The Would-Begetter (15 page)

‘Fine.’

Hector let out a breath, blowing both cheeks out like an over-mature cherub. ‘Well that is a relief ‘It is?’ Zillah was puzzled.

‘Well naturally. I adore children, you know,’ Hector said artlessly. ‘In fact I’ve always wanted to be a father.’ He cleared a chair near to her, and sat down.

‘Really? So why did you have a vasectomy?’

‘Oh… well… yes… my first wife, you see… She was very much against having children… so we… ‘course it’s not infallible. I think statistically it’s one in every two thousand that re-connects itself somehow… grows back… you know. But of course I’ve never dared to hope…’

Heavens! Zillah thought, suddenly seeing a way in which his visit might be turned to her advantage. ‘So you reckon that you could be my baby’s father?’

‘Oh!’ Hector said theatrically, ‘wouldn’t that be splendid!’

‘Somehow I don’t think Clive would share your enthusiasm,’ Zillah said.

‘Sod’s law, it will turn out to be his,’ Hector made a face.

‘We could get its blood group tested to find out, I suppose?’

‘Better still, we’ll get a DNA test!’

‘Well yes, but they’re pretty expensive aren’t they?’

‘Oh money’s no object,’ Hector assured her. ‘I’ve got plenty.’ He looked as eager as a spaniel, and almost as appealing.

Zillah knew when she was on to a good thing. ‘Fine,’ she said, smiling. ‘I was coming to that next.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Well babies are expensive things, you know.’

‘Wait!’ Hector said, ‘first things first. I’ve got something very important to ask you.’ He got out of the chair on to his knees on the dusty floor beside her, and took one of her hands in both of his. ‘Zillah,’ he said, ‘will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

Zillah’s smile widened. ‘Oh I would, Hector, believe me, but I’m afraid I can’t.’

‘But why? You’re not married.’

‘Because I’m allergic to marriage in any shape or form.’

‘But that’s nonsense,’ Hector protested.

‘Not to me it isn’t.’

‘But Zillah, cariad, I love you. You must marry me.’

‘I’m sorry Hector.’

‘But then I can look after you both… and Christian too of course.’

‘You still can.’

‘No, Zillah, I’m old-fashioned enough to want the whole deal. For me it’s marriage or nothing.’

‘That’s a shame.’ Zillah’s mind worked quickly. ‘You see, if I don’t get enough support, I might not be able to afford to have this baby at all. It’s a dreadful thing to contemplate, but Clive isn’t what you’d call a reliable provider, and I’m not yet twenty-four weeks gone, so it would still be legal…’

Nothing in this world, she thought, would induce me to get rid of this precious child, but Hector isn’t to know that.

‘You don’t mean abortion?’ Hector looked horrified. ‘I can’t believe someone like you would even
think
of such a thing!’

Zillah sighed. ‘Extreme poverty sometimes necessitates drastic measures,’ she said quietly.

It worked. Without another word, Hector jumped to his feet and scrabbled about in the inside pocket of his jacket, for his cheque-book.

The news of Wendy’s pregnancy (and Hector’s part in it) spread swiftly round the
Chronicle
staff like a sharp dose of flu. Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t Barry who first told Jess. She would have expected him to be at the forefront of the ‘Hey, guess what?’ brigade, but he was being uncharacteristically gruff. Poor Barry, Jess thought. I expect he wishes it was his.

As far as Hector was concerned, Jess felt both worried and ambivalent. It seemed as though he had actually achieved his aim, and had begotten at least one baby, possibly two? So now what would he do? Jess was clear as to what ought to happen. Zillah had Clive, so she was all right, but poor Wendy had no one. Hector had a duty to marry her. But, Jess thought, they’d be hopelessly mismatched. Wendy needs someone kind and ordinary and unchallenging. And Hector? Hector needs someone to stand up to him, someone bright who could make him laugh, someone independent who could keep him on his toes… someone who could take him with a pinch of salt and yet would understand him.

As she drove towards the country pub where Hector had suggested they should meet for this unprecedented Saturday lunch, Jess wondered why he had invited her there and what he wanted to talk to her about. Perhaps he would ask her advice? It was a flattering thought. He did seem to value her opinion more than she might have expected, given the disparity in their ages. Well, Jess thought comfortably, what’s seventeen years when all’s said and done? So, what do I do? Should I encourage him to marry Wendy? On the other hand, can I in all conscience tell him all the reasons why he shouldn’t? But then again, how would I feel if he did? How the hell did he get mixed up with her anyway? Maybe he doesn’t have to
marry
her? He’s rich enough to pay her a generous amount of maintenance and leave it at that, surely? I wonder if she’s in love with him? He can’t possibly love her… can he?

