An Eligible Bachelor (16 page)

‘The point,’ said Charles, ‘is that what you’ve written is brilliant. And I think it would make the most fantastic book.’

‘What?’

‘You should publish it.’

‘Don’t be silly. Who’d want to read it?’

‘Lots of people.’

Henty looked at him doubtfully.

‘Trust me. I’m a literary agent,’ Charles equivocated smoothly. ‘This is the best thing I’ve read for years. It’s fresh, funny, different. Everyone’s obsessed with Sloanes because of Princess Diana –’

‘I’m not a Sloane!’ protested Henty.

‘Of course you are. You’re posh and you hang out in Chelsea and you know people with tides. Don’t knock it. This could be your meal ticket.’ Charles paused for a moment. ‘Surely you don’t want to be hoovering Dickon’s bedroom for the rest of your life?’

‘Course not. I’m supposed to be going to Meribel next month. To be a chalet girl.’

‘There you go. Classic Sloane behaviour,’ Charles teased her gently.

By the end of the night, Charles had eight of the pink notebooks Henty used as her diary, filled with pages of her rounded handwriting littered with exclamation marks and smiley faces. Two days later, the manuscript was typed up. He knew he was on to a winner when the typist asked if there was going to be any more – she was desperate to know what happened next.

Then he sat down and composed a letter to an editor he’d been courting at one of the top publishing houses.

‘I wanted you to be the first to look at this,’ he wrote. ‘It’s called
The Diary of a Chelsea Virgin
…’

Diary of a Chelsea Virgin
smashed into the bestseller charts a year later. Henty was fêted as a minor celebrity; there was a column for one of the society magazines and she did a what-to-wear-and-how-to-behave slot on breakfast telly when they did a round-up of the social season.

Charles launched his own agency off the back of it. Meredith was so gaga by then she barely noticed, and Charles was applauded for sticking by her for so long. Several of her clients wanted to jump ship with him, but he insisted that he couldn’t do that to her – he wasn’t
that ruthless. He soon picked up new talent, Henty wrote a follow-up, and the two of them became an item. Charles just about managed not to capitalize on the fact that he’d deflowered the infamous Chelsea Virgin.

A year after that, they were married. And with her substantial royalty cheques, they bought a farmhouse in the Cotswolds.

‘I want babies,’ said Henty. ‘Lots of them.’

Charles duly provided her with four.

Somehow, fifteen years later, life was not as perfect as it should be. After his meteoric rise and ten honeyed years of success, Charles was no longer the hot new kid on the block when it came to spotting talent. He hadn’t moved with the times. He hadn’t done a six-figure deal for three years. His client list was, frankly, rather embarrassing. When people asked at dinner parties who he looked after, they obviously expected a litany of chick-lit authoresses and Booker prize winners. Not that he wasn’t making money. He had a client who wrote rather unsavoury sadistic thrillers that had a huge underground following and were lapped up by the Japanese in particular. Another specialized in lesbian porn – Charles was never quite sure if it was intended for women or men, but didn’t enquire too closely, as they were exceptionally lucrative. He had plenty of projects that were ticking over, but what he didn’t have was credibility. And Charles was very anxious about how he was perceived. It was why he’d taken up hunting; it was social death not to in Eversleigh, and he rather enjoyed shocking people with his exploits when he went out to lunch in London. He thought his approval of bloodsports gave him a certain cachet.

So lately he’d been rather tense. He was desperate for a project that would re-establish him and give him some respect. The hot new talent didn’t even bother to send him their manuscripts any more, though he had plenty of crap from middle-aged women with empty-nest syndrome who thought they could write a bestseller. He just needed one hot project and he’d be back in the running.

In the meantime, he knew he was being beastly to Henty, but she always managed to make him feel such a heel precisely because she didn’t nag and complain. He knew losing his licence like that was bloody catastrophic, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit to being in the wrong. He just prayed that the nanny idea would be a success. Actually, how could it fail to be? A chauffeur on tap, hot and cold babysitting, someone to do all the mucking out that he had to nag Thea and Lily to do. Maybe he and Henty could have a life at long last. In fact, he didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it sooner…

While Johnny went out to buy eggs and bread, Honor lay in the bath and came to terms with the fact that she was going to have to let him meet Ted. She simply didn’t have any choice. She knew Johnny well enough to know that he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and she wanted to avoid ugly scenes at all costs. To protect Ted, more than anything. In return for her compliance, she prayed that Johnny would accept that things had to go along at her pace. Surely he would respect that she would know what was best for their son? It was a delicate situation, after all.

