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NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE

 

09-05-07

6M

p4

INDISCRETIONS

 

A novel by Graham Wilson

A brief synopsis

 

Howard Constantine is a reckless thirty year old; a bon viveur, who five years ago married his childhood sweetheart. A professional man working in London, he is arrogant, selfish and thoughtless, conducting his life outrageously. He is a womaniser, unfaithful, in a childless marriage.

 

Marion is a quiet, demure type, initially unaware of her husband’s true colours. However during an evening of abandonment she meets another man and had a night of indiscretion, which she believes leaves her pregnant.

 

After an unfulfilled, promised night out, Marion decides to leave. She re-unites herself with the father of her unborn child, and they fall in love.

 

Realising that his life style was not being tolerated, Howard goes on a drinking spree. Driving home later that evening, he is the victim of a fatal car crash.

 

After the demise of her husband, Marion discovers his past affairs and also his impending bankruptcy. Her new relationship is temporarily adjourned.

 

Marion spends the next few weeks sorting out her legacy of financial ruin and humiliation. Confused and vulnerable, she succumbs to the desires of several of the men she meets.

 

After several unsatisfactory relationships, she recognises that her indiscretions were little better than those of her late husband. She relents and resumes contact with the father of her child.

 

After a dramatic funeral, when Howard is maligned by his closest ally, she packs her bags and drives west to join her lover.

 

 

Chapter 1

 

For most of those hardy stalwarts living in England’s green and pleasant land, the advent of autumn brings to an end to the expectations of blistering heat waves and balmy evenings spent blissfully under the setting sun. The mornings are now dark and the daylight brief. Short sleeves are lengthened; woollens and tweeds take the place of cotton and rayon. Boots and galoshes replace canvas shoes and sandals. Thoughts of a long hard winter ahead fill their hearts with the dread of ice and snow and days spent at home trying to keep warm, venturing outside only to replenish the stock of logs by the open fire. It was this time of year when our story begins.   

 

It was three o’clock in the morning in mid October, the latter part of an evening of extreme celebrations. Three hundred guests had attended a gala ball at the city hall and had now adjourned to the reception rooms at The Royal Hotel in the famous spa city of Bath, where the party was expected to continue through the night. The party revellers had reserved every one of its rooms, a wise policy taken by a very tolerant management. The annual event had started ten years ago as a re-union of university students. It had grown in popularity, attracting friends of the original students, making it an important date in the social calendar for all concerned. The whole reception area of the five star hotel was bedecked with garlands and coloured lights, contributing to the party atmosphere of the celebrations. Several bars were busily providing drinks for those not inclined to go to bed, which for some was one of the objectives of the event. In an adjoining room, a weary and long suffering disc jockey, was playing nostalgic recordings well-known hits from the past, beginning to regret having agreed to offer his services.

 

Howard Constantine (pronounced een) and his wife Marion were two of the guests. Like most of the others they had reserved a room in the hotel, and had planned to leave the following day, after a tour of the famous city. Howard was thirty years of age, about six feet tall and slim, a good-looking man with dark brown hair and the traces of a fine moustache, which extended beyond the extremities of his mouth. He took great pride in the way he looked, his dark brown hair was always well trimmed and groomed, and always wore good quality clothes. Educated at one of England’s lesser-known public schools, Howard had achieved only adequate academic success, and rather better on the sports field. He had retained his public school accent and had developed a deep tone in his voice, which he thought kept him apart from ordinary mortals, and that is how he liked it to be. Today he wore a black dinner suit with cummerbund, winged collar and a red silk bow tie, cutting a very debonair figure, one of the best turned out male members of the party.

 

Born under the star sign Gemini, Howard was typical of its characteristics. His split personality was predominant in the way he conducted his life. He was an only-child, brought up, wanting for nothing, apart from the discipline that he seriously lacked. Having learned to get his own way most of the time, he was able to manipulate those around him with dangerous charm. An evening amongst some of the most attractive women he knew was always going to be a challenge he would relish.  

 

By now the festivities had been in progress for several hours. They had started with a champagne reception in the early that evening. Most of the guests were very intoxicated, some had retired to bed and many others were suggesting that the next drink would be their last. Howard rated himself as a seasoned drinker. His profession was that of insurance broker in the city, which meant lots of client entertaining. Scotch with water and no ice was his favoured tipple, many of them preferred in large measures. He was in good humour, a little tipsy, but coherent. He had left his wife in conversation with one of the party hosts, and was introducing himself to anybody who was willing to have a chat.

