‘Rachel? Eva mentioned you would be calling by.’ ‘Eva’s great, isn’t she? She said you were one of the good guys.’
Rachel regretted gushing like that. One of the good guys? She hoped he didn’t take it as patronising. She handed him a folder containing the paperwork she had been asked to bring.
‘Eva is great,’ Stefan Stratos replied. Then he went through the documents one by one, saying, ‘You’re here for marital advice?’
Rachel nodded.
‘Husband? Wife?’
‘Husband.’
‘When did you marry?’
‘Fifteen years ago.’
‘You still live together?’
‘Yes.’
‘I have to ask, do you still share a bed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Children?’
‘No.’
Did she detect a pause there, longer than in between the other questions?
‘My husband has been unfaithful,’ she blurted out. Stefan Stratos looked up from ticking boxes on a form.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said softly. ‘A recent discovery?’
Rachel nodded.
‘I know that this must be difficult for you, Rachel, but can you explain the circumstances to me?’
Rachel described the kiss she’d seen. Even as she said the words aloud she knew they sounded silly. As a divorce lawyer, Stefan Stratos must have seen degrees of infidelity far worse than a public kiss! But if he thought her complaint trivial, he gave no sign. Stefan Stratos nodded along and made notes. He called for his assistant to join them. Sophia was young and enthusiastic, petite and pretty with olive skin. Her hair was an impressive bouquet of shiny, black curls held in place with a red ribbon to match her blouse. She took Rachel’s documents and returned with two sets; photocopies and the originals. Stefan Stratos said the important thing was to start the ball rolling.
‘May I offer some advice?’
Rachel nodded. She thought that was what she was paying him by the hour for.
‘The heart is a fickle thing. And I can see you’re in pain, a lot of pain. It’s easy to lash out in reaction. Think about what you want in the future. The number one regret of too many of my clients is not taking the time to resolve both the head and the heart.’
‘But he cheated on me,’ Rachel managed to whisper.
‘I know. And right now it feels as if it’s impossible for you to forgive his misdoings, but in the long term how do you want to handle the relationship? If you’re sure you want to separate, we would need verification of his infidelity. He would likely deny all wrongdoing,’ Stefan Stratos explained. He placed his hand over hers and left it there until she had calmed. He reassured her he would be available to help in whatever way he could. Rachel was comfortable with being represented by him. He was, as Eva had said, a bloody nice bloke. She wondered how many clients he had talked out of a divorce. Surely reconciliation must be bad for a family law business?
Rachel checked the notes she had made:
1) not to make any rash decisions;
2) start quietly collecting tangible evidence of the affair.
Whatever she decided to do, knowledge was power, and if she did decide to file for divorce then she would need all the evidence she could get.
Rachel had assumed that the moment she had arranged an appointment, that would be it – the decision made. But she left Stefan Stratos’s office with more questions than answers. Could she really see herself forgiving David? Could they move on past the affair? Did she want to be a divorcee and start again at her age? She could almost hear her biological clock screaming from inside. TICK, TOCK, TICK, TOCK.
7
Rachel announced to Eva she had retained the services of a divorce lawyer. D.I.V.O.R.C.E. The big D. Divorce. The word still felt foreign in her mouth.
‘I told you Stefan was great, didn’t I?’ Eva placed a cup of tea on Rachel’s desk. ‘Sorry, we’ve run out of biscuits.’ This was a polite way of reminding Rachel it was her turn to buy chocolate digestives. Another thing that she had forgotten in the madness of Kissgate.
Eva sat down next to Rachel, with her own What would Madonna do? mug in hand. She continued carefully, ‘look, David isn’t my cup of tea.’
‘I thought you liked him?’
Eva didn’t answer. Instead she took a sip of her tea and exhaled deeply before she continued. ‘As the survivor of multiple divorces, do you want my advice?’ She raised her hand in a formal gesture, to emphasise her point. ‘It could have been a harmless kiss; maybe he’s not having an affair.’
Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘You don’t believe that.’
‘I don’t. But I’ve been known to be wrong. You need to hire a private detective.’
‘Where do I find—’
Before Rachel could finish her sentence, Eva had started to scribble on a post-it note. ‘The first and second ones I have used personally; both of them are very good. The third, my neighbour used when her husband went missing.’
‘The one who was living on a fishing trawler in Iceland?’
‘That’s the one. And it was those guys who found him there.’
Rachel thanked Eva with as much sincerity as she could muster. Speaking to her had helped, though this was not the reaction Rachel had anticipated. She had wanted the ball-busting Eva; had expected the number for a hitman, not a private detective agency.
‘You know where I am if you need to talk,’ Eva said, and left Rachel alone with her confused thoughts. She scrunched up the list of names and threw the paper into the wastepaper basket only to scout it out again ten minutes later. She went for the third company first. She liked the story about the Icelandic fishing trawler and it couldn’t have been an easy find. She dialled the number and a gum-chewing voice answered and asked how she could help.
‘I need to hire your services. I think my husband is having an affair.’
Having an affair. The words devastated her again and Rachel stopped talking as they caught in her throat. The girl on the other end of the call took some details. The routine nature of the conversation chilled Rachel to the core. It was akin to ordering a pizza: evidence of one philandering husband, please, with a side of photographs of the young mistress, thank you.
‘Miss?’ the voice said. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Erm, yes,’ Rachel managed eventually. ‘Yes, sorry, it’s all a bit … I’ve not done this before.’
‘I understand,’ the voice said coolly. ‘I’ll go through some of the packages we offer, shall I? Obviously each case is different but our detectives need to know what level of engagement you expect and what services you’re willing to pay for, and we can build an invoice for you. What do you need evidence of? We start at £45 per hour plus VAT and expenses.’
Rachel hurriedly told the woman she had changed her mind. A private detective was a step too far. She was conflicted about having her husband followed. Of course, Rachel preferred to think it was just a solitary kiss and that her husband wasn’t banging the beautiful redhead, but what were the chances? Had hell frozen over? She checked the sky for flying pigs. If Eva was right, that David was innocent until proved guilty (one kiss does not a philanderer make), then he should be given the benefit of the doubt and the chance to clear his name. And she was also uncomfortably aware that hiring a professional was something you couldn’t come back from. It wasn’t at the same level of deceit as cheating, but it certainly wasn’t showing good faith.
Rachel saw Eva had overheard the conversation and wondered if she could style it out without having to address it. She couldn’t. Instead, she said that she wouldn’t hire someone to follow her husband at great expense when she could do the legwork herself with a minimal amount of sleuthing. The Internet listed a few basic steps that could be undertaken from home: by checking joint finances for unusual credit-card activity or large cash withdrawals, Rachel could see for herself if anything was amiss, and maybe put in some harmless tailing of David too. Check he was at the office wh
en he said he was at the office, for instance.
‘Did you say Tuesday was his “gym night”? How about we check he’s actually going there tomorrow?’ Eva asked, her eyes filled with glee.
8
Rachel sat on the toilet and waited until she could will enough urine to splash onto the plastic stick. Would the test show a stupid smiley face? Of course it did; she was ovulating. Ding ding ding – we have a winner! She updated the app with the news and stared at her fertility graph. There wasn’t much point in it, she knew, but she would be damned if David would take her perfectly plotted ovarian chart away from her, as well as everything else. Still with her knickers around her knees, she checked her temperature. That too was added to the data. The phone buzzed in her hand. She had a new text message.
Eva: I’m at the end of your road, parked outside number 6.
Rachel called her as she pulled up her knickers and wriggled back into her black skinny jeans.
‘What are you doing? Come to the house,’ she whispered.
‘I can’t park outside because he might notice my car and we can’t take yours because it’s a pillar-box on wheels. He’ll spot you a mile off. Come on, Rach, this isn’t amateur hour!’
