As I hastily bundled Lola back into the car, Sylvie started the engine, but the Land Rover had sunk into the muddy ditch and the wheels were spinning wildly, splattering mud everywhere as it listed over onto its side. Sylvie began to giggle.
‘Christ, we’re stuck. This place is in the middle of nowhere and Daniel is probably the only one around who can tow us out,’ she announced through her laughter.
I failed to see the humour in the situation at first, but her laughter was infectious and I soon joined in.
‘This is a Land Rover for fuck’s sake. Doesn’t it have diff lock or something?’ I asked, laughing hysterically as the tears rolled down my cheeks.
‘I don’t know. I’ve never had to use it.’
She tried again and again to move, but the wheels just sank further into the mud.
I was close to full-on panic mode. I had no idea what Daniel would do if he caught us down there spying on him. The whole thing suddenly seemed ridiculous.
What had we been thinking? What the hell had we hoped to achieve there?
Five minutes later, after a desperate phone call to Adam at home and a lot of swearing as we tried frantically to get the right combination of gears, the trusty Land Rover began to move slowly forwards, dragging itself effortlessly out of the ditch and onto the tarmac.
No one emerged from the house and I finally breathed a sigh of relief. It appeared they were too busy with their own arguments to notice what the dog was barking at and the slapstick comedy sketch being acted out by us a few metres up the lane.
I realised, that day, that there was more to this Private Investigator lark than met the eye. I had a lot to learn and I would have to learn fast.
Sylvie was disappointed that we had driven four hours to get down there and effectively achieved nothing. She was determined to salvage something from our flawed plan.
‘You need to get a tracker on that car of his and find out where he is going when he moves. It might lead you to where he is hiding things,’ she said, excitedly.
‘And how am I supposed to do that?’
‘I’m pretty sure there are PI companies that do it for you. Ring Adam, he’s bound to know. Or he’ll find out for you.’
Half an hour later, after a couple of desperate phone calls, I had engaged the services of Night Owl Investigations. They promised to go to the address I gave them, fit a tracker to Daniel’s car and monitor it for one week.
They coolly relieved me of a thousand pounds, payable upfront, for the privilege, but I told myself it was worth it. At least I was actually doing something. I answered their phone call the following day with eager anticipation of an update but, of course, it was not that simple.
‘I’m afraid we couldn’t fit the tracker,’ said a woman’s voice, in a neutral tone.
That was not what I had been expecting.
‘What do you mean? I paid you a thousand pounds to do exactly that!’
‘The car wasn’t there when our agent got to the property.’
‘Well, you need to go back and try again.’
‘That’s not the way it works. You paid for one visit, at very short notice and, as I explained to you last night, it is your responsibility to ensure the vehicle is where you tell us it will be.’
I tried to argue some more, tried to convince them to give me some money back, but I quickly realised I was dealing with nothing more than glorified thugs, who made a living out of ripping off gullible people like me.
That was the first time I got my fingers burned. It wouldn’t be the last.
I sat at home licking my wounds for the next few days and feeling miserable. It felt like every time I took a step forwards I got shoved at least two steps back.
I knew I had to go back to see Lorraine and confront her about the email. She was a vital piece of the puzzle. Much as I hated to admit it, she would know things I didn’t about Daniel and could potentially be very useful to me. I tried to remain detached, but I also needed to see the woman my husband had been sleeping with for the last however many years. The woman he apparently preferred to me (or at least one of them - I reminded myself).
The second time I visited I decided to go it alone, apart from Lola of course, and I told no one. We set off around lunchtime and by 5 pm I was parked up in a strategic surveillance position a little way from the house, watching and waiting to pounce when Lorraine got home from work.
I saw her car arrive at the house, instantly recognising the silver Freelander Daniel had turned up with a while back for me to use when my Porsche was in for repairs. It seemed our lives were more interlinked than I thought. A blonde woman got out of the car and went into the house. I could not see her face, but she appeared tall and well built. I was sure she was the one I had seen in the house arguing with him the other night. The lights went on upstairs and I couldn’t help torturing myself with thoughts of what the bedroom was like and what she and Daniel used to get up to in there. I waited until the lights upstairs went off before driving up to the house.
I did not allow myself any hesitation. Switching off the engine and leaving the window open slightly for Lola, I got out of the car, walked straight up to the front door and rang the bell. The blonde woman appeared after a few moments and half-opened the door.
‘Lorraine?’ I asked confidently, despite my churning insides.
‘Yes.’ She looked at me suspiciously, waiting for me to elaborate further.
‘I’m Grace. Daniel’s wife.’
I don’t know what I expected really, but it suddenly all felt very weird and my heart was thumping hard in my chest. Her face softened into a vague smile and she stepped back as if she had been expecting me, opening the door wider.
‘Oh right. You’d better come in.’
I had half expected her to slam the door in my face, but she was actually quite welcoming and was acting like it was the most normal thing in the world to invite me in.
Yet we both knew there was nothing normal about this.
‘Would you like a coffee?’ she asked, seemingly friendly.
‘Yes please, just black.’
