‘No,’ said Travis. ‘No, I’m not. But if I was I’d be a lucky bloke.’
Charles took another step forward, clenching his fists.
‘Watch it. That’s my wife you’re talking about.’
‘I know it is. And you should be careful.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You treat her like shit.’
He spat out the last word in his guttural accent. Charles blinked in surprise.
‘Shit?’
‘You know what I’m talking about.’
‘I most certainly do not.’
‘Don’t try and pretend. You treat her exactly the way my dad treats my mum. A new kitchen? That only means one thing. Guilt. My mum has a different rock for every one of my dad’s affairs.’
Travis gave him such a look of distaste that Charles recoiled. How the hell could this kid have any inkling about what had gone on with Fleur? He laughed smoothly.
‘I really don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,’ he said.
‘Oh, I think you do,’ replied Travis. ‘And I think you should watch out.’
Charles feigned puzzlement.
‘Is that some sort of threat?’
‘No. It’s a warning. Henty isn’t the walkover you think she is. You carry on treating her like this and you might just lose out.’
Charles strode over and jabbed him in the chest, angry now.
‘I think you better mind your own business. I’ve a good mind to sack you. How dare you insult me in my own home?’
Travis put his hands up.
‘Hey. Back off. I don’t want to come to blows. I’m only telling you this because I care about Henty. And not in the way you think. She’s a really great person. She deserves some respect. Not to be treated like a doormat.’
‘I do not treat her like a doormat.’
Yes, you do. She’s only had a life since I arrived and took some of the pressure off.’
‘Is that what she told you?’
‘No. Of course not. She’s far too loyal.’
Charles was struggling to make sense of what Travis was saying.
‘There’s something going on,’ he persisted. ‘I know there is. She’s different. And I want to know why’
The drink was making him insistent.
‘Well, don’t ask me,’ said Travis. ‘Ask Henty.’
He turned and put his hand on the latch of the door that led to his room.
‘Try taking an interest in someone other than yourself for a change,’ he added over his shoulder, then pushed open the door and stepped inside, leaving Charles swaying gently in the pool of light from the security lamp.
Despite his initial instincts, he believed the boy’s denial. Travis had stood his ground under questioning, and had even had the nerve to go on the attack. Charles felt slightly ill as he recalled his observations. Even more ill when he realized that the boy had spoken the truth. He was right. Charles was a miserable worm.
He’d ridden roughshod over Henty recently. He’d been an absolute arsehole, and all because of his own vanity and insecurity. It was an accumulation of things, he told himself. His lacklustre career – he wasn’t a failure, but it had all become rather humdrum and there was no doubt he had lost pole position in the literary circles he moved in. His looks – he knew his middle was thickening and his hair thinning, not to mention becoming sprinkled with silver that Charles struggled to find remotely distinguished. His handsome features had always been a boon, and the prospect of losing them made him panic. To top it all, he even felt unsure about his position in the family. He had to admit that Thea and Lily, now they’d entered adolescence, rather terrified him. Thea was so confrontational and Lily so manipulative, both traits which he thought they’d inherited from him, which made it all the more frightening. He left Henty to deal with their incessant demands and threats, reasoning that a woman would understand their needs better. But even that argument didn’t hold up. Walter and Robin still turned to Henty rather than Charles. They never came to him for man-to-man chats.
Charles put his hand over his eyes in despair. He was a useless husband and father. He was superfluous in his own family. They didn’t need him. He’d felt more and more like an outsider recently. The atmosphere changed when he walked through the door; became heavier. Thea and Lily rolled their eyes; Robin and Walter became wary. And now even Henty, sweet-natured, long-suffering Henty, wasn’t putting up with it any more. It was as if she’d finally realized what an utter knob she was married to, and had resolved to make the best of a bad job.
