The Bachelor

by Tilly Bagshawe

  Today, though, she pushed all thoughts of Barney and his caustic comments out of her mind. Life was wonderful, and Eva intended to cherish every second of it. Turning sharp right into Brickyard Lane, she drove up to the top of the rise and was rewarded with a magnificent view of the hunt erupting out of the woods into open country, the pack leading the way, tearing down the valley in full cry in pursuit of their quarry.

  Seb Saxton Brae was one of the first to emerge on Elijah, his magnificent silver grey stallion, a horse as sleekly muscled and elegant as Seb himself was fat, round and inelegant, at least in the saddle. With his short legs flapping at Elijah’s sides and his ruddy farmer’s face a parody of determined concentration, he reminded Eva of an old Thelwell cartoon. Not even his beautifully cut, red master’s livery could save him from looking like an overweight bank manager who’d been kidnapped by some sadistic friend and plonked down in the middle of a fox hunt for a dare. It really was quite incredible to think that Sebastian and Henry had come from the same gene pool.

  After Seb, the riders poured out of the woods thick and fast. Eva was no horsewoman, but you could tell at a glance the good riders from the bad. Santiago de la Cruz made it look like ballet, his still-athletic body at one with the powerful animal beneath him as they thundered across the field. Gabe Baxter, on the other hand, seemed to be having all sorts of difficulty controlling his mud-encrusted bay mare, while his son Hugh galloped on ahead at an eye-watering pace on his squat little pony, grinning broadly and half standing in his stirrups as they careered across the countryside. Eva felt a pang of anxiety watching him, leaning so far forward along his pony’s neck that he looked in imminent danger of flying headfirst into the nearest ditch. No wonder poor Gabe looked so panicked.

  A stream of huntsmen and riders followed, most of whom Eva didn’t recognize. She couldn’t see Henry among them, or Kate, Seb’s wife. And at least two of the whippers-in seemed to be missing. There must be another group of them somewhere, separated from the main pack. Perhaps she should turn back and look for them?

  Restarting the engine and swinging her Range Rover around, she caught sight of Richard and Lucy Smart, side by side at the very back of the hunt, leaning into one another and giggling like a couple of teenagers.

  They look so happy, Eva thought wistfully. So at ease in each other’s company. I hope Henry and I look like that after nearly ten years of marriage.

  Heading back towards Hanborough, Eva peered over the tops of the hedgerows and flint walls, looking for any sign of Henry and the others, but there was none. Following the hunt by road was always tricky. There were so many different directions the riders could have gone in, especially when the hounds had a scent and were following a fox that might zigzag wildly, doubling back on itself multiple times before going to ground. Experienced riders, or those with a daredevil streak like Henry, often took different routes across country from the core of the hunt, deliberately seeking out higher jumps or more challenging terrain. Eva felt a flicker of anxiety. She did hope Henry hadn’t overreached himself and had a bad fall, or got himself into some other trouble. Hunt accidents were rare, but when they happened they could be devastating.

  Eva tried not to think about Christopher Reeve as she arrived back at the foot of Brickyard Lane. The castle was about a mile up the hill to her right, past Hanborough ‘village’, if you could dignify the smattering of estate cottages with the name. On a whim, Eva turned left, towards Fittlescombe, where the hunt had started out a few hours earlier. If she didn’t see any other riders after five minutes, she’d head back to the castle and check on preparations for tonight’s drinks. She really ought to be doing that anyway, but the urge to catch a glimpse of Henry riding to hounds, like a prince from a fairy tale, had been too strong for the hopeless romantic in her to resist.

  Coming around a blind corner, Eva slammed on the brakes, her tyres squealing painfully as the 4x4 skidded to a halt.

  ‘Shit!’ Only by inches had she missed the skittish bay mare, clattering riderless along the lane, her reins and stirrups dangling.

  Eva pulled over and got out, her heart pounding. In panic, the horse had tried to turn back the way she came, but lost her footing and careered into the five-bar gate on the right-hand side of the lane, whinnying in pain as the metal bars slammed into her flank.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Eva said calmly, slowly approaching the distressed animal. She recognized the mare as Starlight, Kate’s horse. ‘It’s all right, girl.’ Miraculously, Starlight allowed Eva to come closer, and eventually to take her reins. Tethering her firmly to the gatepost, Eva patted her neck, her own anxiety rising as the mare’s subsided.