I couldn’t help letting out a little gasp of surprise as I tentatively followed her into the kitchen and she gestured to me to sit down. I could have been walking into my own kitchen. Everything was identical. The stone flags on the floor were the same as the ones outside on the patio. I had come up with that idea as a practical feature when coming in from muddy dog walks. I looked around incredulously at the cream-painted, wooden units with the black ceramic knobs. The Aga range cooker set in the stone fireplace. The wine rack made out of clay pipes. The oak dining table in the centre of the room with six chairs around it. The deep Belfast sink under the window. The exposed oak beams creating a vaulted ceiling. She even had a black Labrador for God’s sake! This was all too weird.
‘Oh my God, this could be my kitchen,’ I exclaimed.
‘I know,’ she stated calmly. ‘I’ve seen the photos. John told me it was a property developer friend of his who had renovated an old farmhouse. He was so impressed with the kitchen he wanted to replicate it here. Obviously, he left out a few pertinent details.’
I felt indignant and instantly defensive.
‘I designed that kitchen myself and my dad fitted it for us,’ I snapped.
She did not comment as she handed me the coffee.
I assessed her appearance slyly as we weirdly began to chat like old friends. She was taller than me by a good few inches and I guessed bitchily about three stone heavier, but she was not really what you would call fat. Not like The Whale. Her clothes were drab, although to be fair I had caught her on the hop and she was clearly dressed for a night in front of the TV with the dog, rather than a night on the town. Nevertheless, I was glad I had been to the hairdresser last week and had chosen to wear my black, quilted Barbour and Ralph Lauren jeans and sweater, with dark grey, suede ankle boots. Understated chic.
I reminded myself sharply that I was not there to judge her but to see if she co
uld be any sort of ally against Daniel, aka John. She certainly seemed keen to get me on her side and was quick to assure me that she had not known he was married.
‘I was married to a cheat once myself and I promise you I would never knowingly get involved with a married man. I know how it feels and I just wouldn’t do that to another woman,’ she declared, with a pained expression on her face.
Did I believe her? I wasn’t convinced. I didn’t trust anyone anymore. I decided I needed to stop pussyfooting around and get down to business.
‘So how did you meet then?’
‘Match.com. I thought you knew that. He failed to tick the box that said ‘married’ of course.’
A dating website. Fuck. So there had been no chance meetings, no accidental encounters. The treacherous bastard had actually gone out of his way to look for women.
‘Yes, I found out he’s on several different sites,’ she added casually. ‘Some of them are purely for hook-ups and one night stands. I found it all when I hacked his iPad. There’s Uberhorny, Shagbuddy, New Honey, Grindr, Tinder…he’s on them all. One of them even uses the strapline Life’s too short; have an affair. He knew exactly what he was doing.’
‘I get the idea,’ I interrupted, then thought of something. ‘But I thought Grindr was a gay dating site? I can’t see why he would have been on that.’
Lorraine simply shrugged her shoulders in a ‘draw your own conclusions’ kind of way, which irritated me.
I had to admit though, I felt a certain degree of admiration for this woman and the way she had been able to find out so much by hacking into Daniel’s phone and iPad, even if some of her information was a bit off target. In the early years, he must have been able to operate covertly and with almost total anonymity, but the social media boom had put paid to that in latter years and, with camera phones everywhere nowadays, there was simply no hiding anymore. Technology had been Daniel’s downfall and the irony of that was not lost on me, given that he was the man who always bragged about having every new gadget the moment it came out.
My thoughts turned to business again and I began to quiz her as subtly as I could about anything of Daniel’s that she might be harbouring in the house. What it really boiled down to, as far as I was concerned, was that I was his wife and therefore, what was his was mine. She had no right to anything in my opinion, but I was already getting the distinct impression that I was going to have to play nicely if I was to get anywhere with her.
‘Do you have any of the paperwork for his cars here by any chance? Or the paintings you mentioned in the email?’ I asked politely, trying to look at the walls around me without turning my head.
She looked pleased with herself and opened the lid of a big trunk in the corner.
‘I certainly do. It’s all in there. The files and documents for all his cars and motorbikes are in there, but I have no idea where he stashed the paintings. They were only bought fairly recently at an auction. He came down last week demanding that I let him have that stuff and a load of other crap he left here. I didn’t let him in of course.’
I blushed slightly, as I remembered scrambling around in the hedge and the argument I had witnessed the last time I was there. I leaned forward to get a better look, but she closed the lid down immediately, narrowly missing my fingers.
‘He ended up being arrested and taken away by the police. I called them when he refused to go away and became abusive towards me. I had no idea whether he was going to turn violent. They advised me to apply for a restraining order against him through the Courts, which I have already seen a solicitor about. I don’t want anything further to do with him at all. To be honest with you, I just want to get on with my life, but he won’t stop pestering me, telling me he loves me and wants to be with me.…’
She saw the expression on my face and tailed off, suddenly realising what she was saying and who she was saying it to.
Or maybe she was saying it deliberately, to twist the knife.
‘Sorry,’ she said innocently, but not entirely sincerely.