He stumbled back into the house, groaning. What an utter, utter mess. He’d behaved atrociously. Images of what he’d done with Fleur flashed through his mind and he batted them away with his hand, not wanting to be reminded. Panic and Merlot swirled together in his gut; he steadied himself against the wall, struggling not to be sick. He’d have to stop drinking. Alcohol was a fickle friend, enticing you into evil then laughing as you battled with the consequences; weakening your resolve and then amplifying your fears; promising reassurance but bringing you the demons of doubt instead.
He staggered up the stairs. Maybe it wasn’t too late. If he confessed it all, then begged forgiveness, promised to start again, maybe it would be all right. They could be companions again. Laugh together, like they had in the old days. Share their dreams. They didn’t seem to have any dreams any more. All his energies went into battling to survive; hers, he knew, went into looking after the family. They had no time to themselves.
He lurched in through the bedroom door, falling over his shoes where he’d left them earlier. It was pitch black in the bedroom, so he snapped on the bedside lamp, putting out a hand to steady himself.
‘Henty!’ he hissed urgently, in the loud whisper of the drunkard trying to be quiet. ‘Henty – wake up!’
Henty sat up in alarm. She looked about twelve, with her tangled hair and her face free of make-up, wearing a long nightshirt with a picture of a snoozing teddy on the front. For a moment Charles imagined Fleur in bed, still perfectly made up and without a hair out of place, in a satin nightdress that would leave nothing to the imagination, and he shuddered.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, alarmed. ‘Is it one of the kids?’
‘No. I need to talk to you. I’ve got something to tell you.’
Realizing it wasn’t an emergency, and that Charles was roaring drunk, Henty flopped back on the pillow.
‘For God’s sake, not now,’ she protested.
‘No. It’s important.’
‘If it was that important, why didn’t you mention it earlier?’ Her voice was sharp. Charles winced. He flopped on to the bed and pawed at her arm pleadingly.
‘You don’t understand…’
‘No, and I’m not likely to, with you in that state. Go to sleep, will you?’
‘I’ve got a confession.’ He stated it dramatically, then paused, waiting for a reaction. Henty just buried her head in the pillows. When she spoke, her voice was muffled.
‘Tell me in the morning. When you’re sober.’
After that, she absolutely refused to respond to any of his cajoling. He finally rolled on to his back, defeated, and stared dully at the ceiling. Henty was back in the land of nod within seconds. He lay there for what seemed like hours, battling with his demons, his conscience and the bilious Merlot. He remembered the early days, when they’d first moved into Fulford Farm. They’d had an ancient bed then, sagging in the middle. They would both lie in the dip, snuggled together, and she would tuck her hand into the waistband of his pyjama bottoms and hold him to her, as if she was afraid he would escape. She never did that these days. Their bed now was a kingsize, and she was as far over her side as she could possibly get without falling out.
24
Johnny arrived to collect Ted at eleven o’clock on Sunday morning, having gone home the night before to prepare for his son’s visit. Honor tried hard to suppress her misgivings, telling herself she was over-possessive and clucky. It would do both
of them good, she thought, as she packed an overnight bag with pyjamas and toothbrush and a spare change of clothes. Meanwhile, Ted had stuffed his backpack with all the essentials a little boy needed: half a ton of Lego, his cuddly monkey, his Action Man water bottle and several videos.
‘You’re only going for the night,’ Honor smiled. ‘You don’t need half that stuff.’
‘You never know,’ said Johnny. ‘Come on. The limo’s waiting.
Ted needed no second telling. He rushed outside and climbed into the front seat of the Audi. Honor leaned in and did up his seat belt, then turned to Johnny, who was waiting tactfully on the pavement for her to say goodbye.
‘Don’t forget to make sure his seat belt’s done up properly. He can’t do it himself.’ She couldn’t help feeling anxious. There were so many pitfalls and dangers that Johnny might not be aware of, practicalities and safety issues that just might not occur to him, just as they’d never occurred to her until she’d become a parent.
Johnny gave her a reassuring hug.
‘Listen. I’m as concerned for his safety as you are. He’s my son too, remember.’
‘Of course. I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s the first time he’s really been away.’
She was trying desperately hard not to cry.