Hector was already at the pub when she arrived, sitting outside at a small table in the sun, with a colourful salad and a cool beer in front of him. He looked entirely at ease and greeted her arrival with a wide smile, patting the bench beside him and asking her what she would like to eat and drink. Jess had a salad too, and waited until after it was brought to the table by the publican’s wife before starting any serious conversation.

A dark, touzle-headed child of about three arrived at the same time as the food, holding on to his mother’s apron and peeking out at them shyly, with small vole-bright eyes.

‘Aha!’ Hector said, looking down at him. ‘And who have we here then? What’s your name little boy?’ The child hid his face. ‘I’ll bet it’s Marmaduke?’ No reply. ‘Or Nebuchadnezzar?’ Then just as his mother moved off to collect empty glasses from adjacent tables, the child darted forward and landed a puny punch on Hector’s thigh.

‘NO!’ he piped.

Hector bent down and grabbed him by the straps of his dungarees, sweeping him high up over his head, before placing him firmly on his knee. ‘I know,’ he said, ‘it’s Rumpelstiltskin.’ The boy wriggled, but Hector held on firmly. ‘Tell me your name you young scamp,’ he said, ‘and then I’ll let you go.’

‘Is that wise…?’ Jess began, frowning.

‘Just getting into practice,’ Hector said cheerfully.

Then, as the child opened his mouth to roar in protest, he took a grape from his salad and popped it in. The boy choked, coughed and spat it out, and then began to bellow in earnest.

‘Jason?’ His mother glanced up from her tray full of dirty glasses.

‘Oh, it’s Jason, is it?’ Hector said, jogging him up and down. ‘Hello Jason.’ The boy was now trying to bite his hand.

‘Let him go, why don’t you?’ Jess suggested nervously.

‘Relax,’ Hector reassured her. ‘I’m good with children. Where’s your Golden Fleece then?’ he asked the child, who was by now bright red in the face and struggling furiously. ‘You ought to be blond with a name like that.’

‘Probably christened before he was born,’ Jess observed tartly.

‘Pervert!’
The boy’s mother had dumped the tray and now rushed over, snatching him off Hector’s knee and bearing him away, wailing.

‘Oh well,’ Hector said, only slightly abashed. ‘Funny how small-minded some people can be, isn’t it? You’ve only got to smile at a child these days, and wallop, you’re a paedophile!’

‘I think he was frightened,’ Jess said.

‘Rubbish,’ Hector said cheerfully. ‘They’re like small animals, children, you know. They just need a bit of discipline and then they’re fine.’

‘Are you quite sure you’re really cut out to be a father?’ Jess asked, grinning.

Hector’s smile vanished. ‘Not funny, Jess,’ he said. ‘OK?’

She felt snubbed. There was a silence, during which they ate their lunch. Jess noticed that the squashed grape was nestling in Hector’s crotch, oozing juice, but refrained from mentioning it.

‘Lovely weather,’ Hector said eventually. ‘May is my favourite month.’

‘Mine too,’ Jess said.

‘Jess, have you by any chance…’ Oh good! Jess thought. At last we’re going to get to the point of this meeting. ‘… got Caroline Moffat’s new London address?’ Hector finished, looking bland.

‘Oh,… well… yes, but why?’

Hector tapped the side of his nose with an index finger. ‘Could you let me have it then?’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘Oh good.’ Hector glanced at his watch. ‘Then I really shall have to be making tracks, you know. Busy afternoon ahead.’

Dammit! Jess thought. Is that it? ‘You could have asked me for it at work,’ she protested, ‘instead of dragging me all the way out here. I haven’t got it with me anyway. It’s in my address book at home.’

‘Hoity toity!’ Hector pretended to take offence. ‘I thought you would appreciate a friendly lunch in the country,’ he said. ‘How was I to know you’d be so prickly today? If you must know, I’ve some private business to discuss with Caroline, and
I don’t want the busybodies in the Newsroom getting wind of it. OK?’

‘You’re surely not the father of her baby as well?’ Jess exclaimed, bursting into unrestrained laughter.

‘RIGHT,’ Hector said standing up, suddenly furious. ‘That’s it. I’ve had quite enough of your childishness for one day, Ms Hazelrigg. I had thought you mature enough to conduct adult conversations, but I see now that you’re just a sniggering schoolgirl. I’m sorry I ever imagined otherwise.’ And with that, he angrily dashed the flattened grape off his trousers and strode away. Jess was mortified.

