Honeytrap

Not one of my usual stories and quite slow to get going. My first attempt at a "nice story" and I did consider putting it under romance. I guess I'm just not ready for that kind of commitment. As usual, this is written to be enjoyed and I hope you do. If not I'll be happy to moderate your comments after you've made them.

*****

Carl glanced across the hotel bar again. She was still there, still pretending not to look at him. This had to be his 25th or 30th conference, there or thereabouts, and he knew how this went. Either she was one of those honey trap girls his wife sent out, or someone who wants money either for sex or to keep quiet after sex.

He had deliberately booked into a hotel off the conference circuit, away from all the loud brash networking socialising dickheads that made these events such a chore and he just wanted to be left alone. Carl sank the remains of his bourbon turned on his stool and headed out. His arm went up and he gave a cursory wave in response to the barman's goodnight and headed for the elevator. He walked passed the girl and she quite obviously didn't look up. Close to, she was much prettier than he'd realised. And much younger, early twenties he guessed. She wasn't the typical body shape either. Much plumper than the ones he had met before. There was a real sweetness to her face, innocence you might call it. As he passed behind her he caught her scent. Honeysuckle mostly. A hint of some spice, cinnamon perhaps. It was heady and potent and under different circumstances he would have considered it cloying, but instead he found himself taking deep breaths savouring it. Carl found himself unfurling slightly. He'd never been so aroused by a scent before.

From the elevator door in the lobby it was possible to see through to the hotel bar and the seat where she reclined.

A sense, he was being watched he was sure, and he was equally sure it was the girl. He tried to use the polished silver metal door of the elevator as a mirror and catch her looking. The image was too warped and distorted and she was too far away, he couldn't distinguish her from the chair she sat in nevermind which way she was facing.

Ping! Ordinarily he'd be playing his childish count down game as the numbers on the display decrease (or even better, as the finger swings across the dial) but his attention is all behind him and the elevator's arrival surprises him. The doors open and a smartly casual handsome young man steps out, his eyes are towards the bar area and the girl. His features burst into a joyful smile as he sees the girl running toward him.

Carl steps into the elevator, presses his floor button and turns to look out. The two young people are in each other's arms telling each other how they've been missed and celebrating their reunion.

He steps backs and chuckles sardonically to himself. Of course she wasn't looking at you, you old fool, she was waiting for her.. What? Boyfriend? Husband? Whoever, you were just in the line of sight. You were an obstacle, an inconvenience. An eyesore.

He steps out and walks to room his keycard in his hand. Inside his single bed, coffin sized, room he throws his jacket onto the bed and slumps in the only chair. There is a makeshift dressing table and mirror and his world weary face scowls back at him.

He isn't a particularly vain man, he accepts at 55 that he isn't in the first flush of youth. He seems to have more hair coming out of his ears and nostrils than he does his scalp. He knows he should have taken better care of himself but it just took so much of his strength to build the business, to provide for his family, he didn't have the energy to go jogging.

His wife complained about his long absences, getting home when the kids were in bed, leaving before they got up. She accused him of caring more about money than he did his family. She was wrong. Dead wrong. It didn't matter how many times he told, he made money for his family. He spent hardly any on himself, certainly nothing like as much as she did. He remembered what it was like after his dad left. Just him and mum trying to get by. His father wasn't entirely an absentee; he would pop back every now and again when he wanted something. When he wanted money. He could be quite the charmer, quite the slick, smooth, silver tongued scoundrel that everyone loved. Everyone, including mum and Carl. Trouble was he wasn't his only son. Sure he was mum's only son, but dad had sons and daughters all over town. Yes Sir, just about everyone loved dad.

When he tried to explain that just wanted the best for his family, for them to have the comforts and security he'd never had, for them not to suffer the hunger, the cold, the stress that had put his mother in an early grave she always replied with the same cliché. "Money can't buy memories, Carl. You're kids hardly know you. They would rather have their daddy play with them than all the money in the world."