‘It’s okay. I guess in the end we’re both victims,’ I said, graciously.
I did not believe for a second that she was really a victim, but I needed to get more information out of her.
There was a long silence and the atmosphere was becoming increasingly tense. I tentatively began to ask her about the holidays they had been on and the things they had done together. It hurt like hell to hear the details, but I couldn’t stop myself asking for more and more. I learned that he had taken her to the Seychelles six times. They had chartered a boat each time, even though she didn’t sail and had no real interest in it. I was close to tears, realising I had not anticipated just how difficult it would be to hear all that personal stuff. The Seychelles was our special place. It was where we had spent our honeymoon. He had never taken me back there and I thought bitterly how much I would have enjoyed those sailing holidays, how it should have been me, not her. It felt as though she had stolen my life but, of course, Lorraine was not the only thief in all this.
I decided to focus on what was really important in an attempt to salvage some dignity.
‘Can I take that paperwork with me?’ I asked bluntly.
‘Sorry, but my solicitor has advised me to keep everything here for now until things are a bit clearer,’ she replied, smiling sweetly.
I briefly entertained the idea of punching her hard in the stomach and simply taking what I wanted, but I reluctantly decided against it. Apart from anything else, she was bigger than me and there was no guarantee I would come off best. One thing was for certain, she was no ally of mine. Quite the opposite in fact.
‘Just one more thing before I go,’ I said casually, trying to hide my contempt.
‘Have you ever been to Daniel’s office in Stainsford?’
‘No, I haven’t. But I’m pretty sure something is going on there that’s not above board. He would never take me to the office, even when I did some work for his company. He was always very cagey about it. I’d like to know what he’s got in there that he needs to be so secretive about. Maybe you could find out and let me know?’ she suggested, throwing down the gauntlet.
She mumbled something about having seen receipts and invoices on his computer for a lot of personal things being sent there, but she didn’t give details. I got the distinct impression she was drip-feeding me information, telling me only what she wanted me to know, just like Daniel had done for years. I needed to be on my guard and take care to do the same.
I looked at her in silence, making sure my face gave nothing away, but I made a mental note to bump Channing Street up to the top of my list of priorities.
- As soon as Daniel goes away, I’ll be getting into that office. And I’m damn sure I won’t be telling you what I find in there, you manipulative cow.
As I stood up to leave, she hit me with one last gem of information.
‘Oh and…I suppose I should tell you. I have an STI.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ I blurted out, shocked.
My mind immediately thought HIV and I sat back down abruptly. She really was the gift that kept on giving.
‘What is it?’ I demanded, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.
‘I’ve got Herpes.’
Marvellous. To cap it all, I now had to go through the humiliation of attending the STI clinic to get myself tested. I should have thought of that before, of course. It should have been blindingly obvious to me from the outset that someone as promiscuous as my husband apparently was could have infected me with any number of filthy diseases.
As I drove home I went over and over our meeting in my head, trying to decide what the worst thing I had discovered was: the holidays in the Seychelles, the kitchen she ‘stole’ from me, the Herpes…?
One thing was for certain, I was beginning to toughen up at last. In fact, that was the night I began to fantasise about doing my husband some serious harm.
A turning point
There is twice as much pleasur
e to be gained from deceiving a deceiver.
Grace
I had to admit the tracker was a stroke of genius, although when Adam first suggested it, during one of my ‘therapy sessions’ at the hotel, I was sceptical.
‘Bit like shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, I agree you probably should have done it years ago, but I still think it will be useful for you now. How else are you going to find out where he’s squirrelled everything away?’
‘I suppose you’re right, but I have absolutely no idea how to fit a tracker. I don’t even know where to get one from. And I’m certainly not getting any private investigation companies involved after what happened last time.’
This was an alien world to me. Suspicion did not come naturally. I trusted people to tell me the truth. It had never occurred to me to have Daniel followed or to hack into his phone or computer. Clearly things had to change because twenty years of trusting the man I had married had not exactly ended well for me.
‘Come here and look at this…,’ Adam said, beckoning me over to show me a picture on the screen of his laptop.
‘Eighty quid, that’s all they are. I can get you one delivered here tomorrow and I’ve got a mate who will fit it for you, no problem.’
I thought to myself with some amusement that Adam was better connected than Don Corleone in Derbyshire. I concentrated as he filled me in on more important details.
‘Actually, I think you should get two of them, as it says the battery life on them is only about a week. That way, you can always have one on charge and you just keep swapping them over.’
He paused, looking at me expectantly, but I was still reticent.
‘Are you sure about getting involved? You’d really do all that for me?’ I asked hesitantly.
‘Hundred percent. It’s not a problem at all.’
‘Is it legal?’
‘Bit of a grey area. The point is it goes on all the time with husbands and wives trying to catch each other out for cheating. I’ve done a bit of research on the subject and so far as I can see, no one’s ever been prosecuted for it. There’s nothing to worry about, honestly. Just make sure you keep it to yourself.’
Twenty Years a Stranger (The Stranger Series Book 1) Page 17