Then she put her flat on the market.
‘I don’t want a board up, or to have it advertised,’ she instructed the agent. ‘I want it sold discreetly.’
It wasn’t a problem. They had five clients actively seeking a one-bedroom flat in the centre of Bath. Two of them came back within twenty-four hours and offered the asking price. One of them was in a position to proceed, so she accepted the offer. By the time she’d paid off her mortgage she would have seventy-five thousand pounds left in the bank. Not enough to buy somewhere else. But a reasonable buffer. And more than many single mothers.
At the end of the week, she was ready to leave. She called Maddox to say goodbye and he insisted on coming over. He handed her a brown padded envelope.
‘It might come in useful. And please – if you ever need anything… I would do anything for you, you know that?’
Honor nodded, unable to speak because of the lump in her throat. For she was terrified, and it would be all too easy to throw herself on Maddox’s mercy. But she knew she had to make a clean break. She threw her arms round his neck and kissed his cheek, not daring to look at the reproach in his eyes, then got in her car to leave Bath behind for the very last time.
She opened the envelope that evening. It contained three thousand pounds in pristine twenty-pound notes. Honor’s instinct was to return it straight away, but she knew Maddox would refuse to take it back, and that it had been given with the best will in the world.
Besides, she was pretty sure she was going to need it.
She found the cottage advertised in The Lady. The owner was going abroad indefinitely – for at least five years, to work in the Middle East – and effectively wanted someone in the cottage to keep it lived in. Not only was the rent pleasingly low, but there was a substantial budget for running repairs and decoration. She only needed to ask and there would be more.
It was tiny – a little gingerbread house. Not unlike the little house she’d imagined for her and Johnny. It was in a remote Cotswold village, well off the beaten track, deep in the wilds of Gloucestershire. It had a porch with a stable door, leading into a living room with an inglenook fireplace, a small kitchen with a proper pantry off, and upstairs a bedroom and a boxroom and a bathroom. There was a little walled garden out the back, with a shed that had once been the outside loo. Sunny and south-facing. Safe and secure. The village, Eversleigh, had a post office, a pub, a school and a church. The village hall advertised yoga classes, mother and toddlers and Cubs and Brownies. Everything she was likely to need to keep body and soul together over the next few years.
And although her life had been turned upside down, she had been happy. Ted was the best thing that had ever happened to her, and to her surprise not once did she resent him, or blame him for curtailing her career, because to raise a child was the ultimate fulfilment. By making her life simple, she found she could manage financially. And the one thing she did have was time. Time to bake bread and cakes from scratch, grow things in the garden, teach Ted to read, make him home-made playdough, take him on long, splashy walks. The highlight of her week was when the mobile library came round. They would clamber on board, Ted would choose a new picture book, and she would fall with glee upon whatever new novel she had ordered. Even clothes didn’t matter to her any more. Where once she’d been a label freak, now she wasn’t ashamed to go to a jumble sale or a charity shop. Round here people often chucked out because it was last season or a mistake, and she wasn’t proud. Once in the washing machine with a double dose of Lenor, and it was as good as new.
And now Ted was at school, she was really getting it together. As well as her work, she had a little bit of time for herself. Sometimes she would get back from dropping him at school and do her own home spa. Where once she would have wallowed in Clarins, now she used the supermarket’s own body scrubs and face masks, and she had to admit that the overall effect was much the same. She’d cut her long hair off into a tousled crop which made her brown eyes look enormous and took two minutes to dry.
Her mother swooped in on a visit once a year or so, bringing overgenerous gifts that Honor didn’t really need, like bottles of perfume and silk scarves, and took her out for expensive meals where Ted had to sit and behave. Honor would have preferred her to fill the freezer from the supermarket. But her mother only had one way of doing things and that was her way.
All in all, she’d muddled through quite nicely, learning a few hard lessons along the way, and not to take things for granted. But she’d also learned that people were kind. She felt safe in Eversleigh. She knew there were people looking out for her. Mr Potter three doors up came and trimmed her hedge because she couldn’t reach. There was no shortage of volunteers who would sit with Ted if she needed to nip to the doctor or the dentist. And her friendship with Henty was wonderful. She sometimes felt guilty that she hadn’t shared the truth about Ted with Henty but she felt that if she didn’t reveal her past, then it had never happened.
And now, she really couldn’t believe it had caught up with her. Time and again she had told herself that the chances were remote. That although she hadn’t exactly left the country, that in fact she only lived in the next county, the chances of Johnny falling upon her in a remote Cotswold village were slim. It wasn’t impossible, of course. Honor had experienced enough coincidences in her life to know that the strangest things happened. But she had striven to keep herself to herself, had made a point of not mixing in circles that might seep into his social life, and had cut herself off from their old friends and acquaintances – about which she sometimes felt guilty, for she’d had some good friends, but it was a question of self-preservation. The only way she could survive was through total abstinence, like a recovering alcoholic.
