A Kind Of Wild Justice

by Hilary Bonner

  She didn’t hesitate. In the morning she told her husband that she would be out of town for two weeks on a story. He didn’t even bother to ask any questions. She knew he didn’t really care what she did any more and wondered why she had gone through the motions of returning home the previous night. Habit, she supposed. She packed a small bag and at the end of the working day high-tailed it to Fielding’s hotel room as soon as she could.

  They had planned to go out for a meal. They didn’t make it. Just went to bed instantly and stayed there. She marvelled at his sexual energy and invention, and, indeed, at her own. She couldn’t believe how excited he made her. Fortunately it seemed to be the same for him.

  ‘I can’t get enough of you,’ he told her. He admitted then that he had planned to walk away from her, that from the start his feelings for her had been so strong that he had considered it too dangerous to continue seeing her.

  ‘That’s why I didn’t phone you, I never intended to contact you again after that first night,’ he explained. ‘Really I didn’t. And when I confronted you outside that pub I had utterly convinced myself that I was just there to give you a piece of my mind about that fucking awful story.’

  He smiled, softening his next words. ‘I still think the O’Donnell buy-up was a fucking disgrace, by the way.’

  She had not bothered to reply. They both knew that everything in their lives, even including, for once, their respective careers, paled into insignificance compared with the desperate urgency of their love affair.

  ‘Then, when I saw you, legs up to your armpits, hair down to your waist, knowing how sexy you are, knowing what you’re like there …’ He placed his hand over her crotch. Quite lightly. But just the heat of his touch was enough to send her wild again. ‘I just couldn’t keep my hands off you,’ he continued, moving his fingers as if to prove the point.

  ‘Thank God,’ she breathed huskily, reaching out for him.

  Each time the sex seemed to get better and better. Joanna wondered how long that could go on for. She had never experienced orgasms like this before and yet somehow the more she had of Fielding the more she wanted him. She never seemed to be satisfied. And even when neither of them was capable of any more sexual activity she needed to be close to him, to be touching him all the time, almost as if continually to make sure he was still there.

  Her feelings for him grew day by day during that stolen fortnight. But she was confused by them. In many ways he was just the sort of man she didn’t like, yet her desire for him knew no bounds. And, in any case, there were so many different sides to him.

  One night he confounded her. After making love to her he rolled off her on to his back, then reached out again with one hand and touched her mouth lightly. ‘I think I’ve fallen in love with you,’ he told her quietly.

  Stupidly, perhaps, she thought at first he was just teasing her. Fielding did not fall in love with the women in his life. He bedded them and, when he tired of them, left them and went home to his wife. She knew that well enough and she had always believed that it was madness to get involved with him. She felt vulnerable with him and she didn’t like that.

  She decided to play him at him own game. ‘That’s what you say to all the girls, I know your reputation, after all,’ she said lightly.

  He wrapped his arms around her. ‘Sleeping around and being with you are two different things, you silly cow,’ he told her affectionately and kissed her on the end of her nose. God, he was a patronising, arrogant, sexist sod, she thought. Why did he have this extraordinary hold over her? ‘That was then. This is now. I want to be with you all the time,’ he continued.

  ‘You have a wife and children, Mike. I know your kind. I write about them every day. You always go back to your families.’ She didn’t like be taken for a fool and she still had a suspicion that was what he was doing.

  His voice hardened. ‘What do you mean, you know my kind? You quite obviously don’t know anything about me. Do you really think I’m just fooling around with you? Do you think what we have is commonplace? Do you honestly think it could be like this between us if that were true? Do you?’

  She shook her head lamely. She supposed he was right. How could it?

  ‘Of course it couldn’t be,’ he continued more gently, not waiting for her to think of anything to say. ‘I’ve never known anything like this before, never. Look, I’ve been thinking – I’m going to try for a transfer to the Met.’

  ‘What?’ She had really never expected anything like this from him.

  ‘I mean it, Jo. I can’t stay with Ruth any more. I’d be living a lie now I’ve found this with you. I’m going to tell her when I get home. And that’ll be the end of it.’

  Seven

  He didn’t leave his wife, of course. Although for a time Joanna really believed that he meant to. Their affair very quickly came to mean everything to her. And she had no reason to doubt that it was the same for him. The frequency with which he managed to manoeuvre time to be with her in London astonished her.

  ‘When all you think about in life is one thing and how you can achieve it, it’s surprising how much you succeed,’ he told her, grinning. And she knew he was speaking the truth, because that was how it was for her, too.

  It was as if every minute that she was not with him was a waste of time. She knew her mind was not on her job in the way that it had always been before, and wondered just how much that was being noticed in the office and at the Yard. She and Chris were living more or less separate lives and had discussed divorce. But for almost three months after the trial and the start of her affair with Fielding they continued to share a home, at least most of the time, and she still went through the motions of giving plausible work-related reasons for her prolonged absences. Habit again. But also she was trying to keep it as civilised as possible. And she successfully kept the affair from her husband – until the anonymous caller decided to start a new campaign.