  Something must have happened.

  Kate must have been thrown.

  Was she lying somewhere, injured or unconscious? Or worse?

  ‘Kate!’ Eva shouted, vaulting over the gate and starting to run across the field. ‘Kate?’

  There was no answer. I’d better call for help. Reaching into her jacket pocket for her mobile, Eva cursed under her breath. No signal. Not even a hint of a bar.

  She was just weighing up whether to go back to her car and drive into Fittlescombe village to get help, or to spend at least a few minutes more searching by herself, when something caught her eye. A movement in the trees to her left. A flash of white breeches, followed by a glint of black riding boots. Someone was in there. Running.

  ‘Kate?’ Eva hurried towards the trees, arriving at the edge of the copse just in time to see her future sister-in-law, naked from the waist up and with leaves still stuck to her hair, making an undignified dash down the hill in a doomed attempt to escape detection.

  Eva had barely had time to process the shock of this vision when Henry, fully dressed but equally dishevelled, emerged from behind a large oak tree.

  ‘Eva.’

  He looked at her guiltily, but said nothing. Perhaps because there was nothing to say. The scene spoke for itself. Just behind him, in a clearing between three vast oaks, Kate’s shirt, hat and bra still lay strewn across the ground.

  Eva stood there, stunned, staring at the discarded clothes, then at Henry, then back at the scene of the crime. She could see it, but she couldn’t believe it. Not with Kate. Henry hated Kate.

  Henry took a step towards her, then another. ‘I’m sorry,’ he began. ‘It was nothing. It means nothing—’

  His words were the wake-up call Eva needed, a glass of iced water in the face.

  ‘No!’ She held up her hand to stop him. ‘Don’t come near me! Get back.’

  ‘Eva, please.’

  ‘No!’

  Eva turned and ran back to her car, the engine roaring as she sped away. The last thing she saw in her rear-view mirror was poor Starlight, terrified once again, straining wildly at her tethered reins as she tried to break free. Henry laid a hand on the mare’s sweat-drenched flank, doing his best to comfort and calm her, but to no avail.

  She’s trapped, thought Eva. Like me.

  Only then did the tears begin to flow.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ‘All right, enough of this shit. What the hell is going on?’

  Richard Smart accosted Henry in a quiet corner of the party barn, where he sat miserably nursing a large tumbler of whisky. Henry and Eva’s post-hunt drinks party was in full swing. Just about the entire West Swell Valley had shown up and were enjoying themselves immensely, quaffing their host’s excellent wine and gorging themselves on the cordon bleu catering while congratulating themselves on today’s kill and admiring Flora’s ‘James Bond’ touches to the new building, including the retractable roof, floor-to-ceiling glass walls and rotating rainbow LED lights.

  The only people not enjoying themselves were the hosts. Eva hadn’t even bothered to show up to her own party, and was conspicuous by her absence. Henry was there, but looked as if he’d rather be having root-canal surgery, and wore an expression that angrily dared his guests to engage him in conversation at their peril.

  ‘Have you and Eva had a row?�
� asked Richard. ‘Is that it?’

  Henry stared straight ahead of him and said nothing.

  ‘Where is she?’

  Still nothing.

  Richard frowned. ‘Can I sit down?’

  ‘No.’

  Ignoring him, Richard pulled up a chair. ‘For God’s sake, Henry, what is it? You’ve been avoiding me and Lucy for weeks now.’

  Henry looked up at him, surprised. ‘That’s not true,’ he muttered.

  ‘Of course it bloody is,’ Richard said robustly. ‘You acted like a complete tool with that dog at the meet this morning. What have you got against that chap, anyway?’

  ‘He’s a raging anti for a start,’ muttered Henry. ‘And he’s always sniffing around Eva,’ he added petulantly. First Eva, then Flora, now Richard. It irritated Henry that so many people in his life seemed to think that the sun shone out of Barney Griffith’s arse.

  ‘Oh, grow up,’ said Richard. ‘They’re friends. Anyway, it wasn’t just that. After that you went AWOL. For the entire bloody day,’ he added meaningfully. ‘You even missed the kill. And now you’re sitting at your own party getting drunk in the corner like Suicide Sid.’