She came down from her bath in fresh jeans and a
sweatshirt, her short hair still wet and slicked back. Johnny was flipping slices of eggy bread expertly; the breakfast bar was laid with two places, with glasses of orange juice and a pot of fresh coffee waiting. He’d certainly made himself at home already, she noted. He gave her a smile.

‘Sit down. We’re nearly ready.’

Honor perched on the other stool and watched him get out plates, then slide the golden triangles on to them.

‘There you go.’ He presented her breakfast with a flourish. She tucked in hungrily, eating it with her fingers as they always used to after a wild night out, dipping the corners into tomato sauce – he’d found that too. It was almost as if he was taking her on a journey back in time, reminding her of the good times they’d once had together. The infuriating thing was it was almost working. It was great to have breakfast cooked for you, great to have fresh coffee – Honor would normally never bother; the packet had sat in her cupboard for months – great to sit with someone who wasn’t going to ask you how magnets worked, or what the gearstick on a car was for. Just for once, of course.

When she finished, she realized Johnny was staring at her.

‘What?’

‘You’ve got tomato sauce on your chin,’ he grinned, and reached out a finger to wipe it off. She recoiled hastily, grabbing a nearby tea towel to wipe it off herself. She didn’t want physical contact. She needed to keep a clear head.

‘I haven’t got leprosy, you know,’ said Johnny reproachfully.

‘I know,’ said Honor. ‘Listen,’ she continued firmly, ‘I’ve
decided you can meet Ted. But I don’t want him to know who you are yet. I want to take this really slowly. I can’t just spring it on him suddenly.’

‘When?’

Honor knew she was going to have to stand her ground.

‘Wednesday. After school. About… five o’clock. You can come for tea.’

Johnny frowned.

‘Why not the weekend? It would give us more time.’

That was precisely what Honor didn’t want. Plenty of time for Johnny to get comfy and get his feet under the table, and for her to be enjoying having him around, wanting him to stay longer. If it was a school night then she’d have to stick to their routine; she’d be able to kick Johnny out at half six saying it was bathtime.

‘We’re busy at the weekend,’ she said firmly.

‘Is there anything I can bring him? Does he collect anything? Lego or something? Do they still make Lego?’

‘Don’t bring him anything. You’re just an old friend of mine, remember? He’ll think it’s a bit weird if you turn up laden with presents.’

‘If he’s a normal little boy he won’t worry about it too much,’ Johnny said. ‘But if you insist.’

He took her chin in his hand and turned her to face him.

‘You know what?’

‘What?’ said Honor, wary.

‘I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have as the mother of my child.’

‘Thank you,’ she said primly, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

‘I know you don’t believe me, but there
hasn’t
been anyone else since you, you know.’ Johnny was gazing at her intently. ‘I haven’t been a monk, of course I haven’t. But there hasn’t been anyone who comes close to meaning what you did.’

He was staring at her, obviously expecting a reply, but she just smiled and shrugged rather helplessly.

‘What about you?’ he asked suddenly.

‘What about me?’

‘Has there been anyone else? Have you had… relationships? Have you got someone?’

Honor felt indignant. He was stepping over the line, poking his nose in where it didn’t belong. She couldn’t say yes, because that would be lying. And she certainly couldn’t say no, because that would imply that she’d attached some great importance to her relationship with Johnny, that she’d been preserving herself in aspic ever since she’d left him. Which of course she hadn’t.

‘That is absolutely none of your business. Now if you don’t mind I’ve got to go and pick Ted up, so I’d be grateful if you’d bugger off. And I don’t want any funny stuff. I don’t want you peering in the window to get a look at him or anything. You’ll have to wait till Wednesday.’

‘I’d forgotten just how tough you were,’ mused Johnny. ‘And how bossy.’

Honor picked up his coat and car keys and thrust them at him.

‘Coat. Keys. Door.’

He backed out of the room reluctantly.

‘Can I have your phone number? In case there’s a problem?’

Exasperated, Honor picked up one of her business cards and shoved it in his top pocket. He rummaged in his coat and handed her one of his in return.