Carl never replied to this. Partly because it choked him up so much that he couldn't speak, partly because, even though he didn't believe it, he couldn't rob his wife of such a precious delusion. Truth was he had more memories than he could sometimes cope with and would have happily exchanged them for money if it would have kept his mother alive, just a few years longer.

Carol hadn't flung that particular cliché at her husband for at least a decade. It had stopped meaning anything to her long before even that. The kids were all grown now. Grown and moved on. Their relationship with their father was OK, they didn't resent his not being around, they were smart enough to realise his motives were good, if flawed. There had been times, and there was still a feeling when they talked about it together that they'd both make sure they were always there for their own kids but they couldn't be mad at him. If anything the relationship was better than it was with their mother. She expected them to love her. She expected them to be grateful for the years she dedicated to nurturing them. Sure Carl had provided the money and stability, but it was only her care, her effort that had made the holidays and birthday parties happen. Carl expected nothing and was grateful just to be included. He didn't lecture them on not calling or visiting enough. He didn't constantly try to remind them of all the years he would never get back. Consequently dad was easier to like, easier to be around, less hassle.

So now Carl went to conferences, not because he needed the business, certainly not to network with dickheads; he went because there was nothing at home for him. As a provider he was a resounding success, as a father he scraped a pass, but as a husband had crashed and burned. He clung to his conviction that he was not a bad man. Not an evil, cruel man. But could a good man let his marriage fail as spectacularly has his had? Would a good man stand by and watch his beautiful, funny, gracefully clumsy, loving Carol become the bitter, spiteful bitch she was today? Carl still loved her and blamed himself entirely. It was his failure that had made her this way. It was thoughts like these kept Carl awake at night.

They had been mercilessly teased when then started seeing each other. Carl and Carol. Who wouldn't want to tease them? They were good natured about it and very much in love so a simple fluke in the nominal assignment department was of no consequence to either of them. In the end it was the route of their demise. Carl had mistakenly opened something addressed to his wife. The name and address on the A4 reinforced envelope were hand written and it genuinely looked to him like Carl Foxton and he was curious as to what it contained. He pulled out a 10 page report detailing his movements during his last conference and exonerating him of any adulterous behaviour and an invoice for £8500 including £4500 for something called a honey trap. Carl read the document and cover letter twice before he realised that the typed invoice was to Carol Foxton.

He waited until he was calm before he confronted Carol, he didn't trust himself not to say the wrong thing and exacerbate the situation. She had an increasingly short fuse. They had gone through three housekeepers in the last two years and Carl was beginning to wonder if that was fuelled by the same paranoia as this report. The last two had been male and Carol had finally settled on the overtly gay Sean. A slender fastidious Malaysian man who Carl was sure would be a highly capable choice.

Carol was unrepentant and furthermore refused to accept the reports' findings. He'd obviously seen through the situation and behaved accordingly. Either that or he had been in cahoots with the agency and paid them off.

There was nothing Carl could say. His heart broke to hear his wife spout this bile. He sat looking at her and found himself mourning for her former self. This bitch was an insult to the memory of his beautiful Carol. He couldn't stand to be around her right now. As he walked away his ears were assaulted by triumphant accusations of proof of guilt. He kept going till he came to a bar.

Back in his hotel room Carl is looking at his sorry reflection. Didn't matter how many times he looked he always appeared so much older than he remembered. Every morning he'd be surprised and disappointed by the old man in the mirror.

He spoke out loud to lined old man.

"Why do you do this to yourself? Every night you drag yourself over the still burning embers of your failed marriage. What do you expect to achieve other than more heartache? Don't you think you've punished yourself enough? Fuck it I'm not going to be able to sleep as it is."

He slapped both hands against his round belly.

"Come on handsome, don't keep your public waiting!"

Picking up his jacket he headed back down to the bar.

The lights in the bar were subdued and the muzak similarly so. It appeared to be a selection of 80's power ballads done as orchestral instrumentals. Carl caught the scent of honeysuckle and cinnamon and surveyed his immediate vicinity. Nothing, nobody that wasn't there when he came in. There were five other men in the bar, two at the bar, like Carl and three at small tables lining the walls. This was the perfect scenario for six strangers to get drunk, together alone.