Hector had been infuriated by Jess’s levity. He had always thought of her as grown up, so it had come as quite a shock that she could be so juvenile. It was also doubly irritating that she had so speedily jumped to his own conclusion. He could only hope their other colleagues would not be so annoyingly perceptive.

As he drove away from the pub, Hector let out a sigh. Life was getting complicated. He had been precipitate and had almost got himself in way over his head, where Zillah was concerned. Only providence had saved him. Talk about getting carried away! He should never have asked her to marry him
before
ascertaining her baby’s paternity. What if she had said ‘yes’ and the baby had turned out to be Clive’s? Hector exhaled in a gesture of relief. So far, the Fates had been on his side, but he mustn’t bank on it.

He was sorry though, that he’d fallen out with Jess. She was usually a reliable ally. Perhaps it was just the wrong time of the month? Hector sighed again. So, now he was going to have to go and soothe Wendy. What should he say? It was a blessing his decree absolute hadn’t come through yet. It could be useful ammunition if she tried to push him too far. What he had to attempt to achieve, was to hold Wendy off for as long as possible so that he could explore the other more desirable avenues first. In truth, he wasn’t keen to commit himself until all the babies were satisfactorily born, given clean bills of health, and paternity-tested. Then, once those formalities had been completed, he would be in a position to make an informed choice – but not until then.

Hector knew Wendy was likely to be unsympathetic to the logic of his position, so he would have to find gentler ways of fobbing her off until a final decision became feasible. A soupçon of reassurance is what’s required to sort her out, he thought, as he drew the Jaguar up outside her house.

But, as he arrived at the front door, he remembered something amusing that had happened the day before, which he’d meant to share with Jess over lunch. So when Wendy opened the door, looking apprehensive but pleased to see him, he decided to tell her instead and strode confidently inside smiling broadly.

‘Nigel’s going to have my guts for garters,’ he began, ‘I completely missed them when I was checking the pages last Thursday, although of course the Subs should have spotted them. That’s their job.’

‘What is?’ Wendy looked confused. ‘What are you on about?’

‘Column errors, you know, when a word gets cut in half at the right-hand side of a column and inadvertently makes two new nonsense words. Two beauties slipped through in Friday’s
Chronicle. Legend
came out as Leg end, but better still,
Therapists
turned into The rapists!’

The following evening Barry went round to Wendy’s house carrying a large bunch of forced roses. His lips moved soundlessly as he rehearsed his lines, and his hands were clammy. He rang the bell and, shifting the bouquet about, wiped his palms surreptitiously on the back pockets of his jeans.

Wendy came to the door. ‘Oh… Barry.’

‘I know,’ Barry said, ‘you were hoping I was Hector bloody Mudgeley. Think nothing of it. I’m getting used to being a permanent disappointment.’

‘Don’t be like that,’ Wendy said. ‘Lovely flowers.’

‘They’re for you,’ Barry said, holding them out. He followed Wendy indoors and waited in the kitchen as she unwrapped the roses and put them into a vase.

‘Thanks ever so much,’ she said. ‘They’re lovely.’

‘Look Wendy,’ Barry said, plunging in. ‘I have to ask. Are you going to marry Hector?’

‘He was here last night,’ Wendy said. ‘He says he’s going to
buy me a ring.’ She lifted the corners of her mouth in a determined smile.

‘That’s as may be, but has he actually
asked
you to marry him?’

‘Oh well he can’t. Not that it’s any business of yours, Barry Poole. His divorce from Megan hasn’t come through yet, you see.’

‘Oh, very convenient.’

Wendy’s bottom lip trembled. ‘I think you’d better go,’ she said.

‘Not until I’ve said what I came for. Can we sit somewhere?’

‘I suppose so.’ Wendy led the way into her lounge, and they sat down one on either side of the fireplace.

‘Is Hector being kind to you?’ Barry demanded. A strangled sob escaped from Wendy. She put her hands up to her mouth and gazed mutely over them at him. ‘Come on,’ Barry said gently. ‘You can tell me. Get it off your chest.’

His sympathy appeared to be Wendy’s undoing. She started to cry, and once in full flood appeared unable to stop. Barry moved over to sit next to her, pulling tissues from the box on the table and handing them to her, then piling them in a soggy heap beside the un-lit gas fire once they became smeared with make-up, or saturated, or both. Wendy finally pulled herself together, blew her nose and began, falteringly, to talk. Barry learned that Hector had been acting inconsistently, in a way that Wendy found both bewildering and hurtful. She said she really didn’t know whether she was coming or going these days.