The Love Detective

by Angela Dyson

  “You need to watch out for yourself never mind about anyone else,” she said, but she took the paper, folded it, and stuck it down her cleavage. “And I’m nearly out of here, just one more night.”

  “So, this is practically your last dance?” I smiled at her. “You should be wearing a corsage.”

  She looked blank. “You what?”

  “Nothing. Oh and good luck with the baby,” I called as she turned to leave, but she didn’t look back just opened the door and went out into the music and the cigarette smoke.

  The place had filled up a little since I’d been gone. At first I couldn’t see Ian and Steph and then I spotted them, still standing at the bar, but now encircled by the three men that had been staring at us. They were evidently making themselves very much at home. Steph with her arms extended in front of her and with a mildly beseeching look upon her face was delivering a speech.

  “You once said that you liked me… Just as I am.”

  Ian clapped. “Go on love it’s marvellous.” He turned to me. “This is the bit where Bridget lets Mark Darcy know she’s mad about him. You know… from Bridget Jones’s diary. It’s her audition piece for tomorrow.”

  “Steph,” I said. “Come on now. We really had better be going.”

  But there was no stopping her. “And I feel the same. Even if you do wear jumpers that your mum’s made for you and…”

  To approving whistles from the three men who I don’t think fully understood what she was saying, but were just smoking and enjoying the show, she continued addressing an imaginary Colin Firth. “I mean that tie’s a classic… and I seriously believe you should reconsider the length of your sideburns but…”

  Ian whispered, “She’s going to walk it!”

  “Ian honey,” I said. “Which bit of… Don’t Draw Attention to Yourselves, didn’t you understand?”

  Unfortunately for me at that moment there was a break between songs, so my voice came out loud and distinct. People were turning around and staring. But at least Steph had stopped declaiming which was something. I took hold of her arm. “We’re out of here. Let’s go.”

  But the movement had taken her by surprise, knocking her against Ian who in turn cannoned into one of the three guys who dropped his cigarette. He wasn’t happy. Even in a foreign language one always knows when one is being sworn at. But I was too het up now to care and began frogmarching Steph towards the door. After a couple of steps I became aware of a commotion behind us. I turned and looked. The men were talking in highly excited voices and pointing at Ian who was hopping up and down on the spot frenziedly flapping his hands at a glowing circle the size of a penny upon the lapel of his jacket. Within a second it had spread. The lurex glimmering gold where it should have been silver. Ian was on fire.

  I dashed towards him shouting, “For Christ sake Ian, just take it off.”

  “It’s designer!” he yelled frantically. “Ted Baker.”

  But Steph beat me to it. Making a lunge at the bar, she yelled, “I know exactly what Britney would do in this situation.” And grabbing at a soda siphon from the counter she aimed at Ian’s chest and pressed down hard upon the nozzle. She missed. The spray hit me full in the face. “Ah!” she said with an apologetic giggle and then recovering, started to sing “Hit me baby one more time!”

  She aimed again and this time she was on the money. The sparks that were just flickering into flame were thoroughly doused. The fire was out. All that remained was the acrid metallic odour of burnt lurex.

  A desultory round of applause broke out from the customers that were close enough to have seen what was going on, but they soon settled back to watching Paula on the stage simultaneously unzipping her dress and twirling her cap.

  “Now you have to admit,” said Steph. “That was classic Britney.”

  Ian and I standing dripping side by side made no comment.

  Steph regarded me evenly. “Clarry forget The Kim Kardashian. Now with those waves you’re more Russell Brand.”

  Ian was busy examining the scorched remains of his jacket. “You owe me for the lurex,” he muttered darkly.

  I did, but this was not the time or place to discuss it for out of the corner of my eye I could see Brother Bar Keeper bearing down on us and if he was unsmiling before, now he was positively glowering. In silent accord we headed swiftly for the door.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Back in the car I was surprised to find that it was only ten thirty. I felt bedraggled. The top of my dress was damp and heavy tendrils of The Kim Kardashian were dripping down my neck. I pulled it off and ran my fingers through my hair. I was hungry, I was drained but I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. After the morning I’d had with Laura I would never have thought that the day could have ended on a high. Laura. The memory of Flan’s words slipped uninvited into my mind and took up a holding position… “She may have lost her job, her romantic illusions, and her best friend all on the same day. Now that’s a lot of heartache.”

  Switching on the engine I came to a decision. There was well over an hour until midnight so there was still time. One thing Laura definitely wouldn’t be losing today was her best friend.

  Last year on the back of a generous salary, Laura had wisely invested in a lovely Victorian conversion flat in a side street off Battersea’s Northcote Road, which is an area that is always buzzing. It may have been late on a Monday evening and the start of the working week, but it seemed to me as I backed the car into a parking space that all the bars and restaurants in the street, and there are dozens of them, were still doing a roaring trade.