Because Johnny was dangerously addictive. No matter how bad you knew he was for you, it was very hard to kick the habit. When you were in his thrall, you forgot all the bad bits. And like a drunk presented with a full bottle of whisky, Honor knew from just one look that evening that she wouldn’t be able to resist him if she got too close.
Would he try to find her? Would he care enough to track her down? Honor suspected that his memory of her would have faded by now; he would have had dozens of girls since, all dazzling and successful. And anyway, if he’d really wanted to find her he would have done it years ago. It wasn’t beyond him to have hired a private detective. They would have traced her easily through her national insurance. She hadn’t gone to particularly elaborate lengths to cover her tracks. No, she was pretty sure he wouldn’t be bothered. Mildly curious at best.
She realized that it was nearly dawn, and she was shivering with the cold. Eventually she relented and got up to light the stove. By half six a little warmth was seeping back into her bones. Usually on a Sunday Ted sneaked into bed with her at about this time and they would snuggle up together. She missed the warmth of his little body next to hers. She bunched up the duvet and hugged it to her for comfort. At long last she fell asleep, but it wasn’t a peaceful sleep. Fears and worries danced in the corners of her mind, and all the while a menacing presence seemed to watch her from the corner of the room.
At half past eight there was a sharp rapping on the door. Honor started awake, immediately filled with panic. She knew there was only one person that could be. No one in Eversleigh ever came calling this early on a Sunday morning.
She pulled on a pair of jeans and looked in the mirror. Her eye make-up was smudged all round her eyes where she hadn’t bothered to remove it the night before, and her skin was deathly pale. Good, she thought. The worse she looked, the better. Nevertheless, she rushed into the bathroom to brush her teeth. It was one thing looking rough, but there were limits to how unattractive you could voluntarily make yourself. As she brushed frantically the door knocker went again, louder and more insistent.
She opened the door without a greeting, her expression stony. On the doorstep stood Johnny, in jeans and a baggy Arran sweater. Without even breathing in she knew how he would smell: always of horses,
because his car smelt of horses and he carried it with him wherever he went, and the oil of the waxed coat he wore when he was working, and underlying that a faint hint of the Kent cigarettes he smoked, mixed in with the scent of sandalwood from his aftershave.
‘Where is he?’
‘Who?’
‘My son.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Come on, Honor. Your friend told me all about him.’
Bloody Charles, thought Honor venomously.
‘Six years old? Skinny with red hair?’ went on Johnny. ‘I don’t have to be a mathematician or a forensic scientist to work it out.’
You’re not the only redhead on the planet.’
‘I’m the only redhead you were fucking seven years ago.
‘How can you be so sure?’ demanded Honor. ‘I wasn’t the only person you were fucking, as you so eloquently put it. So what gives you the monopoly?’
‘Because I know you, Honor.’
Honor folded her arms and leaned against the door-jamb.
‘There’s nobody here but me.’
‘Don’t you think we should talk?’
‘I’ve got absolutely nothing to say to you.’
She glared at him, noticing how his jaw was clenched, the milky skin stretched over his cheekbones, the sprinkling of freckles standing out in stark relief. Seven years had awarded him a few more lines around his eyes, but he was still the picture of cherubic innocence, the spidery dark lashes fringing those hypnotic eyes. She’d always been in awe of his beauty, amazed that such feminine features could belong to someone so overtly male. For no one could ever be in any doubt about Johnny’s sexuality. He only had to glance at a woman and she melted. Though she wasn’t going to. Not this time. She was immune to his charms.
He was squaring up to her, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jeans and throwing back his shoulders.
‘I think you owe me some sort of explanation.’
‘I don’t owe you anything’
‘I’m not going until you do. I’ll stand here all week if I have to.’
Mr Potter walked past on his way for the Sunday papers. He looked sideways at them curiously. Honor gave him a tight smile to assure him she was all right, aware that it was obvious from their body language that they were arguing. She hated the thought that she was rousing curiosity; couldn’t bear to think that Mr Potter would go into the shop and start gossiping about her private life. She was going to have to let Johnny in if only to avoid further speculation.
She stepped aside with a sigh.
‘You’d better come in.’
*
Johnny followed her wordlessly inside the cottage into the kitchen. She headed straight for the kettle. He took off his coat and sat down at the little breakfast bar, his eyes raking the room for further evidence of Ted. There was plenty enough. Paintings stuck to the wall – a robot made of pasta shapes sprayed silver, his name in Egyptian hieroglyphics. A selection of his shoes by the front door. His duffel coat on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. On the breakfast bar was the see-through folder that contained his reading book and the spellings he had to learn for the week ahead. Honor cast a sidelong look at Johnny and saw him staring at the spellings intently. She could only imagine what he was thinking. That these simple four and five-letter words – shop, ship, shape, shine – were being learned by the son he never knew he had. Honor chastised herself sharply for feeling a momentary pang of guilt. Johnny had given up all rights to Ted the moment he’d slid between the sheets with Chloe. She was going to stand her ground.