  It was towards the end of July when Chris received a call, telling him, in graphic detail, all about it. Joanna was allegedly away on a story. Again. Actually she was with Fielding. The timing of the phone call was impeccable. The detailed knowledge impressive. But then it would be. You can never keep anything secret from a load of hacks. She had no doubt it was one of her colleagues who was being so malicious and still believed it to be almost certainly Manners.

  ‘They’re with each other right now, did you know that? They can’t keep their hands off each other. He’s even fucked her in his office …’

  Not true but near enough.

  Chris repeated the entire conversation to her on her return home. He appeared to be more upset than she would have expected. After all their marriage had deteriorated to the point of being virtually non-existent.

  ‘Just tell me the truth, Joanna,’ he said. At first he didn’t show his anger, really. He didn’t yell at her and he just looked sad.

  She had no intention of lying to him. Not any more. Chris deserved better, she thought, and in any case her affair with Fielding was too important to lie about. ‘It’s all true, more or less,’ she told him quietly. ‘Not some of the details, thank God, but we are having an affair. I’m in love with him and he with me.’

  Once she had made the admission her husband’s attitude changed completely. Maybe it was just wounded pride, maybe he really was deeply hurt. She didn’t know. But he totally lost his temper. ‘Please, spare me the sentimental self-delusion,’ he shouted at her. ‘For God’s sake, the man treats you like a slag. He’s fucked you in his office, in the middle of a police station. Did the other pigs join in, or did they just watch? Over his desk was it, or on the floor doggie fashion? Give him blow jobs in taxi cabs, do you? …’

  ‘Don’t do this, please, Chris,’ she interrupted him, resisting the urge to tell him that sex in the office was one of the details the bastard caller had got wrong – even if only just.

  She reached a hand out to him. He knocked it away. It hadn’t really occurred to her that her husband would be
this angry, or, indeed, as wounded as he patently was. Not any more. She thought they had gone beyond that. And she cursed herself for not telling him about the affair before he had to learn of it in the dreadful way that he had. She had meant to. It was just that she’d always had a way of putting off unpleasantness and she had hoped eventually to extricate herself from her marriage in as dignified a manner as possible before Chris needed to know.

  The next day she moved into a hotel and by the end of the week she had found herself a flat to rent in the Barbican. She’d always thought that the sixties development on the edge of the City was a bit of a concrete jungle, but the one-bedroomed flat had a beautifully spacious open-plan living area with a splendid wood-block floor and looked out over an ornamental lake to the old Roman wall and the church beyond. It was also very central, of course.

  ‘Good,’ said Fielding when she phoned him in Exeter to tell him the news. ‘I’ve just got the job to sort out, then I’ll tell Ruth. I’ll be moving in with you before you know it.’

  However, the months passed and nothing changed. They talked constantly on the phone. Most weeks Fielding seemed to manage to get to London for at least one night, sometimes more. Joanna had no idea how he managed it, but he did. It was nowhere near enough, though. The physical attraction between them did not diminish. The sexual chemistry seemed to grow more intense rather than less. Joanna was quite sure they were both deeply in love. But still Fielding did not leave his wife.

  Christmas came and went, and Joanna found out just how hard it was at holiday times to be embroiled in an affair with a married man. He spent the festive season with his family, of course, and she volunteered to work on Christmas Day. The demands of a daily paper did have certain uses.

  Early in the new year Mike claimed that he had finally told Ruth and his children that he was leaving them for Joanna. Later, Joanna was not even sure of that.

  ‘I’m not going to be able to rush it, Jo,’ he had said. ‘It’s my daughter who’s the problem. She’s ten now. I don’t think I realised how much they take in at that age. She just cries all the time and begs me not to leave her. Every time I go out of the house she makes me promise I’ll be coming back. I just have to give it some time, Jo.’

  She agreed with him, sympathised with him even. Eventually he said he thought his daughter was getting used to the idea, that maybe she was beginning to understand at last that it wasn’t her he was leaving. That he would never leave her. Maybe he would bring her to meet Jo.

  He didn’t, of course, but Jo was hopeful. For a while she thought he really was going to do the deed now. But no. Instead, he told her that his wife’s mother was dying. She had cancer. ‘She’s been more of a mother to me than my own, Jo. We don’t expect her to live more than a few weeks. I really feel I have to stay with Ruth to see her through this.’

  She went along with that too. What choice did she have? She felt guilty enough about breaking up his family – though God knew why she should with her knowledge of his track record. If she had not become a threat to his marriage, then it would surely eventually have been something or someone else.

  Then, when he told her that his mother-in-law had died, Jo’s hopes were renewed again. ‘It won’t be long now,’ he said. ‘But Ruth is in a right state, so I may not be able to get away quite so much for a bit while I settle her down. I owe her that much, don’t I? But it’ll be over soon and we’ll be together for good. In a month or two max – I promise.’

  It never seemed to be over, though, and they were not together. Not in a month, or two months, or even three. And she was indeed seeing less of him than ever.