  Although the rain had stopped the sky still looked threatening, but there were plenty of determined drinkers and diners occupying outside tables. Their hum of conversation and good-natured laughter competed with a medley of musical styles belting out from the various restaurants: Italian opera issuing from the pizzeria, the irresistible beat of a Latin American rumba from the Argentinean and the plaintive strains of Edith Piaf from a bistro whose white tablecloths gleamed with candles and silverware. It was like stepping into an irrepressibly lively continental street party and never wanting to leave. I could fully understand why Laura loved living here.

  Laura’s flat occupied the whole of the first floor of a dignified stucco house set on three levels. As I opened the gate, I noted that there were signs of someone having been busy recently giving the communal front garden a seasonal facelift. Two polystyrene trays of scarlet geraniums sat ready to be planted alongside four empty terracotta pots, a bag of compost, and a trowel. I knew that the green-fingered enthusiast couldn’t possibly be Laura. She doesn’t do gardening.

  As I trotted up a short flight of stone steps, I knew that I should have phoned in advance but I hadn’t wanted to give her the opportunity of putting me off. I buzzed on the intercom. No response. Maybe she was out or had gone to bed. I buzzed again and this time her voice crackled through to me.

  “Simon it’s no good… just go home.”

  Simon? I blinked in surprise. I yelled into the speaker, “Laura it’s me… Clarry.”

  “Clarry?” Even through the static I could hear the catch in her voice. “Oh thank God… Come up.”

  The door latch clicked and I charged through the lobby and sprang up the stairs. I’d just made it to the top as Laura opened the door.

  “You thought it was Simon?” I demanded going straight to the point.

  She glanced nervously around as if expecting to see him lurking in the stairwell. “He just left. Am I glad to see you.”

  We glanced at one another for an instant as if each were measuring the degree of the other’s absolution, then Laura grinned shamefacedly. “All right?” she whispered.

  “All right,” I nodded and we immediately closed in for a hug.

  After a moment she released me and I could hear in her laughter a mixture of contrition, relief, and emotional exhaustion.
She led me into the sitting room. This was an airy, high-ceilinged room with its original picture rail still intact and with three casement windows that looked out upon the busy street below. The entire flat had been painted white when the developers had converted it and Laura hadn’t seen any reason to change that. What saved the room from being characterless was a trail of the flotsam and jetsam of Laura’s life. Her briefcase spewed its contents out on to the floor; a teetering pile of paperbacks were stacked against one wall and a pair of shoes which judging by their position, the left one tucked behind the sofa and the right one lying discarded under the window, suggested that they might have been kicked off in rather a hurry.

  She yanked me down on to the sofa where I looked meaningfully down at two half-empty mugs sitting on the glass-topped coffee table.

  “So, what happened? What was he doing here?”

  She shrugged apologetically. “He just turned up. I spoke to him earlier and…”

  “What?” I interrupted. “You called him?”

  “No,” she was firm. “He phoned me at about six and asked me out for tomorrow night and so I…”

  For an awful moment, I thought she was going to tell me that she was going to carry on seeing him but I needn’t have worried.

  “I said that I didn’t want to see him anymore.”

  I realised then that we should have guessed he might well get in touch before she’d spoken to her senior partner. We should have come up with a stalling tactic.

  “I started off by saying that I was really busy this week but I suppose he must have guessed something was off by my voice. He asked me if there was anything wrong.”

  I looked keenly at her.

  “That threw me a bit,” she admitted. “But I just said no. He said I sounded weird and asked what was going on. Well what could I say? I tried but I couldn’t think of anything there and then and so stupidly I just said that I’d heard something about him that had worried me and that I thought it would be a good idea if we didn’t see one another for a while. And he was really pissed off Clarry. You should have heard him.”

  “I’m very glad I didn’t,” I said heavily. “I’ve seen him in a flap before. He’s not at his best under pressure.”

  “He was obviously really annoyed even though he was trying hard to suppress it. His voice was icy and he asked what the hell I was talking about. When I tried to brush it off he said that if it concerned him then he had a right to know. Which I suppose in a way he did.”

  “So what did you say?”

  “Well he kept pushing and pushing and I tried my hardest to stonewall him but he wouldn’t let up, kept demanding that I tell him what I’d heard. I wished then that I’d never said anything at all and had just made a date with him. I could have cancelled it.” She shook her head. “And so in the end I just put the phone down. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  I’d have probably done exactly the same I thought and told her so. “I think you handled it pretty well,” I reassured her.

  “But then about half an hour later the buzzer went and it was him. Well you can imagine how I felt.”

  I could. I’m sure I would have just pretended not to be home. “But why did you let him in?” I wanted to know.

  She brooded on that a bit. “I know I shouldn’t have but it just seemed so mean to leave him standing on the doorstep. After all we had spent a night together and now he was being dumped without an explanation. I would hate that if it was the other way around.”

  I was forced to acknowledge the justice of this. “And? What happened when he came up?”

  “Well it was fucking awkward.”

  “I bet it was.”

  “When I opened the door he tried to kiss me but I pulled away and he looked all hurt and sulky.”

  Now that I could quite picture. He’d be the very image of the spoilt little boy who couldn’t get his own way.

  “I offered him a coffee.”

  I looked at her in surprise “Why not lay out the welcome mat and give him a blow job whilst you were at it?”