It was there again, unmistakable. Glancing round again he wondered why he hadn't seen her before. Two stools to his right, almost by the entrance. She was leaning over the bar to speak to the barman and place an order. As she lifted herself and leant forward Carl got a better look at her figure. She was much bigger than his wife, her curves were generous and her breasts, in profile were sizable. He found himself drinking in her womanly body imagining the feel of her soft yielding flesh. Before he mentally slapped himself. Stop it you old creep! You're a married man and she is young enough to be your daughter!

Carl went back to his own reverie, peering into his half empty glass, absorbing the muzak.

"Run to you!" Carl laughed to himself as realisation dawned.

"Sorry?" The girl to his right gave him a puzzled half smile.

"The song, Run to you. Brian Adams." He indicated with his head the music playing, "I've been trying to work out what it is."

"Ah! You're playing a game. Can I join in? I could do with cheering up?"

He detected a distinct Irish brogue . It was lilting and melodic and yet quite fragile.

"Of course! Games are never as much fun on your own."

Carl had seen her earlier with her boyfriend/husband so he'd revised his original analysis and allowed his guard down.

"I know this, it's one of my absolute favourites. Heart : Alone! 'How do I get you alooone?'"

As if on queue the music reached the appropriate point and she sang the words to him. So sweet, so plaintive, it was almost heart breaking, despite her glowing smile and shining, laughing eyes.

"I would have thought this was a little old for someone of your age. You can't have been born when this was out."

"I love older things. Older things have so much more...class."

She was looking him over there was no doubt and the half smile carried a suggestion of..what? Mischief? She can't possibly be coming on to him, that was ridiculous. She was just a friendly flirty girl. That's all. Bit of a giggle, and why not? Carl was entranced.

She put out a small hand, "I'm Eve, Evie to my friends, pleased to meet you..?" she let the sentence hang in the air for him to finish.

"Carl. Carl to my friends." he said laughing , "and I am delighted to meet you. May I presume to call you Evie?"

Her hand was tiny in his and warm. Her touch excited him and he was reluctant to let go.

"Oh!" she teased him for his overly courteous manner , bowing slightly she replied, "You may indeed kind Sir!" Then in a slight conspiratorial whisper "I'd really appreciate a friendly ear to bend, would you mind if we sat at a table?"

Carl and Evie refreshed their glasses and moved off to a small table covered with a lilac clothe and lit by a simple uplighter on the wall adjacent. Evie was here for her brother's wedding. He, Will, was marrying a girl he has known for less than three months. Will had finished his studies at UCL and stayed in London after graduating. All his family were there to support him, though in private they suspected an ulterior motive for the haste, that would not prevent them from being there to share his special day. Evie was sat very close to Carl at 3 o'clock to his 12. Her legs were crossed and one calf kept making contact with his. He moved his leg as much as he could away but still their calves bumped. Eventually Evie's jeans covered leg stayed pressed up against Carl. Her posture put her ample cleavage directly in his line of sight and Carl fought a constant battle not to stare.

It was Thursday, the next day for Evie involved last minute dress fittings and a rehearsal. Saturday was the wedding proper and Sunday she and her family will head back to Ballymena.

For Carl the morning brought checking out. His conference finished at 3 pm. He would be in the train station and home by early evening.

Evie spoke of the most personal and sensitive family issues. Her open matter of fact manner was entirely disarming. As she spoke he studied her features. She was best described as elfin, Her short auburn hair framed her heart shaped face. Her eyes were large and deep deep brown. Excited and curious you tried to imagine the wonder they must see in the everyday. Her nose was small, cute and freckled, and her small bee stung mouth. She wasn't at that moment but Carl was in no doubt that when need be she was a world class pouter. Evie used her hands a great deal and a myriad of emotions danced across her features. Passions, pure, innocent, naïve passions coursed through the girl and Carl was swept along. She obviously cared deeply for her family and he found himself slightly envious of such close ties. Not in a resentful way, he wanted nothing but the very best for this wonderful young woman and the people she cared for, he found himself reminiscing about his own family , about chances missed and divisions formed.

