Le Prescient

Chapter 6: A Romantic Man

April 23rd 1896, England

Hector couldn't stop thinking about her. Nora. That was her name. He'd finally remembered, and a good thing too, since she was the mother of his child. Perhaps the shock of such a revelation had sped up his memory. Or maybe he knew her name all along and he simply chose to forget it. What was that called?

"Selective memory," Hector muttered, tugging on his waistcoat. So, in a few months' time he'd be a father. What would that be like? Hector couldn't imagine it. He sat down, and closed his eyes for a moment. Him, a father. What cruel twist of fate was this? The poor child. Hector certainly wasn't ready to be a father. Hell, he could barely put his own shoes on the right foot. How was he supposed to do it for another person?

"Hector, you'll be late if you keep this up," Michael said, quietly. "Breakfast is at a quarter to twelve and it's already eleven thirty,"

Hector nodded quickly, standing up and scrubbing his face with his hands. "You're right, you're right,"

Michael folded up the piece of paper he was holding and leaned against the door, "You're not still thinking about it, are you?" he asked.

Hector glanced up at him, "What? The baby?"

"Well, yes," Michael replied slowly, shooting Hector a funny look. Hector didn't respond. When had he told Michael about the child? He certainly couldn't remember telling him anything.

Hector finally said, "I think it's fair to say it's all I'm ever going to think about, Ainsley,"

Michael tucked the folded note into his pocket and sighed. "There's nothing you can do about it now, Hector. Better think about it later,"

Hector nodded, turning towards the drawers before forgetting what he wanted and turning away. This was the only time Michael had ever felt sorry for the man—anyone who saw him would also feel the same. Hector Mercier was a mess.

"Leave," Hector said eventually, gesturing for Michael to close the door behind him. "And telephone the Harding's, tell them I'll be a little late,"

Hector clenched his fists and looked around the room once Michael had left. There couldn't be a worse time to have a child. Certainly, most men his age were married, had a few children...some even had mistresses. But for Hector, children were a thing of the future. The very distant future.

Right now, his career was at its peak and appealing work it was, too. A child would only complicate things, would only be a drain on his finances, a bar to his dalliances. Surely balancing his women and his child would be difficult? Not to mention the mother. She would certainly take offence and, really, who could blame her?

Only, he wanted to live the life he wanted. And a child wasn't part of the plan.

Hector finally remembered what it was he had been looking for: shoes. He fetched them from the side of his bed and sat down to pull them on.

Now what would he do? Marry the girl? She had already insisted once before. Hector had said nothing.

Hector frowned. Nora was not the woman he wanted for a wife. She was too young, for one. She was barely a woman, anyway, more a girl. Though you could certainly argue that her breasts said otherwise...

Hector shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"Not now." He said to himself, firmly. What else? Deny the child was his? No. He couldn't ever do that. It wasn't in him. Though it was definitely tempting. But no, Hector was a good man. He had morals and whatnot. So, then?

"So, then nothing," Hector said, at last. Life was too short to be worried about such simple things as these. He could be a father, but not a husband. It was as simple as that. Yes, he would have responsibilities but he wouldn't be tied down. And that was enough for him.