  “It was more because I didn’t know what to say, so I needed something to do. Anyway, he followed me into the kitchen. By the way do you want a coffee? Or a drink?”

  “In a minute,” I said. “Finish telling me what happened first. Oh and I’m starving. Got anything to eat?”

  She flashed an apologetic grin. “Not a bloody thing.” But, on seeing my disappointed expression got swiftly to her feet and disappeared into the kitchen. When she returned a few minutes later she was carrying a bottle of white wine, two glasses, and a large packet of crisps, this last she threw into my lap. I snatched them up gratefully and noisily chomped down on a great handful as she went on with her story.

  “I made our coffee and we came in and sat down, but all the time I was thinking about how much I didn’t want him here… in the flat. And so I started babbling on about work to cover up the silence because he didn’t say a word at first but just kept giving me these meaningful looks. Eventually when I’d run out of breath, he started on me. He absolutely insisted that I told him what I’d heard. I demand to know he kept saying. I felt I had to tell him something just to get rid of him. What other choice did I have?”

  “Why didn’t you simply tell him to leave?” I asked reaching for my wine glass. “You didn’t have to explain yourself, you could have just told him to sod off.”

  “But that’s just it,” she said. “Somehow I found that I couldn’t. It was as if… and this is going to sound pathetic… as if it would be impolite. I mean we had slept together.”

  Good manners shouldn’t have to come with such a price I thought. “Well so what did you tell him?”

  “I said that a rumour had reached me that he was selling off properties cheap to a developer. And as a result I felt no longer comfortable dealing with him professionally or seeing him socially.”

  I took another swig of my wine. “That sounds really controlled.”

  “I wasn’t feeling in control I can tell you!” she shot back. “He got really shirty on hearing that and started blustering on about defamation of character and libel laws and…”

  “To a solicitor?” I gave her a wide-eyed look and was rewarded with a genuine laugh.

  “I know! Anyway then he really started to press me for details.”

  “What did you say?”

  There was a pause and she shifted uncomfortably against the sofa. “Probably a little more than I should have I’m afraid.” She wouldn’t quite meet my eye and I suddenly didn’t like the way this was going.

  “What exactly did you say Laura?”

  “Well I’d had no intention of getting into the details but I had to say something.”

  I put down my glass. “Please don’t tell me that you mentioned my investigations?”

  She cut in hastily, “No. Your name never got mentioned!”

  “I should hope not!”

  “Of course, I didn’t say that I’d asked my best friend to spy on him… that’s if we are still best friends?”

  I nodded impatiently. “Of course we are. Don’t be so bloody silly. It would take more than one little…” That was as far as I got.

  “I’m so sorry Clarry. I don’t know why I reacted that way. I just felt such a fool and I took the whole thing out on you.”

  “Do you really believe that I’m jealous of you or of any relationships you might make?”

  She flushed and blurted out, “I don’t know what made me say it. It was crazy. I was crazy!”

  I wasn’t going to argue with that.

  “I’m grateful to you Clarry. Honestly I am. I mean without you I would have got myself in deeper and deeper with Simon.”

  “Right OK then.” I was brisk. Real friends aren’t that easy to find and shouldn’t be discarded lightly. I was ready to move on. “Back to Simon.”

&n
bsp; “Well he kept on trying to get me to tell him who had said what. But I refused to give him any names and would only say that I’d had it on good authority from someone I know and trust. And that I suspected him of acting fraudulently and against all the codes of… blah blah blah. And ethics, blah blah blah. Which he denied flatly.”

  “But of course,” I remarked dryly.

  “He was seriously pissed off. He said that whatever I’d heard was a complete fabrication, that it was ridiculous and that whoever it was that had said it was a liar and out to make trouble for him, and finally that I must be stupid to pay attention to any of it,” she said, pursing her lips.

  “Nice. But you seem to have taken it in your stride,” I remarked. “I mean I know it has upset you but you seem OK.”

  She shrugged. “I guess it’s because now there’s no doubt in my mind about him.”

  “That’s not what you said earlier this morning,” I reminded her.

  “I know I know. But when he was in front of me and was working so desperately to convince me, it was like he protested too much. And as a matter of fact he’s a pretty lousy liar. It was obvious he wasn’t telling the truth.”

  “How so?”

  “He kept fidgeting with his car key, taking it in and out of his pocket and twisting it around and around his finger. I just knew somehow. And then I told him that I would be withdrawing the Alwyn Road house and that I’d already told my senior partner all about it and that he would be contacting Dunstan Stead.”

  “No!” I gasped. “What did he say?”

  “God it was awful. His face went white and he looked furious.”

  “I bet he was. Think of the money he’ll be losing.”

  She gave a bitter laugh. “Good. Well then I told him that he’d have to go and that’s when it all got a bit out of hand.” She took a sip of wine before continuing. “He started shouting and saying that I was being totally unreasonable and why wouldn’t I believe him and what proof did I have and oh I don’t know. I couldn’t really take it in. I just wanted him out of the flat. He started pleading with me not to take it any further. He was practically crying, Clarry, saying that he’d lose his job and that his whole career would be over.”