Evie was regaling him with a story about herself and Will where she had seen an old slapstick movie and had decided it would be hilarious to hit someone in the face with a custard pie. Custard pies were in short supply and instead she stole her Da's can of shaving cream.. Carl didn't wait for the story to finish, he saw the playful mischief in her face and roared with laughter.

"You are so..." Caught up in the moment Carl stopped short of completing his words.

"So?" Asked Evie, "So what?"

There was a grin on her face and he guessed she meant to tease him. Carl looked at her for what seemed an age. He swallowed and decided to come clean.

"So Lovely. I was going to say you're so lovely."

His voice was hushed and his expression could only be described as sheepish. He had difficulty maintaining eye contact.

"Lovely am I? And would you say I was sweet?"

"Yes I would," he held her gaze to show his conviction.

"And am I pretty, would you say?"

"I would say that yes."

Looking up coyly through her long thick lashes Evie continued.

"Might I even be considered beautiful in a certain light?"

He didn't answer for a while, shyness stole his voice for a second. He wasn't accustomed to speaking with young women like this and his words caught in his throat. He felt guilty, his wife at home would be distraught if she knew he was here talking to this stunning young woman. He could hear her accusations, he could see frothing anger in her face. She would be livid if she knew how excited and alive he felt right now in Evie's company.

He saw then he'd been right. This girl could pout for Ireland. Carl put his hand to her cheek and tilted her face towards his.

"In any light you are an astoundingly beautiful and desirable young woman."

Shit! Desirable? Where the fuck did desirable come from? Jesus man, she'll have you pinned as dirty old pervert. You're old enough to be her father, you can't say she's desirable for fuck's sake! A chill ran though Carl and he wanted to die now please. All he could do was stare at her as his face fell and his obvious horror painted itself across his features.

For a fraction of a second she arched a single amused eyebrow . Carl's discomfort was so tangible, you could cut it with a butter knife. Evie's face slowly broke into a huge, warm friendly smile. Her hand went to her face and rested where his sat.

"You're a very lovely man Carl I can see that. You have a kind soul and a good heart. Kindness is a quality woefully undervalued in my estimation ."

She leant across the table and kissed his cheek. The kiss lingered for a second and Carl wondered if he dare return the kiss on her lips. Evie turned her head so their lips brushed. He moved into the kiss too late, she was already sitting up. His heart thumped in his chest and his cock stiffened painfully inside his restrictive trousers.

"I'm sorry you go back tomorrow I would have welcomed the chance to know you better."

Evie stood to leave the bar, gave a sad wave with just the fingers of her left hand and mouthed Bye bye. And just like that she was gone.

Carl's bedside alarm wrenched him from a dreamless sleep. After Evie had left sitting alone in the bar seemed lonelier than he could stand. He made his way back to his room, and more exhausted than he'd realised he was asleep within a few minutes of getting in bed. In a daze he showered dressed and went down to breakfast.

"Carl!"

As he stepped from the elevator he almost walked into Evie and her young man coming the other. She flung her arms round him and hugged him tight. Turning to the young man .

"Will, this is Carl. He looked after me last night and let me talk his ears off."

Will? WILL?? So this was her brother? Or maybe there's more than one Will in the world, thought Carl sarcastically.

The young man put his hand out and beamed the same open smile Evie had.

"Thanks for looking after my sister, I know how she can talk. We should start a two legged donkey sanctuary "

This was different, this was so different! She wasn't here with a boyfriend and Carl suddenly thought to check if she wore a ring . Nothing. No jewellery on the left hand at all.

"Would you be free tomorrow afternoon and evening at all?"

Will smiled at Carl who somewhat belatedly took Will's hand and shook it.

"Er..No. No my conference finishes this afternoon and I'm checking out today. Best of luck with your wedding and everything. Really it was pleasure meeting you and Evie"

Carl bid them both goodbye and headed for the restaurant.

As he walked away he heard Evie .

"Told you he was a lovely man".

Carl sat with a plate full of eggs, sausage, mushrooms and more and didn't touch it. At the fourth time of asking he finally noticed the waiter.