‘My mobile number’s on it,’ he said softly. ‘In case you want to talk. I’ll be on the end of the phone any time of the day or night. I know you’re pretending to be tough and in control, Honor. But there’s a lot we’ve got to think about.’

‘Johnny?’ she smiled. ‘Fuck off. I’ll see you on Wednesday.’

Once she was quite sure Johnny had gone, Honor drove over to the Beresfords’ to collect Ted. Against her better judgement, she allowed herself to be persuaded to stay for lunch by Henty.

‘Please! Charles is in a bait – he got stopped last night for drunk-driving.’

‘Oh no!’

‘Yes. So he’s not a happy bunny, even though he’s pretending it wasn’t his fault. Though how he works that one out I don’t know. Anyway, if you’re here for lunch he’ll have to be nice. I’ve done an enormous leg of pork…’

Honor hesitated. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to be a pawn in the Beresfords’ marital battle, but Ted and Walter were having a fantastic time outside on the bikes and what was the point of dragging Ted away from a slap-up Sunday lunch when the fridge was empty at home?

Instead they had a hilarious time dissecting all the outfits from the night before. Honor noticed that Henty became very slitty-eyed when Fleur Gibson was
mentioned, and Charles looked uncomfortable.

‘She’s a silly cow,’ pronounced Honor.

‘Tell Charles that,’ slurred Henty, pouring herself another glass of wine.

‘She’s a silly, dangerous cow,’ repeated Honor emphatically.

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ drawled Charles, who knew when he was being got at. ‘But she’s got a fantastic arse.’

He sat back with a smirk to enjoy the look of outrage on Honor and Henty’s faces.

‘You should know,’ said Henty. ‘You had a good enough feel.’

Charles blinked slowly. Like a lizard, thought Honor.

‘Perhaps it’s small,’ he said, ‘because she doesn’t sit around on it all day. Because she actually gets
up
off her arse and does something with her time.’

Henty gasped, as if he’d thrown a glass of ice-cold water over her. Honor narrowed her eyes and glared at him across the table.

‘We could all open a shop,’ she hissed, ‘if we had rich husbands who put the money up.’

‘Maybe.’ Charles met her glare coolly. ‘By the way, who was the Paddy last night?’ He looked at her knowingly from under his heavy-lidded eyes, slipping the knife in when she least expected it.

‘Just someone I used to know in Bath.’ Annoyed with herself for not seeing it coming, Honor glossed over it as best she could. She’d thought for a moment the night before that Charles had suspected who Johnny was, but she’d hoped he’d been too drunk to actually put two and two together. Now she couldn’t be sure.

‘Someone you knew well?’ Charles persisted.

‘Just a friend.’

‘Yeah? Well, he grilled me for a good five minutes. About what you were doing and where you lived.’

‘I hope you didn’t tell him anything!’ said Henty.

‘Of course not. I’m not going to give away Honor’s secrets to a total stranger.’

Honor squirmed, not sure if Charles was toying with her, or if he was just being his usual smarmy self.

‘You certainly didn’t look too happy to see him. Had he got something on you?’

Honor shrugged.

‘He’s just not the sort of person I want to get mixed up with again. He’s in with the hard-drinking, racing crowd. Too fast for me.’

‘Ah, well, it’s in the blood, isn’t it? You can see that.’

Charles’s final dig was so pointed that Honor stood up sharply to clear away, her cheeks flushing an angry red. She carried the vegetable dishes out to the kitchen. Henty followed her.

‘I’m sorry about Charles. He’s being completely obnoxious because he feels guilty about losing his licence.’

‘What on earth are you going to do if he can’t drive?’

‘Every cloud’s got a silver lining,’ grinned Henty. ‘He’s said I can get a live-in nanny. I’m going to book it first thing in the morning before he changes his mind.’

‘Good for you!’ said Honor.

She stood by the kitchen window and took a gulp of fresh air. For a moment she wanted to confide in Henty. It was obvious Charles was suspicious and was going to spill the beans sooner or later. But she didn’t feel ready
to share her secret yet. Tempting though it was to throw herself on to Henty’s comforting shoulder, she decided not to say anything. Henty had her hands full as it was. And she wanted to get things straight in her head before she shared the news with the rest of the world. She’d think about it tonight, when Ted had gone to bed.