‘Okay, I’ll let you know when he’s going.’
Eva was wearing sunglasses and looked stunning, dressed head-to-toe in what appeared to be a black catsuit. Rachel shook her head in disbelief.
‘What are you staring at? I never get the opportunity to wear this,’ said Eva as she checked her blind spot and pulled the car out and onto the main road. She told Rachel the plan was to stay two cars behind David.
‘Have you done this before?’ Rachel asked.
‘Here, put these on.’ Eva handed her a pair of oversized sunglasses.
Rachel put them on; they really suited her. She had packed her SLR camera complete with a zoom lens. She rarely used it, but it was the closest thing she had to binoculars, and if she needed to collect evidence, it would take a clearer shot of David than the camera on her phone. Eva nodded to the back seat; she had stocked up on ‘stake-out essentials’, buying water, iced coffee, honey-roasted peanuts, chocolate brazil nuts, crisps and grapes.
‘How long are we planning on being in here?’
‘As long as it takes,’ Eva said gravely.
‘I’m not sure this is a good idea.’
‘You didn’t want to pay a private detective, I get that—’
‘It’s not the money.’
‘But, Rachel, you need to know.’
They followed David through the winding streets for fifteen minutes. Rachel loved the twinkly lights of Richmond at dusk. The shops were closing. Warmth glowed from windows of cosy pubs and moonlight glimmered on the River Thames. This was home. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
Rachel was relieved when she saw David park his silver Prius outside the gym. Her shoulders released and dropped a couple of inches. She had figured he was using the place as an excuse. There was no way he had time for both squats and sneaking off with his mistress. Perhaps he wasn’t having an affair? Eva was evidently thinking the same, as she caught Rachel’s eye.
‘It’s not proof that he’s not … you know,’ Rachel said thinly. ‘But at least he’s telling the truth about something.’
Eva nodded and then said, ‘Hey, do you want to get something real to eat? I’m not sure if I fancy the camping fare.’
‘Tapas?’ Rachel suggested.
Eva had already reversed the car out of the parking space when Rachel spied David in the rear-view mirror. He had walked right past the gym entrance. She gasped and reached out to grab Eva’s shoulder but accidentally grabbed the steering wheel instead.
‘Rachel!’ Eva slammed on the brakes.
‘Shit! Sorry!’ she said as she held up her hands.
‘There is no gym bag.’ Eva managed to manoeuvre an impressive U-turn in spite of Rachel’s flapping, pointing and bellowing. ‘THERE IS NO GYM BAG!’ Rachel repeated in a screech.
They watched David approach a three-storey apartment building and push a button on the intercom. After what seemed like hours, but was probably only seconds, he was buzzed in. The door opened onto a dimly lit foyer and David disappeared from sight.
Rachel had been so shocked that she had forgotten to take pictures of him entering the building. Retroactively, she tried to get a close-up shot of the building number or the door but Rachel’s zoom lens was hopeless; the picture was dark and blurred and she couldn’t identify any useful detail. Eva darted out of the car and nonchalantly approached the intercom display. She shook her head as she walked back.
‘No names, only a list of apartment numbers,’ she said as she got back into the car.
Rachel nodded. Eva was stoically calm but Rachel’s imagination ran wild as she imagined the different ways David and his mistress would be enjoying each other’s bodies. Would there be foreplay or would they get straight down to it? It was all too much. She looked at the dashboard clock. Four minutes of mental torture was exhausting. She was already drained. Eva opened a bag of crisps and Rachel shot her a murderous look.
‘What?’ she said innocently. ‘We might be here a while.’ Eva pointed out that David and the woman were probably only having a drink and hadn’t even undressed. Rachel was too wounded to respond. The sound of Eva’s chomping was unnecessarily loud in the silent car. Rachel opened one of the iced coffees. It was cold and tasted good but sweet in a sickly way.
After half an hour spent in silence, Rachel admitted, ‘I think it’s more than just a kiss.’ She said the words so quietly she didn’t think Eva had heard her until she felt her hand being squeezed.
