“I’m not saying he’s perfect, but…”
“If you knew the number of deceivers out there.” He eyes me lugubriously. “And the wife is always the last to know.”
“You don’t understand!” I feel like slapping him. “This can’t be Luke. It just can’t be!”
“It’s hard to come to terms with the truth.” Dave Sharpness is inexorable. “It takes great courage.”
“Stop patronizing me!” I say furiously. “I do have courage. But I also know my husband isn’t a bully. Give me those notes!” I grab the folder from him, and a pile of shiny black-and-white photographs falls out onto the desk.
I stare at them in confusion. They’re all pictures of Iain Wheeler. Iain outside Brandon Communications. Iain Wheeler walking up the steps of a hotel.
“This isn’t my husband.” I look up. “This is not my husband.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Dave Sharpness nods in satisfaction. “Your husband has two sides to his personality, as it were—”
“Shut up, you stupid man!” I shout, exasperated. “It’s Iain! You’ve followed the wrong person!”
“What?” Dave Sharpness sits up. “Literally the wrong person?”
“This is one of his clients. Iain Wheeler.”
Dave Sharpness grabs one of the prints and stares at it for a few seconds.
“This isn’t your husband?”
“No!” I suddenly spot a photo of Iain getting into his limo. I grab it and point at Luke, who is in the background on the other side of the car, barely in focus. “That’s Luke! That’s my husband.”
Dave Sharpness’s breathing is getting heavier as he looks from Luke’s blurry head to the photos of Iain, to his notes, and back to Luke.
“Lee! Get in here!” he shouts, suddenly sounding far less smooth-caring-professional and more pissed-off- South-London-geezer.
A few moments later, the door opens and a skinny guy of about seventeen pokes his head round the door, holding a Game Boy.
“Er…yeah?” he says.
This is the highly skilled operative?
“Lee, I’ve had it with you.” Dave Sharpness bangs his hand furiously on the table. “This is the second time you’ve buggered up. You’ve only followed the wrong bloody man. This isn’t Luke Brandon.” He jabs at the pictures. “This is Luke Brandon!”
“Oh.” Lee rubs his nose, looking unconcerned. “Shit.”
“Yes, shit! Yes, I’ve a good mind to fire your bloody arse.” Dave Sharpness’s neck has turned bright pink. “How d’you get the wrong man?”
“Dunno!” says Lee defensively. “I got his picture out of the paper.” He reaches in the folder and pulls out a clipping from the Times.
I know this picture. It’s a candid shot of Luke and Iain chatting at an Arcodas press conference. “There, see?” says Lee. “It says, ‘Luke Brandon, right, confers with Iain Wheeler, left.’”
“They got the caption the wrong way round!” I practically spit at him. “There was an apology the next day! Didn’t you check it!”
Lee’s eyes have already drifted back to his Game Boy.
“Answer the lady!” bellows Dave Sharpness. “Lee, you’re a waste of bloody space!”
“Look, Dad, it was a mistake, all right?” whines Lee.
Dad?
This is the last time I ever get a private detective off the Internet.
“Mrs. Brandon…” Dave Sharpness is obviously trying to calm himself. “I can only apologize. We will of course restart the investigation at no extra charge to yourself, this time focusing on the correct personage—”
“No!” I cut him off. “Just stop, OK? I’ve had enough.”
I’m suddenly feeling shaky. How could I ever have hired someone to spy on Luke? What am I doing in this crappy place? Abruptly I stand up. “I’m going. Please don’t contact me ever again.”
“Of course.” Dave Sharpness hastily pushes his own chair back. “Lee, get out of the way! If I can just give you the other findings, Mrs. Brandon…”
“Other findings?” I turn on him, incredulous. “You really think I want to hear anything else you’ve got to say?”
“There was the matter of the eyebrows?” Dave Sharpness coughs delicately.
“Oh. Oh, right.” I come to a halt. I’d forgotten about that.
“It’s all in here.” Dave Sharpness takes the opportunity to press the manila folder into my arms. “Details of the therapist and the treatment, photographs, surveillance notes…”
I want to throw the folder right back in his face and stalk out.
Only…Jasmine does have really good eyebrows.
“I might have a look just at that bit,” I say at last, as stonily as I can.
“You’ll also find a few other pieces of information in there,” Dave Sharpness says, hurrying after me to the door, “that had been collated in regard to your husband’s case. Your friend Susan Cleath-Stuart, for example. Now, she’s a very rich young lady.”
I feel sick. He’s been checking out Suze?
“Apparently, her fortune has been estimated at—”
“Shut up!” I wheel round savagely. “I never want to see or hear from you again! And if any of your firm follows Luke or any of my friends, I’m calling the police.”
“Absolutely,” says Dave Sharpness, nodding as though this is a brilliant idea which he came up with. “Understood.”
I totter to the end of the street and hail a taxi. It chugs off and I sit clinging to the handstrap, unable to relax until we’re well out of West Ruislip. I can hardly bear to look at the manila folder sitting on my lap like a horrible guilty secret. Although now that I think about it, it’s probably better that I brought it away. I’m taking all this information and I’m putting it straight in the shredder. And then I’ll shred the shreds. I never want Luke to know what I did.
I can’t believe I even went down this road. Luke and I are married. We shouldn’t spy on each other. It’s practically in the marriage vows, “To love, to cherish, and never hire a private detective in West Ruislip.”
We should trust each other. We should believe each other. On impulse I take out my mobile and dial Luke’s number. “Hi, darling!” I say as soon as I get through. “It’s me.”
“Hi! Is everything—”
“Everything’s fine. I was just wondering.” I take a deep breath. “That phone call you took the other day, at the pram shop. You seemed a bit upset. Is everything all right?”
“Becky, I’m sorry about that.” He sounds truly remorseful. “I really am. I…lost it for a moment. There’s been a small problem here. But it’ll work itself out, I’m sure. Don’t worry.”
“Right.” I exhale. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath.
It’s work. That’s all it is. Luke always has little problems and blips that need sorting out, and sometimes he gets stressed. That’s what happens when you run an enormous company.
“I’ll see you later, sweetheart. All set for the big night out?”
It’s the college reunion tonight. I’d almost forgotten. “Can’t wait! Bye, Luke.”
I put my phone away and take a few deep breaths. The main thing is, Luke has no idea I even went near a private detective. And he’ll never find out.
As we reach the familiar terrain of West London I open up the folder and start leafing through the photos and surveillance notes. I might as well find out about Jasmine’s eyebrows before I get to shredding. I come across a blurry shot of Suze walking down High Street Kensington, and I close my eyes, feeling another wave of shame. I’ve made some terrible mistakes in my life, but this is the worst by a million zillion miles. How could I have exposed my best friend to some seedy private detective?
The next ten or so pictures are all of Venetia, and I pass over those quickly. I don’t want to see her. Then there’s a couple of Mel, Luke’s assistant, coming out of the office…and then…Oh my God, is that Lulu?
I stare at the print, bewildered. Then I remember mentioning her when I was making the list of women that