‘He’ll be fine. I’ve promised him if he wants to come home he can ring you and I’ll bring him back straight away. But that doesn’t mean you have to wait by the phone. Go out and enjoy yourself. Have some me time, or whatever they call it.’
Honor just smiled. There was no way she was going to leave the house, but she wasn’t going to tell Johnny that. It was going to take all her self-control not to follow the car back to his place and keep a pair of binoculars trained on the two of them for the next twenty-four hours.
The Audi drove away smoothly from the kerb. Honor waved madly, watched until it disappeared around the corner at the top of the village, then wondered what on earth she was going to do for the rest of the day. All the times she had longed for an afternoon to herself, and now she’d got one she had no idea what to do.
At Eversleigh, the house party departed at midday on Sunday. Compared to the inaugural visitors, they had been a dull bunch. Restrained, but picky nevertheless. Somehow the Black Country crowd had been less work: even though they had been noisy and boisterous they had been easy to please and relentlessly appreciative, which had been far more gratifying than mealy-mouthed nods of grudging approval.
‘Goodbye. Lovely to see you. Fuck off and don’t come back,’ Guy muttered through his breath from the top of the steps, as their convoy of sensible saloons drove off through the gates. Marilyn giggled.
‘You’re wicked.’
‘I’m not. I’m late. I’m supposed to pick up Richenda and her mum from the station in five minutes.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I promised them Sunday lunch and at this rate we won’t get it.’ He looked hopefully at Marilyn. ‘I don’t suppose you’d be an angel and peel some spuds for me, only Mum’s still at church? I’ll give you double time.’
‘Sorry,’ said Marilyn. ‘I’ve got the beds to strip, then me and Malachi are going to a Zodiac owners’rally.’
‘Oh,’ said Guy, slightly affronted. Marilyn usually bent over backwards to help him out. He shrugged, and dug in his pocket for the car keys. It didn’t matter if lunch was a bit late. There were loads of canapés left over from last night – they’d have to fill up on those while they were waiting.
As he swung the car out of the drive, he spotted a familiar figure making its way back up the high street. A familiar figure in a blue duffel coat, her long legs clad in multicoloured stripy tights and suede boots. He had only seconds to decide. He was already late. But to drive past would be rude and arrogant. Exactly the sort of behaviour one would expect from someone who jumped their own employee.
Honor was walking back home from the village shop with the Sunday papers in her arms when a car drew up beside her. Realizing it was Guy at the wheel, she felt pink and flustered as she remembered the last time she had seen him sitting in that very seat.
The car came to a halt and Guy wound down the driver’s window.
‘How’s Ted?’
‘He’s absolutely fine. He’s gone to stay the night with his dad.’ She attempted a smile. ‘Heaven only knows what the two of them will get up to. But at least it gives me an afternoon to myself’.
There was an uncomfortable pause.
‘Thanks for the Beano annuals, by the way,’ Honor added politely. ‘Ted loved them.’
‘That’s OK. I’m glad they’ve gone to a good home.’
Guy slipped the car into first gear and raised his hand in a farewell gesture.
‘I’d better go. I’m supposed to be picking up Richenda from the station.’ He made a face. ‘I’m meeting the future mother-in-law. Better not be late.’
‘Have fun.’
‘I doubt it. I’ve got to be on my best behaviour. I’ll see you sometime next week?’
‘Yes…’
The car drew away. Honor clutched the newspaper to her chest as she watched him go. He was such a gentleman. In one conversation, he had tactfully managed to remind her that he was still engaged to be married, that her behaviour had been forgotten and that her job was intact. She felt hugely relieved, yet as she started back towards home, she realized her heart was thumping. It was the stress of the humiliation, she supposed, taking several deep breaths to try and bring her pulse rate down. She hoped she wasn’t going to be overcome with confusion and embarrassment every time she saw him. It would be too exhausting for words.
