The message on his phone was from Evelyn, the woman he had let into his life six months before.
Evelyn was different from all the other women he had known. She loved him, of that he was sure. Loved him for himself. Not only did she love him, she did not depend on him. At last he had found his match, but in the best possible way. For the first time in a long while, he felt excited and purposeful about his life, and about the possibility of a new life with Evelyn, a new beginning.
He had met her unexpectedly, at a meet-the-people session with his constituency. She was not a supplicant, of course, but a fresh volunteer — something that had become rarer after the debacle of the last elections. Her blunt, offhand manner captivated him, as did her long black hair and tanned athleticism. When he offered her Lipton’s tea or instant coffee from the pantry, she had made a face, leaving him speechless for a moment before her laughter told him she was teasing.
Afterward, he pulled out her file. One child, husband a doctor. Her eyes, gazing steadily back at him, were the last thing he saw before sleep overcame him that night. The next morning he had a plan, and his secretary telephoned her to ask her to call him. She did, and once he had her mobile phone number, he started WhatsApping her. Restrained questions, seeking her views on constituency and national matters.
He had prepared himself for a rebuff, but she was more than responsive. He was surprised how quickly she seemed to open up to him. They started with policy questions and political challenges, but were soon turning to more personal topics. It was not long before she was attending all of his constituency meetings. In between consultations they laughed and chatted together. Their WhatsApping grew more frequent, more direct and intense. Conspiratorially, she warned him of the perils of monitored communications, and he knew she was as interested in him as he was in her.
At last they had lunch, at a little French restaurant. Three hours of flirting disguised by earnest discussions of what the government should or should not be doing to win back popular support. He lost count of the number of times her hand had lightly rested on his forearm, drawing him toward her, how often she had used the index finger of the other to make a little tapping motion in midair, both emphasizing a point and quickening his heartbeat.
Lunch was soon followed by late-night drinks. They gazed into each other’s eyes. This, he knew, was a relationship that was truly special.
The sex was good. Perhaps he had missed it for so long that he did not know any better, but he felt both fulfilled and truly triumphant. He had an apartment in River Valley that was between tenancies, and this became their sanctuary.
She asked for nothing from him, although along the way he occasionally sought to impress her, to offer her snippets of information or gossip that would keep her captivated. He realized that he probably needed to be more careful. Possibly, something he had let slip about measures the government was considering to cool the property market had tipped her to sell an investment property sooner than she had planned, but surely what he had done was not strictly illegal, and even if illegal was hardly likely to be detected. His tips were unsolicited, of that he had no doubt. He felt so comforted by her, so loved by her, that this was surely small recompense, no different from the necklaces from Tiffany & Co. that he bought for her, necklaces that she appreciated so much and never once asked for.
The risks were worth it. This was his one true chance at love, and for once he did not care about work, or being sensible, or what the world might think. Evelyn was the love of his life. Mostly it was light and luminosity, but at times the hunger for her burned so strongly that he could think of nothing else.
He became determined to possess her completely, for them to become one.
Her WhatsApp today had not been her usual Monday-morning chirp. It had been different, and simple. Pregnant. Really sorry. Don’t know what to do. Had to tell hubby. Mad as hell but wants to see you. Will you meet him?
The first word thrilled him. He had indeed possessed her. They had indeed become one. But why was she sorry? Did she doubt him? Doubt his strength or resolve?
It was excitement that gripped him. Not fear or anxiety. Elation even. Bernard was never afraid of a confrontation, or a fight, with another man. He would talk to the husband. Explain that he had not meant to act dishonorably. But now that he and Evelyn were so very much in love, it was too late for niceties of honor. The husband must give way. Bernard would take responsibility for Evelyn and their baby. It was a sign that his life must change. He would resign, get a job in the private sector. Perhaps they could even move elsewhere — Hong Kong? Shanghai?
Yes, he WhatsApped back without hesitation, I love you. Then a moment later, Don’t worry. And then finally, I’ll take care of it. After another minute he called, to tell her he loved her and they would find their way. He wanted to meet immediately. He was surprised when she asked him to meet her husband first, but decided she must have a reason. He must do as she asked.
Mark was the husband’s name. He suggested the visitor’s center at the dairy farm entrance to the Bukit Timah Nature Reserve. We can walk together, he said. Green is very soothing, and I think we both need to keep calm.
Bernard had seen pictures of him, but Mark was still surprisingly big. They shook hands and then started to walk. Mark turned off the open path, up the slope toward Bukit Timah Hill, and soon they were alone together, Bernard following Mark. It was cool beneath the forest canopy. Even the light had turned green, filtered as it was by the dense leafy layers. Mark was right, it was peaceful, calming. Then Mark stopped, turned, and looked down at Bernard. The disparity in their height suddenly felt menacing. Bernard glanced around, wondering if he had made a mistake to venture up this trail.
As if reading his mind, Mark smiled and said, “Don’t worry, Bernard, I’m not going to hit you. Not that I don’t feel like doing so. There’s nothing I’d like better than to bruise your pretty face. What would your constituents say to that, eh?”
Bernard looked off to the side. Let the man rant for a while. He was obviously hurt. But he couldn’t possibly think that Bernard had been the first, could he? Evelyn had told him there was another before him, though she had not loved that man in the way she loved him. And certainly she did not love Mark, whom she had married too young, when she wanted above all else to leave home, to escape her father, a domineering man who had bullied her mother and alternately spoiled and disparaged young Evelyn, until she lost confidence in herself, only regaining it when she finished university, started working at a private bank, met Mark, and left home.
After a while, Bernard spoke. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I had not realized... I thought you were more...” he searched for the right word, “...relaxed. I would not have, you know, pressed my suit, but now, now that we are where we are, well, you must understand, we love each other, I mean, she loves me, not you...”
To his surprise, Mark was laughing. “Oh, you are a funny fellow. She loves you, not me. Oh yes. Poor me, lucky you.” Mark grabbed his shoulders. He brought his face close to Bernard’s. “Look, man, love isn’t real. All that’s real is power and money. Don’t you of all people know that?”
Bernard could see the sweat on Mark’s stubbled chin. But his eyes were not so much angry as cold, as if this was a situation he was familiar with, and this a routine he had practiced before. For once Bernard was unsure, and it made him uneasy. He had expected anger, hurt, shame, the stock reactions of the cuckold. But this was something else.