  He explained one day that he thought Ruth was having a breakdown. She needed treatment. She was behaving in a totally neurotic fashion and that wasn’t like her. ‘She’s threatening to take me to the cleaners if I do leave her, Jo,’ he told her on the phone, which seemed fast to be becoming their greatest point of contact. ‘I’ve always said I’d provide for her and the kids, but she wants to wipe me out. I’ve got to sort it, somehow. She doesn’t just want the house, she’s after my pension, the lot. I can’t let her have everything, can I? I mean, we have to be practical as well, don’t we?’

  Joanna agreed, in a distant kind of way, that yes, of course they must be practical.

  When she hung up she made herself think clearly about the situation. Fielding had come up with every possible story in the family package – distraught child, neurotic wife, dying elderly parent, financial problems. It was beginning to dawn on her that she had probably been right in the first place. Mike Fielding was not going to leave home, for her, or for anyone else.

  Somehow she didn’t doubt that he had genuinely intended to. She believed that he had fallen head over heels in love with her. Indeed, she believed that he remained head over heels in love with her. But in the end that didn’t seem to help much. He was tearing her apart. As far as her own feelings were concerned, sometimes she was no longer sure whether she hated him or loved him. What she was sure of was that she could not let it go on this way. She was drinking too much and smoking too much. She had lost weight, and she felt tired and listless all the time. She lived for her meetings with Mike, yet she knew she was being destroyed by a relationship she had started to realise was going nowhere.

  Displaying a strength she did not know she still had, she eventually issued Fielding with an ultimatum. It was the oldest one in the book. ‘Leave your wife or stay away from me,’ she told him. ‘And I’m not going to let you touch me again unless you do leave home.’

  He had just arrived for yet another stolen night. He had caught the train from Exeter that evening and had to leave again early in the morning. ‘Oh, come on, Jo, I’m doing my best,’ he told her. ‘It won’t be like this for ever.’ He didn’t sound too shocked or upset.

  She realised he probably didn’t believe her. This was what women usually said to married men, wasn’t it? And they almost never meant it, just kept on putting up with the three-card trick. But Joanna had never said this to him before. He had brought it on himself with more than a year of broken promises. And she meant every word of it.

  ‘Well you’re not chucking me out right now, surely,’ he said, trying to sound jokey. ‘I’ve just come on a two-and-a-half-hour train journey.’

  ‘You can sleep on the sofa,’ she told him and she meant that, too. But he cheated, something at which he excelled, she considered wryly. He got up in the night and slid into her bed and damn near into her before she awakened. The excitement rose in her as it always did. They made love, and all the while he told her how much he loved her and promised they would be together. They really would.

  In the morning she felt angry again, with him and herself. And as he left she said, ‘I still mean what I said, Mike. This really will be the last time unless you keep your promises, unless you do leave home. I’ve never pushed you, the decision has always been yours and that’s still the case. But you can’t have it both ways any more.’

  He smiled in that rather patronising way he had and left.

  He didn’t leave home and Jo kept her word to him and to herself. She told him it was over. Then she refused even to talk to him on the phone. Once he turned up at the office and another time at her flat. She didn’t open the door, but for several minutes she heard him outside in the corridor, ringing the bell and calling through the letter box. ‘I know you’re in there, Jo. Please open the door. You don’t understand …’

  But I do, she thought. Oh, but I do understand so very well. And so, I imagine, does your wife. With a great effort of will she sat quietly in her living room until he finally left. And so, in August 1982, just over a year after she had left her husband, Joanna brought the most exciting, most mesmerising relationship of her life to an end. It nearly broke her heart. But ultimately she preferred losing him to sharing him.

  Paul Potter remained a good friend to Joanna throughout the whole thing. Although her affair with Fielding had, with the usual alacrity, become common knowledg
e in the office, Paul was the only person she ever confided anything in.

  After she left her husband, on the countless evenings when Fielding was not around, the end-of-day drinks in the Stab had frequently stretched into supper at Jo Allen’s or the Bleeding Awful. It was called the Bleeding Heart, really, and was actually rather a good restaurant and wine bar, and certainly not awful at all. But juggling with names was a permanent fixture of Fleet Street life.

  During that period she began to tell Paul more and more, even about the anonymous phone calls, and how the last one had brought things to a head with her husband and led to her finally leaving him, and also about how unsure she was of Fielding and what he really intended, in spite of his promises.

  ‘Well, at least now your own marriage is over you’ll find out soon enough what he’s prepared to do about his,’ Paul had said sensibly. ‘And I don’t have to tell you how rarely men with families leave them for somebody else, do I?’

  She had shaken her head. Potter was just what she needed in a friend. His feet were so firmly on the ground it might help her keep hers there. Paul was such easy company, clever, funny, unthreatening. She began to enjoy her times with him more and more, and to seek him out with greater frequency. It didn’t ever occur to her to wonder at how readily he always made himself available for her. She knew he was single and lived alone, but she had no idea what commitments or relationships there were in his life. Certainly he always made time for her and she was grateful for it. But she continued to think of him as just a friend.

  ‘The pillocks in the office probably think we’re having an affair too,’ she told him after several drinks one night and laughed as if at the absurdity of it.

  ‘More than likely,’ Paul had said, with a shrug and a brief smile.