The coffee-in-a-can wasn’t enough. Rachel wanted a real drink. She wasn’t sure how long it would be before David would eventually return home, but she imagined Eva and herself could easily polish off a bottle of Sauvignon before his marathon love-making session was over. Rachel stared out of the car window. She was glad she’d had the foresight not to wear mascara.
Her phone buzzed in her hand and made her jump. A banner flashed at the top of the screen alerting her that she had a new email from Stefan Stratos.
‘That was quick,’ Rachel said. Was it too quick? ‘I’ve got an email from Stefan Stratos.’
It felt impossible for her not to use his full name. It couldn’t be Mr Stratos. Or Stefan. It had to be Stefan Stratos.
‘I told you he was brilliant,’ said Eva proudly.
‘Oh, God.’
Eva’s expression said, ‘Wuss!’ She gently took the phone to read the email. ‘He has some news but says it’s best to meet in person.’
‘That’s bad news, right?’
‘Not necessarily. He says you’re welcome to pop by tomorrow, before nine. I can come with you?’ Eva offered.
‘Thank you, but it’s alright. I’m done with the hand-holding for one day.’ Rachel found she was glad to have discovered a good friend in her kind if eccentric office manager. Rachel tried David’s number, she didn’t know what she was going to say but she couldn’t sit there and do nothing. The phone rang, and rang, and rang, and rang. Eventually, his voicemail clicked in. You’ve reached David …
‘I think it’s time to call it a night. Please can you take me home?’ Rachel asked.
‘Sure?’
She nodded.
‘Are you going to be okay? I can stay and keep you company until he gets back,’ Eva offered when Rachel unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the car door.
‘I’ll be fine, really,’ she said. ‘I want to be on my own.’
Rachel thanked Eva again and walked up the path to the front door, hoping she hadn’t come across as rude.
Once inside, Rachel went straight to the bathroom and collected every gadget, supplement and accessory that was even remotely connected to their pregnancy plan. The ovulation kits, vitamins, the thermometer, the books – everything was thrown into the big, unsightly council bin outside and dragged to the kerbside for collection the following mo
rning. She reached for her phone, located the fertility app and deleted her profile.
Finally, she collapsed on the sofa, wine glass in hand. She regretted leaving behind the crisps and chocolate brazil nuts in Eva’s car.
When David eventually returned her call two hours later, she didn’t have the energy to question his whereabouts.
Rachel felt destroyed, her mind frazzled, her body deflated and her heart broken (again). She was beaten to the point of inertia. She lay near-comatose on the sofa watching a shopping channel, unable to muster the strength needed to find the remote.
‘You rang – everything good?’ David asked with a chipper inflection.
‘Yeah, I wanted something but can’t remember what.’ Self-esteem maybe? Or a loving husband or anything other than her current life. ‘How was the gym?’
‘Might have a quick post-workout pint, I feel like I deserve it.’
‘You knock yourself out,’ Rachel said sardonically.
‘Love you,’ David added.
She fought back the bile at the back of her throat as she made an affirmative noise and ended the call.
9
The door to Stefan Stratos’s office was closed. Rachel tried a push and a pull, but it was firmly locked. She looked at her watch; the brisk walk to his chambers had taken her seventeen minutes. It was 08:49. She knocked gently on the door and with her finger traced the words Stefan Stratos that were etched with a gold finish on the frosted glass. She was about to leave when the door was opened by Stefan himself, who continued to hold a conversation on his mobile phone. She was cheered by the waft of freshly brewed coffee. He nodded towards the reception area. She stepped inside and he locked the door behind her.
Stefan Stratos finished his call.
She hoped her face hadn’t given away the apprehension she felt. ‘All credit is due to Sophia. She was logging your documentation.’ He pointed towards his assistant’s empty desk. ‘And she noticed that you were married on an Indonesian island. Bali, I believe?’
How to Marry Your Husband Page 5