  Henry gazed morosely into his whisky glass before downing its entire contents and signalling to the waiting staff for another.

  ‘I’m not leaving till you tell me what’s happened,’ said Richard. ‘Are you feeling all right?’

  Henry sighed. There were times when he wished to God Richard weren’t such a good friend and all-round decent person.

  If only he could turn back the clock! If only he’d never slept with Lucy.

  In Henry’s mind, that was the beginning of all his current troubles. Every time he and Lucy were together, he hated himself for betraying Richard and found himself longing for a way out. And yet, when Lucy had called time on their fling a few weeks ago, he’d been devastated. Stupidly, preposterously, Henry had done what he’d sworn never to do: he’d fallen in love with Lucy. Or, rather, there was a part of what Lucy gave him that he loved, and needed. He hadn’t stopped loving Eva. If anything, in a bizarre way, his affair with his best friend’s wife had made him appreciate his fiancée even more. But he’d been so angry when Lucy dropped him, so angry at himself for needing her, and needing Eva, and fucking everything up … and now he’d gone and done the most stupid thing in the world, and had it off with Kate, of all people, for no better reason than that she belonged to his brother. That and the fact that she’d pissed him off royally this morning at the meet and he wanted to own her and conquer her and teach her a goddamned lesson … but Henry had been the one who’d learned a lesson.

  There was something wrong with him. Something very, very wrong.

  All the compulsive risk-taking. All the sex with women like Kate or George Savile, women Henry didn’t even like. He felt like a serial killer, leaving more and more elaborate clues, desperate for someone to stop him and catch him, to save him from himself.

  Well, today, Eva had.

  But Henry didn’t feel relief. He felt nothing but utter desolation.

  He looked at Richard.

  ‘I slept with Kate.’

  ‘Ha ha ha!’ Richard laughed loudly. ‘At least you’re making jokes. I suppose I should take that as progress.’

  ‘This afternoon,’ Henry said seriously. ‘That’s why I went AWOL. I took Kate to Gamlin’s Wood and had it off with her. Eva caught us. I think she’s left me.’

  The smile died on Richard’s lips. ‘You’re serious?’

  Henry nodded grimly.

  ‘Kate, as in Kate.’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘As in Kate, your brother’s wife? Kate, who’s standing over there right now, acting completely normal?’ Richard looked across the room to where Kate and Seb Saxton Brae were chatting amiably to Max Bingley and Angela Cranley, apparently without a worry in the world. ‘Kate, who last time I checked, you couldn’t stand?’

  ‘I still can’t stand her,’ said Henry.

  ‘So why …?’

  ‘I don’t know! I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t fucking know! Because I’m an idiot. Because I turn everything good in my life into poison. But it’s not enough for me to poison my own life, apparently. I have to poison everyone else’s too.’ Henry screwed up his eyes tight, as if trying to block out something frightening, something too awful to contemplate. Bizarrely, he found himself thinking about his mother. Then, to Richard’s utter astonishment, he started to cry.

  ‘All right, mate. Calm down.’ Feeling completely inadequate, Richard put an arm around Henry’s heaving shoulders. ‘Don’t go to pieces. Let’s be practical about this. Was Eva the only one who saw you?’

  Henry nodded. Wiping his eyes, he told Richard briefly what had happened. How after Eva had driven away, he’d ridden back to Hanborough, got his car and scoured the countryside looking for her, but to no avail. At six o’clock he’d decided to change and come to the drinks party, mostly because it would look damned odd if he didn’t. Kate had also clearly opted to brazen things out, at least for now, changing into a demure knee-length skirt and polo neck and sticking to Seb all evening like a conjugal limpet.

  ‘So no one else knows?’ asked Richard when he’d finished.

  ‘That depends. Eva might have told someone.’

  ‘Who would she have told?’

  Henry’s head was starting to throb. ‘I don’t know. Does it matter?’

  ‘It might,’ said Richard. ‘Think.’

  ‘She’s friends with that twat Barney Griffith,’ said Henry.

  Richard looked momentarily blank.

  ‘The anti. Irish. Wannabe writer. You met him at dinner here once. Dresses like a tramp.’

