Page 98 of Love in Tune

‘I’m sure you’ve all been very sweet to him,’ Imogen said, smiling her princess smile. ‘And we all really appreciate it, but he needs to come home now and pick up his life again.’

Honey didn’t doubt that he would, but she wouldn’t give this woman the satisfaction of the upper hand.

‘He’s smart. Just about the smartest man I’ve ever met,’ she said quietly. ‘And the sexiest, too. Still the coolest guy in town. Just not your town anymore.’

‘You didn’t know him beforehand,’ Imogen said, pulling rank.

‘And you don’t know him now.’

They faced each other down, one immaculate, the other bedraggled with dark circles around her eyes.

‘I love him. I love him for the man he is right now,’ Honey said. There was little to lose, and nothing to gain, but she said it anyway and saw the fury harden Imogen’s pretty features.

‘He’s marrying me.’

‘I know.’

‘He could never love someone like you,’ Imogen spat, rattled by Honey’s honesty.

‘I know that too.’

Imogen shook her head, as if she were disgusted. She had every reason to be. The man she’d pinned all of her hopes on had fallen down a mountain and taken all of her dreams down with him, and now a ratty-haired blonde had the nerve to make her feel bad for wanting to resurrect them.

‘I’ll tell him you came by,’ Honey said a second time, and this time Imogen stalked out of the lobby on her fabulous heels without looking back, leaving only the trail of her perfume and a bad taste in Honey’s mouth.

Had Hal heard them? Honey ran a bath and immersed herself beneath the water, wishing she could stay under there forever. Just wallow forever in the warm, peaceful solitude. Life had been a waltzer ride lately, and there under the bubbles it finally stopped spinning. No campaign. No love rivals. No blind dates. And no Hal. In the absence of a desert island, her own bathtub would have to do.

As the morning slid into afternoon, Honey replied to texts from Nell and Tash to stop them from racing into the breach with wine and shoulders to lean on. Oddly enough, she didn’t need any shoulders today. What she really needed was to stand on her own two feet and prove to herself, more than anyone else, that she could cut it at life as a grown up. She was proud of the way she’d handled Imogen, and she was beyond proud of the way things had turned out where the campaign was concerned.

Lots of people had tried to give her advice yesterday about Hal, and actually they’d all said the same thing in a different way.Tell him. Make damn sure he knows that you love him before he walks away. And they were right. Honey didn’t want to be a passive voice waiting for him to cast judgment. She had a part in this play, although it probably wasn’t going to be leading lady.

Squaring her shoulders, she opened her door and crossed the lobby.

‘Hal,’ she whispered, tapping her knuckles on his door. It didn’t surprise her when he didn’t respond.

‘Hal,’ she said again, louder this time. ‘There’s something I need to say to you, and this time I’m not prepared to say it to your closed door.’

Pin drop silence, and Honey felt her serenity start to slip.

‘Open the door, Hal. I mean it.’

Nothing. She waited a full minute, counting in her head to keep her nerves steady.

‘Jesus, Hal, you infuriate me! Open the goddamn door!’

Okay, so her serenity had left the building. After another couple of failed attempts, panic started to edge its way under her skin. Even in the early days he’d rarely ignored her so blatantly. He’d sworn, called her names, even thrown things at the door on occasion, but at least she’d known he was okay. Not knowing he was okay wasn’t okay.

‘Don’t make me break this door down,’ Honey called out loudly, expecting him to laugh at the idea. She hadn’t been able to turn off a smoke alarm the first time they’d met; the chances of her breaking down his door were slim to none. Given the fact that she knew that, she ought to have known better than to take a run at it from her own doorway anyway. All she ended up with for her trouble was a jarred shoulder, a still-closed door and a growing case of full-on panic.

‘Hal!’ she shouted, battering on his door with her fists. Christ. He had to be hurt, she was yelling loud enough to wake the dead. She opened the door and walked out onto the pavement barefoot, pressing her face against his front windows with her heart in her mouth. His wooden blinds were half open, and squinting, she could make out the clinically tidy room. She let out her breath and leaned her back against the window for support, winded by the relief of not seeing him sprawled on the floor. Turning back to look again, she watched the empty space for a few minutes.

‘Come on, Hal,’ she whispered. ‘Walk in with bed hair and whisky in your hand. Walk in, scowling. Just please God, walk in.’

The possibility that he’d fallen and banged his head in the bathroom or asphyxiated himself in bed tortured her. Should she call the police to break in? Would they even bother to look for a grown man who’d been seen less than twenty-four hours previously? She made her way around the back and shouldered the scarcely used side gate open with a hard shove, more frightened than she’d ever been in her life.

His bedroom blind was unhelpfully drawn and his bathroom window was opaque, but his backdoor handle turned freely in her hand.

It wasn’t locked.

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