him on the back. ‘Stop! Enough!’

  ‘Are you keen on her yourself, then? Surely not?’ Jess broke into a broad grin. ‘She’s years older than you!’

  ‘Fourteen.’

  ‘But Barry…!’

  ‘Aren’t we being just a teensy bit ageist here, Jess? And, no, I’m not admitting to anything. I’d just like to know, OK? I wouldn’t ask anyone else, but I know you won’t tell on me.’

  ‘So how am I supposed to find out?’

  Several people came in and stood at the coffee machine, chatting. Barry frowned a warning and started flipping through a pile of photographs on the table in front of Jess. ‘Who are all these stuffed shirts?’

  ‘Don’t get greasy fingerprints all over them! They’re Caroline Moffat’s Board of Directors, and they’re works of art.’

  Barry sniffed. ‘I’ve got a gut feeling about that woman,’ he said. ‘Bet you ten pounds that H.M. gets into her knickers within the month. It’s a doddle; can’t fail!’

  ‘Now then,’ Hector said on Saturday evening as he ushered Caroline out of the pub and into his Jaguar. ‘Your car will be fine here in the car park. We could always go in convoy, of course, but it’s much more friendly like this, isn’t it?’ He seems a bit jumpy, Caroline thought. I wonder if he’s planning a big seduction scene. ‘Let me know if you happen to see a red Mini, will you?’ Hector went on, ‘only
my cleaning lady drives one and I forgot… to pay her.’

  ‘She doesn’t work evenings, does she?’ Caroline said, surprised.

  ‘Sometimes, yes. She’s a little unpredictable.’

  In the event, no red Mini was sighted, and they travelled rapidly along country lanes in a confusing moonlit journey, during which Caroline was almost sure she’d seen the same crossroads twice, lit up in the headlights, but approached from different directions.

  ‘What’s that picnic bag for?’ she asked.

  ‘Supper,’ Hector said. ‘I’m no great shakes as a cook, I’m afraid. Hope you like Chinese?’

  ‘And if I don’t?’ Caroline wrinkled her nose. Hector stared at her. ‘Look where you’re going! I was only joking.’

  ‘Just as well,’ Hector said, turning the car into a driveway, ‘because we’re here.’

  ‘Oh,’ Caroline said, getting out and looking up at the moon. ‘Turrets, fancy!’

  Megan Mudgeley drove angrily eastwards across the Severn bridge in the moonlight. Her Mini seemed to be firing on only three cylinders, and the beams from the headlamps were even more feeble than usual. In Megan’s mind the two problems were clearly correlated, and she worried about making it home before the lights and/or the engine failed altogether.

  I ought to get myself a decent car, she thought. It’s ridiculous, constantly driving between Somerset and Wales in this rustbucket. Can’t afford one now though, especially after getting that brand new cooker (which cost me a flaming fortune), but when the divorce is all settled (if it ever is) then I’ll buy myself a VW Golf. She had said as much to her father that morning. That was what had caused their row. He’d never liked Hector, but he didn’t hold with divorce either. Oh dear, Megan thought, I shouldn’t have stormed out like that. He’s an old man. He can’t help being grumpy. I should’ve stayed on until after chapel tomorrow morning at the very least. It’ll be a judgement upon me if the bloody Mini gives out and strands me halfway.

  Barry stared out through the window of his mum’s house at the full moon and felt wistful. It was a clear frosty night, and there was most probably a great skyful of stars out there, twinkling away, which he’d be able to see if only the moon weren’t so bright. An analogy occurred to him. Perhaps Wendy would notice him, now that the fiancé had waned, if he really had. He put a smoky bacon crisp into his mouth and crunched it, debating whether he had enough courage to ring her and find out for himself. He convinced himself it would be OK if he didn’t ask her directly. Then he keyed-in her number with a sweaty finger.