John Davis - The Year of Dangerous Loving

The next morning he did more than buy vitamin pills, he telephoned Dr Bradshaw. ‘Ian, I want a tonic, can I come to see you?’

‘Sure, what kind of tonic?’

‘Something to give me a boost, I’m on a health-kick. Jogged four kilometres last night.’

‘Hell, take it easy,’ Ian said. ‘How do you feel now?’

‘Just fine. Stiff but good. And I want some advice on diet.’

‘Don’t overdo it on the exercise, we’re not as young as we used to be. What brought this on?’

‘And Ian – can you give me something to improve my sex-life?’

‘ Hey! ’ Ian said. ‘This is good news! Look, I’ll give you a course of vitamin B shots, but health is the best aphrodisiac. Good food – but watch the cholesterol. And watch the exercise at your age; don’t jog, buy a mountain bike.’

At his age . At lunchtime, instead of going to the Hong Kong Club for a beer and a sandwich, Hargreave went to the gymnasium near the Peak tram terminus, with Ian Bradshaw’s vitamin B shot buzzing in his system. He bought a season ticket.

It was years since he had been to a gym and he was not sure how to use all the equipment correctly, but he watched the next guy and followed suit. Lord, it was hard work. The gym was milling with sweating, muscled young men who knew what they were doing and Hargreave felt self-conscious: he was not flabby, but he was out of condition. And so pale – it was weeks since he had been sailing and he had lost his tan – and he wouldn’t be sailing this weekend, no sir. Then some older men came in, and he did not feel so bad – they were out of condition too. Then he felt worse – they knew how to use the machines, they weren’t sweating and puffing like he was. Hargreave watched them furtively as he doggedly slogged his way through the equipment. He was exhausted when he reached the end of the circuit, his legs and arms trembly. But by the time he got back to his chambers, after a hot shower and a nutritious lunch at the gym’s health bar, he felt great. He wanted to tell everybody where he’d been. Then the telephone rang.

‘A Miss Romalova for you, sir,’ said Miss Ho.

‘Put her through! Olga! Are you all right?’

She chuckled. ‘I am very well, except for my poor pussy. And my heart, my heart is very sore also.’ Hargreave was blushing. ‘Will my heart get better on Friday?’

‘Yes.’ Oh yes, he could not wait for Friday. ‘So your work-permit is okay?’

‘Yes, the police have extended for three months. And the big boss has agreed also.’

Oh, yes . ‘Well, I’ll be there on the seven o’clock ferry.’

‘Lovely! Which hotel do you want to stay in?’

‘The Bella Mar.’

‘So expensive. Why not another hotel, not so much?’

‘No, the Bella Mar.’ He had to have her in one of those airy, exotic suites, beauty like hers deserved the Bella Mar.

‘Shall I reserve? Maybe if I reserve I can get a small commission.’

‘Fine.’ Hargreave grinned.

‘I will give it back to you.’

‘No, you keep it,’ he laughed.

She seemed to accept that as reasonable. ‘I cannot meet you at the ferry, darling, because I must be at the club. But do not come there because then you must pay entrance, and the drinks are so expensive. Telephone me there when you are ready, and I will come to the hotel. But you will have to pay the bar-levy, I’m sorry.’

‘That’s all right.’ Talk of money made him uncomfortable.

‘But I will give you a discount for me, darling, don’t worry. And we will have a lovely weekend, I promise.’

Hargreave grinned, blushing: ‘And I promise you .’ He wanted to tell her about his health-kick but he felt silly.

‘Oh darling, I am so excited. I thought about you all last night at the club.’

Hargreave didn’t want to hear about the club. ‘I thought about you too.’

‘Did you really? I am very pleased. Okay, I must go to sleep now, I have to work tonight.’

Work . He did not want to think about it.

After he hung up he slumped back in the chair, and tried to make himself think about it. Lord, what am I doing, feeling like this about a …? Say it – a whore ? Feeling possessive … romantic … smitten. Feeling … over the moon about her. Aren’t you making a bit of a fool of yourself? Don’t forget she’s a whore.

But I wouldn’t be the first man to get smitten by a whore. Whores can be fascinating. Exotic, romantic, even, you wouldn’t be the first man to fall in love with a whore.

Fall in love? What are you talking about, man? You’re not in love , you’re just in lust You’ve had a bit of a tough time with Liz, unloved, sex-starved, so it just feels like love, you just feel sorry for yourself. Whores are for fun , not love …

Okay, so have fun. Enjoy it, stop analysing it. Stop thinking about her ‘work’, and her ‘customers’, stop flinching about ‘discount’ and be grateful for it, grab every discount she gives you because this fun is going to cost you plenty if you keep it up. A three-month extension on her visa? How can you keep up with this for three months? And you won’t want to, you’ll burn the whole thing out soon and she’ll go back to Russia and you’ll be relieved. So be cavalier, just enjoy …

But cavaliers were fit, cavaliers could keep up with their lovers, they did not fall by the wayside just because they were forty-six. He felt tired when he got home from chambers, and he wanted a stiff whisky, but he made himself go out to jog again. But he only managed two kilometres before his heart and his knees told him to stop: the image of her nakedness could not beat the ache in his legs today. So, you gave yourself a workout at lunchtime, don’t overdo it . He walked back to his apartment block on Mansfield Road. He had one beer, one whisky, two boiled eggs, and went to bed. He was asleep before eight o’clock.

The next morning he could hardly stand. His knees were not swollen but they were giving him agony.

‘Cartilage inflammation,’ Ian Bradshaw said cheerfully on Wednesday. ‘From jogging – told you not to do it. Buy a bicycle, I said. Or an exercycle, one of those stationary things that executives use. And buy yourself a pair of proper running shoes – but don’t run, go for walks. Get the best, with springy soles. And for the next week that’s all you can wear on your feet.’

‘But I can’t wear running shoes to chambers.’

‘You’re the boss, aren’t you? Get a black pair, to go with your pinstripe suit, I’ll give you a medical certificate saying you’re a stretcher-case without them. Wear them to court, to cocktail parties, or you’ll have a cartilage removal operation – want that?’

‘No,’ Hargreave said sincerely.

‘Otherwise you’re in good shape,’ Ian said. ‘Heart fine. Got some colour again. Let’s look at my scar?’

Hargreave peeled back his shirt. Ian peered.

‘You’re healthy. Getting older, that’s all. I did a good job on that bullet, what’s left is pretty sexy. Tell the girls it was a jealous husband, makes them feel protective.’ He sat back. ‘What news of Liz?’

Hargreave pulled his shirt back on. ‘We’re getting divorced.’

Ian nodded. ‘Still in San Francisco?’

Hargreave buttoned his shirt. ‘I think so.’

‘No truth in the rumour she’s coming back to town?’

Jesus. ‘Who told you that?’

‘Yacht club. Don’t know the source.’

Hargreave’s heart sank. Just when he was going to have some fun. ‘I’ve just received her lawyer’s letter. If she’s coming back it’s just to pack the rest of her things.’

‘You can come and stay in my guest room while she does,’ Ian offered. ‘You don’t want any more scars. Did you marry under Californian law?’