Dave Sharpness holds up a hand. “Let me reassure you. All of my operatives operate with the utmost caution and discretion. Either your husband is innocent — in which case, no harm done — or he’s guilty, in which case you have the proof you need to take further action. To be perfectly honest, Mrs. Brandon, it’s a win-win situation.”
“So there’s no way at all he could find out?” I say, just to be totally sure.
“Please.” Dave Sharpness chuckles again. “Mrs. Brandon, I’m a professional.”
Honestly, I never realized hiring a private investigator was such hard work. It takes me about forty minutes to write down all the information Dave Sharpness wants. Every time I try to explain that I’m only interested in whether Luke’s seeing Venetia, he holds up his hand and says, “Take it from me, Mrs. Brandon, you’ll be interested enough if we find anything.”
“That’s it,” I say at last, shoving the pad of paper toward him. “I can’t think of anyone else.”
“Excellent.” Dave Sharpness takes it and runs a fingernail down all the names. “We’ll get cracking on this lot. Meanwhile, we’ll place your husband under what we call low-grade surveillance.”
“Right,” I say nervously. “What does that involve?”
“One of my highly skilled operatives will follow your husband for an initial period of two weeks, at which time we shall meet again. Any information gained in the meantime shall be communicated to you directly by myself. I shall require a deposit….”
“Oh,” I say, feeling for my bag. “Of course.”
“And as a new customer”—he rifles in his drawer and produces a small flyer—“you qualify for our special offer.”
Special offer? He honestly thinks I’m interested in some stupid special offer? My marriage is under threat here. In fact, I’m pretty insulted he even mentioned it.
“Valid only today,” Dave Sharpness continues. “Buy one, get the second half-price. It’s a unique opportunity for new customers. Shame to miss out on a bargain.”
There’s silence. In spite of myself I’m feeling the teeniest, weeniest ripple of interest.
“What do you mean?” I give a reluctant shrug. “You get the second detective half off?”
“She’s a card!” Dave Sharpness wheezes with laughter. “No, you order a second investigation and you’ll get it half-price. Saves you coming back, you see. Wrap up all your investigatory needs in one go.”
“But I don’t have any other investigatory needs.”
“Are you sure about that?” He raises his eyebrows. “Have a good think, Mrs. Brandon. No other little mysteries you need to clear up? No missing persons you’d like us to trace? The offer’s valid only today. You’ll regret it if you lose out.” He hands me the flyer. “You’ll see our full list of services here….”
I open my mouth to tell him I’m not interested, then find myself closing it again.
Perhaps I should just have a little think about this. I mean, it is a pretty good deal. And maybe there is something else I’d like to find out about. My eyes run down the headings on the flyer. I could trace an old schoolchum…or track a vehicle by GPS satellite…or simply discover more about a friend or neighbor….
Oh my God. I have it!
I’m not sure Dave really got the whole eyebrow thing. But I explained as fully as I could and drew him a picture and in the end he became quite enthusiastic. He said if he didn’t find out where and how Jasmine was getting her eyebrows shaped, he wasn’t Regional Salesman of the Year, 1989 (Southwest). I don’t know what that’s got to do with private detecting, but anyway. He’s on the case. Both of them.
So it’s done. The only thing is, I now feel horribly guilty.
The nearer I get to home the guiltier I feel, until I can’t bear it anymore. I hurry into the shop at the end of our road and buy Luke a bunch of flowers and some chocolates, and at the last moment I throw in a miniature whisky.
His car is in our parking space, which means he must be home. As I travel up in the lift I start getting my story straight. My plan is: I’ll just say I was at work all afternoon.
No. He might have called there for some reason and found out I took the afternoon off.
I’ll say I was shopping. Nowhere near West Ruislip.
But what if someone saw me in West Ruislip? What if one of Luke’s employees lives in West Ruislip and she was working from home and rang Luke and said, “Guess what, I’ve just seen your wife!”
OK, I was in West Ruislip. I was there for…another reason. To see a pregnancy hypnotherapist. Yes. Brilliant.
By now I’ve reached our front door, and as I unlock it, my heart’s thumping with nerves.
“Hi!” Luke appears in the hall, holding a huge bouquet, and I stare at him, transfixed. We both have flowers?
Oh God. He knows.
No. Don’t be stupid. How could he know? And why would that make him buy flowers?
Luke seems a little puzzled too. “These are for you,” he says after a pause.
“Right,” I say in a constricted voice. “Well…these are for you.”
Awkwardly we exchange bouquets, and I hand Luke his chocolates and miniature whisky.
“Let’s go…” Luke nods toward the kitchen, and I follow him to the area where we have a sofa and a low table. Late afternoon sunshine is blazing in through the window, and it almost feels like summer.
Luke sinks onto the sofa beside me and takes a swig from a bottle of beer on the table. “Becky, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” He rubs his brow, as though marshaling his thoughts. “I know I’ve been distant these past few days. It’s been a strange time. But…I think I’ve managed to get rid of something that was bothering me.”