  The penny dropped. ‘You mean the guy whose dog you tried to kill this morning?’

  ‘That dog’s a bloody menace,’ grumbled Henry. ‘Anyway, I doubt Eva would have said anything to Griffith. Not about this.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She’d find it too humiliating. If she confides in anyone, it’ll be another woman.’

  ‘Who are her girlfriends, then?’ Richard asked.

  Henry shrugged, defeated. ‘She doesn’t really have any. I mean, back in Sweden maybe. But I don’t know their names.’

  ‘There must be someone local. Someone she might turn to in a crisis.’ Richard was getting frustrated. ‘You have to find her, Henry. Talk to her. Unless you want her to leave you and tell the whole world you’ve been banging your brother’s wife, you need to bloody do something!’

  Henry put his glass down and stood up suddenly.

  ‘I know where she is,’ he said, hugging Richard tightly and heading for the barn doors. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Thank me for what?’ said Richard, getting up after him. ‘Where are you going? I hope you’re not thinking of driving. Henry? Henry!’

  ‘What was all that about?’ Lucy appeared behind him, putting a restraining hand on his arm. She tried to keep her voice light, but she’d been watching the exchange between Henry and her husband from across the room with increasing alarm. Henry was clearly drunk and had been in a belligerent mood all day. Lucy hoped he wouldn’t go so far as to spill the beans to Richard about their affair out of spite. But recently she didn’t know what to expect from him. He’d been so angry when she’d cooled things off between them. So unreasonably and illogically hurt, as if he didn’t already know that they couldn’t carry on the way they had been; that the affair was eating away at both of them like a cancer. But instead of being reasonable, or kind or sane about it, he’d decided to take his frustrations out on Lucy as if she alone were to blame. As if it weren’t hard for her too, to walk away.

  Richard gave her such a sad, bleak look that for a moment Lucy’s heart plunged to the pit of her stomach. Oh God! Henry’s told him.

  ‘I think Henry’s having a breakdown.’

  Lucy gripped Richard’s arm, dizzy with relief.

  ‘Eva might be leaving him.’

  ‘Why?’

  �
��She caught him cheating on her.’

  The relief evaporated. Lucy went white.

  ‘When?’ she croaked.

  ‘Today.’ Richard dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘And you’ll never guess with who. Only Sebastian’s bloody wife!’

  ‘What?’ spluttered Lucy. ‘Henry’s sleeping with Kate?’

  The pain was like a dagger blow to the intestines; visceral, ugly and deep. So much for Henry’s ‘heartache’. His ‘love’ for her. All this time he’d been trying to make her feel guilty, for going back to her husband and trying to do the right thing, and meanwhile he’d been out there shagging his own sister-in-law!

  ‘Shhh!’ hissed Richard. ‘Keep your voice down.’

  ‘Sorry. I just … I think I’m in shock.’

  Lucy looked so desolate, Richard pulled her into a hug. Lucy was trapped within his crushing arms, like two lead bars of solid guilt.

  ‘I know. I couldn’t believe it either,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘He’s gone to try and find Eva now. See if they can work things out.’

  ‘How?’ Lucy asked, incredulous. ‘How do you “work out” a betrayal like that?’

  Richard shrugged. ‘I dunno. But it’s got to be worth a try, hasn’t it? Besides, it’s amazing what people can forgive when they really love someone.’

  Lucy buried her face in his chest so he couldn’t see the pain in her eyes.

  Did he suspect about her and Henry? Had he guessed?

  Oh God, what had she done?

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘I suppose it is.’

  Flora had just sunk into a hot, Floris-scented bath, closing her eyes and relaxing for the first time all day, when a frenzied pounding on Peony Cottage’s front door signalled Eva’s arrival.

  Flora had been irritated with Eva earlier – her comment about Barney had seemed designed to annoy her. Quite possibly men did fall in love with you willy-nilly if you happened to be a world-famous lingerie model, but there was no need for Eva to make Flora feel guilty about her own friendship with Barney. The casual implication that Flora was somehow leading him on, and/or behaving in an un-fiancée-like manner towards Mason was uncalled for, in Flora’s opinion. But as soon as she saw Eva’s tear-stained, heartbroken face, all thoughts of their earlier conversation flew out of Flora’s head.