She made a pot of tea, darting round the kitchen in agitation, not wanting to stay still long enough for Johnny to scrutinize her and assess what damage the intervening years had done to her looks. Though why should she care what he thought of her, she thought savagely.
He was sitting on the stool Ted used for doing his homework, watching her quietly.
She plonked a cup of tea in front of him ungraciously.
‘There’s sugar in the tin.’
‘Thank you.’ He smiled at her. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve a spoon?’
She wrenched open a drawer and tossed a teaspoon at him, then turned her back on him and picked up her own mug. Her hands were shaking slightly, but the warmth of the liquid reassured her. There was silence for a moment as he took the lid off the sugar tin and helped himself, then stirred vigorously. When he spoke, his voice was calm.
‘So what have you told him? About his father? What am I? Dead? Some sort of legend you’ve created who died a heroic death?’
Honor opened her mouth to argue, but he cut in smoothly.
‘Don’t bother trying to deny he’s mine. It’ll be a waste of your time and mine. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?’
Honor put her cup down on the counter. She realized Johnny was right. There was no point in blustering; pretending Ted wasn’t his. She’d been well and truly cornered. Now it was up to her to extricate herself from the situation as best she could.
‘I told him that God decided to give me a little boy but forgot to give me a daddy to go with him.’
‘That’s sick!’ Johnny looked genuinely appalled. ‘He’s going to work out that’s total bollocks, as soon as he learns about the birds and the bees.’
‘Then I’ll explain a bit more about it. But not now. He’s too little.’
‘So what does he think he is? Some sort of immaculate conception?’
‘He’s six years old, Johnny. He’s actually quite happy to accept that it’s just him and me.’
‘That’s totally irresponsible. You’ve fobbed him off and it’s only going to create problems when he wants to know the truth.’
‘What should I have told him then? That his father was a feckless, no-good shagmeister?’ Honor found herself spitting out the words that she’d been wanting to level at him for years. The bitterness hadn’t faded. Now she had him in front of her, the anger was as strong as it had been the moment she had caught him in flagrante. ‘How is the lovely Chloe?’
‘Jaysus, Honor. I’ve no idea. She was a mistake –’
‘No. You were a mistake.’
‘We’re not all paragons of virtue.’
‘It’s not that hard to remain faithful to someone you profess to love.’
‘I admit I was a total arsehole, OK? But at least I would have had the guts to face what I’d done. Not run away’
Honor drew in a sharp breath.
‘You’re not calling me a coward, surely?’
‘You never gave me a chance to explain!’
‘Johnny – no explanation in the world would have made any difference. You were in bed with a nineteen-year-old girl! How can you make that look anything other than despicable?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
He looked at her defiantly. Despite herself, she was intrigued. What explanation would he come up with to absolve himself?
‘You can say whatever you like. It won’t make any difference.’
Johnny ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up endearingly. Harden your heart, thought Honor, here comes the whitewash.
‘Chloe had me over a barrel, OK? I made the mistake of sleeping with her when I first moved into the barn – way before I even met you. I had a house-warming party and she came along; everyone had too much to drink and it all got a bit out of hand. I made it clear the next day there was nothing between us, that it was just a fling, but she wouldn’t get the message. She was obsessed with me. She’d come into the barn when I got home every evening. Twice I found her naked in my bed. I couldn’t get it through to her that I wasn’t interested. In the end she got heavy. She said if I didn’t sleep with her she’d tell her father I’d raped her. He’s a barrister, Honor. I wouldn’t have had a hope…’
‘Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you took advantage of her in the first place.’
‘Advantage?’ Johnny gave a yelp of indignation. ‘Have you
seen a nineteen-year-old girl with one thing on her mind? I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell!’
‘There’s only one little word you needed. But you’ve never been good with no, have you?’
‘I was trying to protect myself, Honor. Sleeping with Chloe didn’t mean anything.’
‘So how long were you going to carry on?’
‘That’s the irony! I’d told her this was the last time. Because…’ Johnny trailed off.
‘Because what?’
‘Because I was going to ask you to marry me.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Honor’s tone was withering. ‘I almost believed you up until then.’
‘It’s true!’
Johnny looked like an indignant little boy defending himself to the headmaster. Honor tried to hide a smile.
‘What’s so funny?’ he demanded.
‘It would be funny. If it wasn’t so pathetic,’ she said wearily. ‘I’m not really interested in your elaborate explanations. After all, you’ve had long enough to think up a convincing lie –’
‘You’re so bloody sanctimonious, you know that?’
Honor looked taken aback. Johnny’s voice was level, but she could see his fists were clenched.
‘You can only think about yourself in any of this, can’t you? Didn’t I have a right to know you were carrying my child? A son who’s been walking this earth for the past six years?’
‘The second you jumped into bed with her, whether it was for the first or last time, you lost any rights.’ She imbued the last word with heavy sarcasm.
‘I want to see him.’
‘Tough.’
‘I’ve got legal rights. As his biological father.’
‘Have you?’ Honor raised an eyebrow.
An Eligible Bachelor Page 10