 

“I say, my young miss, I have met you somewhere before.” he said to a petite blond about his own age.

She was wearing a knee-length pink dress. Her curvaceous figure was partly exposed by a generously low neckline.

“Which lucky chap are you with?” 

“I don’t think you have. But anyway my name is Lucy,” was the reply, in a West Country accent. “I am supposed to be with that lucky chap over there.”

She pointed to a tall well-built athletic man, probably several years older than her.

“He’s madly in love with me, but I don’t really fancy him at all. I can’t stop him inviting me out.”

“I don’t blame him; the bounder. Isn’t he much older than you?” Howard enquired, showing great interest in a potential conquest.

“That’s the problem, he is forty six and I am er’ well younger.”

“He is much too old for you, my dear. You should be going after younger men eh,” Howard continued in his familiar blunt fashion. “What does he do? For a living, I mean.”

“His name is Peter Billington. I think he has just been made redundant. He was a PE instructor. He used to be a very good rugby player. He says he has had an England trial. He is still very keen. He seems to go to all the international matches, wherever they are. Do you play rugby?”

“I do as a matter of fact. It’s the only game to play. My public school played rugby so that is what I did. I used to be quite useful, but now I am more of a casual player. I could have played first class rugby, but it did not interest me at the time. I play for the social side of my local club. I have played a few times for our first fifteen, when they were short of a star like me. It’s a great game, but I can’t take it too seriously. Do you play any sports? Are you not an international athlete or something?”

“Unfortunately not. I play tennis and squash at our local club. A bit like you, I only do it for social reasons.”   

“Tell me, do you work? Or are you a woman of leisure?” asked Howard.

“I wish I was. No I work. I’m a legal secretary. Boring isn’t it?”

“Is it really?”

“I would think it was quite interesting, lots of seedy stories of people’s misdemeanours, no doubt. What does your practice specialise in?”

“It’s a general practice really: conveyncing, litigation, family. Yes we do handle divorces, but the partner I work for is strictly litigation.”

“Are you divorced? Sorry to ask, that’s a bit personal isn’t it?”

“How did you guess? One of the biggest mistakes of my life; I was very young and thought I’d met the love of my life. It lasted less than three years. We were not remotely compatible. We both wanted to split, and thank God, no children.” Lucy spoke in deeper, subdued tones. It was clearly a subject she preferred to forget.

“What about you?” she responded more cheerfully.

“Me, I am in insurance. I have a brokerage in London. It’s the only thing I know. I’ve done it since I left school. We do quite well and make a few bob. Not a bad life for a chap like me. We live very well, and have a good future.”

“Are you married, divorced or whatever?”

“I’m married and only once. She is also a legal secretary. I call my wife the first Mrs Constantine, to remind her that nothing is to be taken for granted. It keeps the old gal on her on her toes. We’ve been married now for five years. I lead a very independent life. I go out when I like. I have even taken a pretty girl like out.”

“Doesn’t she mind?”

“Don’t be silly she doesn’t find out. I am very discreet, let me assure you,” Howard asserted.

“Any children?”

“No.”

“Any planned?”

“Not yet. Marion is quite keen, women always are, but I’m not. There’s plenty of time. I want to enjoy myself. Talking about that, why don’t we dance?”

“What about your wife? Will she mind?” Lucy enquired.

“My dear, I told you, she is used to it, and anyway she is probably chatting up your boy friend.”

“Let’s hope so. That’ll be the day,” Lucy responded.

Without any further ado, Lucy took Howard by the hand and led him to the dance floor.

 

There were only two other couples on the floor, thoroughly drunk but enjoying themselves: dancing what could only be described as a lurching jive to one of the early rock numbers. Howard and Lucy joined the action with less enthusiasm. Facing each other they started to gently gyrate concentrating hard on the beat, desperately trying to pick up the rhythm in an attempt to impress each other. Lucy was considerably more of a dancer than her partner, who was feeling somewhat self-conscious as he tried to increase the tempo in his steps.  They looked at each other, each with an embarrassed expression. Maybe this was not a good idea. But they stayed on the floor as the old time rock music played on.