The Man Who Wasn't All There by David Handler (book recommendations website TXT) 📕

parlor fireplace as the chilly rain continued to fall. I even closed off the hallway door to the master bedroom suite to make the parlor more toasty.

She arrived a socially correct ten minutes after her midday invitation, although I doubt that Miss Manners was much on her mind at that particular moment. She came in by way of the mudroom and took off her wet raincoat and hat, which I hung up in there for her.

‘I’d better take off my rain boots, too. They’re all muddy.’ They were rubber wellingtons – the only thing that did the job out there. ‘It was awfully nice of you to call,’ she added brightly.

‘And I made sure I picked a perfect day, didn’t I?’

She declined my offer of a sandwich but did say yes to tea.

I already had the kettle going and made us a pot of Earl Grey. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have any cookies to offer you.’

‘That’s quite all right. I’m not much for sweets. If I eat them I puff up like a blowfish.’

‘I find that very hard to believe’

‘You, sir, are one smooth talker,’ Annabeth McKenna said as she sat on the sofa in the parlor and put her feet up on the coffee table, the better to warm her toes in her black stockings. Her feet were small and slender. She had lean, muscled calves – a runner’s calves. There was absolutely nothing casual about her appearance, I noticed. She’d brushed out her lush mane of chestnut hair until it gleamed. Wore lipstick, eyeliner and eye shadow. Her charcoal-gray wool skirt and contrasting pale-gray cable-stitched sweater were extremely becoming. She’d even dabbed on some of that subtly intoxicating essential lavender oil. Her scent of choice.

I fetched the teapot and put it on a tray with mugs, spoons, a small pitcher of milk and jar of local honey. I set it on the coffee table and filled our mugs. She sat up and stirred milk and honey into hers, then sat back, put her feet back up on the coffee table and crossed her ankles, her stockings rustling. There’s something about the rustle of stockings that makes a man’s blood boil. Maybe that’s why women wear them. Maybe there’s no maybe about it.

I stirred milk and honey into my own tea and sat down next to her.

Lulu was curled up in the wing-backed chair next to the fireplace, the better to eye us guardedly.

‘I don’t think Lulu likes me,’ Annabeth observed, sipping her tea.

‘Why would you say that?’

‘Something about the way she keeps watching me.’

‘She regards you as a potential threat to her happy home, that’s all.’

Annabeth tilted her head at me curiously. ‘Am I?’

‘Are you what?’

‘A potential threat to your happy home.’

‘You certainly could be. You’re extremely attractive. My ex-wife is in Budapest. And we had a terrible fight before she left. Major ten-round bout.’

‘You and Merilee? May I ask what it was …?’ She stopped right there. ‘Please forgive me. It’s really none of my business.’

‘No, it’s OK, I don’t mind. It’s the same old fight that anyone who’s involved with a movie star always has. Kind of pathetic really, but there you have it.’

Annabeth frowned. ‘I’m not following you, I’m afraid.’

‘When a leading lady and leading man go away on location for months and their characters are supposed to be involved, then they get involved.’

She shook her head. ‘Sorry, I still don’t …’

‘She’s having an affair with Mel Gibson, OK?’

Annabeth’s penetrating brown eyes widened. ‘She’s not. I don’t believe it.’

‘Believe it. Hell, if I rattled off the list of leading men with whom she’s had affairs since I first met her, it would make your jaw drop. Why do you think I crash landed?’

‘Are you telling me that’s why you got into drugs and the two of you split up? Because she was sleeping around on you?’

‘I’m afraid so. We’ve managed to make it work again these past few months because she swore to me that it would never, ever happen again. But it was a big, fat lie. She hasn’t changed a bit. And I refuse to put myself through this humiliation all over again. So when she left for Budapest I told her that we’re history. It’s over.’

Annabeth studied me with concern. ‘This is such awful news – especially because you two seemed so happy together. I thought you might even be on the verge of a return trip to the altar.’

‘So did I,’ I said bitterly.

‘I’m sorry, Hoagy. Truly, truly sorry.’

‘No need to be. I’m a lot stronger now than I was ten years ago. I’ll go home to my crappy old fifth-floor walk-up on West 93rd Street, bolt the door and dive head-first back into my book. I’ll be fine.’

‘That sounds like a good plan. And if you don’t mind some professional advice, I’d stay away from self-medicating. If you start to feel overwhelmed by anger or despair, go to the gym. Or call someone. Call me.’

‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you. But there’s no need to worry. My self-medicating days are behind me.’

‘I’m glad to hear that.’ She sipped her tea, wiggling her toes inside her black stockings. ‘Sometimes I wish I weren’t such a goodie-goodie.’

‘Meaning …?

‘Meaning if I were a shameless slut bomb I’d try to steal you. I have the world’s hugest crush on you,’ she confessed, coloring slightly. ‘Surely you’ve sensed it. You’re very perceptive, not to mention kind, funny, talented and so handsome. You even smell good.’

‘It’s Floris No. 89 talc. You do, too. Smell good, I mean.’

‘Thank you, it’s—’

‘Essential lavender oil.’

‘How did you know that?’

‘Because you smell subtly of lavender yet you’re not making Lulu sneeze. She’s allergic to most alcohol-based scents.’

‘If I knew for certain that you were genuinely available I’d be all over you in a second. But I have this stubborn moral streak. I would never try to steal another woman’s man.’

‘Even if he wanted to be stolen?’

Those penetrating brown eyes of hers narrowed at me. ‘Deep down inside, I don’t think