Guy drove off with a heavy heart. For two pins he’d have told Honor to hop in, and driven her off somewhere for Sunday lunch. But she’d made it quite clear that she wanted to be on her own; that she was relishing the prospect of some solitude. And she was obviously going to pretend that Friday’s disgraceful incident had never happened, for which Guy was very grateful. He didn’t want to be reminded that he couldn’t control his urges. She probably thought he did it all the time; that he was a randy old goat; that poor Marilyn had to fight off his lecherous advances as well.
Besides, he had to face up to his responsibilities. In ten minutes’ time his fiancée was arriving with her mother in tow. Shit – what was her mother’s name? Susan? Sarah? He was fairly certain it began with an S. He chided himself. Richenda deserved better than this from him. This was an important moment for her. And it was up to him to make sure everything went smoothly.
As the train slowed down and drew into the station at Eldenbury, Sally was tempted for a moment not to get off. She was more nervous than she liked to admit about meeting Guy and Madeleine. She and Richenda had spent a wonderful few days together. Over the past week they’d talked, shopped, talked, eaten, talked, drunk, talked, cried. They’d shared memories and confessions and home truths; hurled accusations at each other in their cups, then hugged each other fiercely. They’d realized they were very, very different, but in some ways the same – they both liked to keep their distance emotionally. Each day, Richenda had taken Sally on a spending spree. It was a useful way to give them something else to focus on, as sometimes the emotional turmoil became exhausting. Shopping was a suitably superficial distraction, and although Sally, very conscious that she might be perceived as a freeloader, protested that she hardly deserved spoiling, Richenda insisted.
‘I’ve got nothing else to spend all this bloody money I’m earning on. Anyway, it’s what celebrity mums and daughters do,’ she added wryly.
At first when they went out, Sally had been a little freaked by the way people accosted Richenda to sign something or ask her a question or have their photo taken with her. But she loved the way they had the undivided attention of shopkeepers and waiters and doormen. ‘I could get used to this,’ she giggled, as they were ushered past a long queue of disgruntled diners into the inner sanctum of the latest restaurant, having deposited several expensive, rope-handled carrier bags in the cloakroom.
; Thus the bond that had once been so strong between them was gradually re-soldered. Now, as they stood waiting by the doors for the train to finally stop, Sally was all too aware that she was going to have to share her daughter with someone else, someone who had a greater claim to her than she herself did. She looked out of the window and saw a tall, dark-haired figure waiting on the platform.
‘There he is,’ said Richenda excitedly, pushing open the window and reaching for the handle as the man went to open the door from the other side. Sally watched as her daughter was folded into the arms of her fiancé, and felt a momentary pang of jealousy that she didn’t like herself for.
Quickly, the good-mannered Guy disengaged himself from Richenda and went to embrace Sally, who took a step back. She didn’t kiss people she didn’t know.
‘Hi,’ she said warily, crossing her arms in front of her to make sure he got the message. Guy seemed unfazed.
‘In case you hadn’t guessed, I’m Guy,’ he grinned cheerily. ‘Welcome to the Cotswolds.’
And with that he picked up each of their cases and led them to the car.
Back at home, Honor dumped the newspaper on the sofa and went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. On the table, she saw a large white envelope, her name on the front in Johnny’s inimitable scrawl. He must have put it there when she wasn’t looking. Cautiously, she slid her finger under the flap and opened the envelope.
Inside were the details of a house, a pretty, square, Cotswold stone village house with a walled garden, and paper-clipped to them was a handwritten letter.
Dearest Honor
I want you to have a look at this and think about it seriously. It doesn’t have to be this house, of course, but it’s quite near Eversleigh and I didn’t want to uproot you and Ted. The beauty of my job is I can work just about anywhere. There are plenty of practices I could join around here – I’ve already done my homework.
I know we could make it work. We always had something special, we had the spark, and if it went wrong it was entirely my fault. I accept the blame, and all I can say is that I’m no longer the selfish, self-centred, self-indulgent (what a lot of selfs!) person I once was because I now realize what matters. In other words, maybe I’ve grown up!
An Eligible Bachelor Page 35
