Hartley had been in such a state on the night Bridget had ensured he got exceptionally drunk. She had practically dragged him out of the cab and into her house. Her plan had been easier than she had imagined. She had invited bloody Bately and his new girlfriend for supper – she had wanted Hartley to see just how charming she was with the man who had clung to his stupid grudge against her. Philippa had come too, with her boyfriend, and Bridget was careful only to ask her all about her meeting with Lucy when no one was listening.
After supper Bridget had suggested they head to Maddox for a few drinks. She much preferred Annabel’s but Maddox was livelier and she wanted Hartley drunk. Bridget had been a member when it was called Noble Rot, before it was taken over by Fred Moss.
It had been the unofficial social headquarters of London’s blue-blood set and still attracted quite a few in her circle. Bathed in dim red lighting, a table on a Friday night in the minimalist black-and-red Sammy Chams-designed interior cost £1,000 including champagne and a hostess, and was more New York than the old-country-house feel of Annabel’s or glitzy Tramp.
She had ensured Hartley’s glass was constantly topped up over dinner and noticed he was drinking like a fish. Bridget had an inkling as to why he was on such a mission: he had been looking and acting rather vacantly since he saw Lucy on the front page earlier that day. Although it irked Bridget to see how much reading about Lucy and Kirk had bothered him, the timing was perfect. She simply made sure he drowned his sorrows that very night. Lucy, the little tart. Bridget couldn’t have hoped for a better situation. Now he saw how cheap she was, desperate for any man who was famous just weeks after splitting up with him.
Bridget had put up with the terminally dull Bately and his new girlfriend, who looked like a horse. A slim horse, but a horse nonetheless.
She smiled sweetly at their stories and jokes. This time she would get it right. She would be nothing other than charming to all his friends. Well, for the time being. She could think of better things to be doing than feigning interest in Bately’s latest mountain climb for charity, but she would be rewarded for all her hard work.
Hartley maintained his thirst throughout the evening. Come one o’clock in the morning he was struggling to stay awake so Bridget asked a waiter to call her a cab.
It wasn’t easy getting him to bed – he kept muttering incoherently about nonsense, mentioning Lucy a few times. He was out like a light as soon as his head hit the pillow and somehow Bridget got his shirt and chinos off as he lay snoring. She pulled the duvet over his body, took her clothes off and slipped in beside him.
Bridget set the alarm on her mobile phone for 4 a.m. – on vibrate so he wouldn’t hear. She placed it under her pillow so she would feel it buzz. When it did, she pulled at one of Hartley’s sideburns, remembering it was a particularly sensitive area. He stirred and opened his eyes.
‘Darling, you were coughing in your sleep, almost choking. Are you OK?’
‘Oh sorry…’ Hartley’s eyes had a thick glaze of drunkenness still covering them. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’
Bridget smiled and kissed his cheek before climbing on top of him.
‘Don’t worry. I’m on the pill,’ she whispered in his ear while making him hard. He was too confused to object. Bridget was certain he had wanted to anyway, but he was shy and needed her to make the first move.
The best bit was that Bridget had timed it to perfection. She had read up on the best times to have sex when trying to conceive and she slept with Hartley bang in the middle of the optimum days, thereby increasing her chances spectacularly.
Bridget had wondered every day since then whether she could be pregnant. She was sure she had waited long enough and resolved to buy a pregnancy test.