Respect (Mandasue Heller)

by Mandasue Heller

  She smiled as she slotted the folded notes in with the rest. She’d done six jobs to date, and hadn’t spent a single penny other than what she needed each week for the meter and food. She was grateful that Bill was still paying her cash in hand, but she knew it wouldn’t last for ever. The day Bill decided to make their arrangement formal would be the day when Chantelle would have to walk away – and she was dreading it.

  She had never in her wildest dreams imagined that she would get such a kick out of spying on people, but she absolutely loved it. She’d always known that men were devious and deceitful, but it still shocked her how easily and unconcernedly they strayed. That was probably why Bill was single, she supposed. Her boss must have long ago reached the same conclusion: that men were born liars who couldn’t be trusted as far as you could throw them.

  This morning’s job had been the first that Chantelle had undertaken during daylight hours. It seemed that the majority of cheats preferred to operate at night, when they could ply their playthings with alcohol and get up to their shenanigans under cover of darkness; but today’s suspect had met his lady friend in a coffee shop, both apparently on lunch breaks from their respective jobs. The broad daylight and the fact that they had been surrounded by shoppers hadn’t put them off, and Chantelle had caught some fairly full-on groping going on under the table. She pitied the man’s poor wife when she saw the footage but, as Bill always said, it was better for their clients to know the truth than to suffer the uncertainty.

  Unusually, because her jobs had so far all been a few days apart, Chantelle had another one lined up for this evening. This client, however, had no idea where her husband might be going, so instead of being in situ at a predetermined venue Chantelle and Bill were to start their surveillance outside the suspect’s house.

  Chantelle had a few hours before she had to start thinking about getting ready and she had planned to go shopping. But she didn’t fancy bumping into Anton again, so she decided to stay in and do some cleaning instead. Although she wouldn’t be going anywhere near Leon’s room, because he’d gone mad the last time he caught her in there. But that was fine by her. He reckoned he was growing up, so he could clean up after himself from now on.

  12

  Bill turned onto the suspect’s road at eight p.m. and parked in a secluded inlet. When she switched off the lights, plunging them into darkness, Chantelle gazed out at the shadowy houses across the way. They were all detached and fronted by neat hedges, with high wrought-iron gates to keep casual callers at bay. She’d only ever seen houses as grand as these on TV, owned by really rich people and maintained by an army of cleaners and gardeners. She couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like to live in such a massive house, and the area was unusually quiet, too; no teenagers hanging around on the corners, no traffic, doors slamming, or people shouting, arguing or fighting. It was a world away from the life she knew, and she couldn’t help but envy the people who could afford to live like this. But girls like her didn’t fit into places like this, so there was no point thinking about it.

  ‘Something wrong?’ Bill asked when she heard Chantelle sigh for the third time in as many minutes.

  ‘No.’ Chantelle smiled. ‘Just wondering what it must be like to live in such a big house.’

  ‘Lonely,’ said Bill, quickly adding, ‘I should imagine.’

  Chantelle raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. She’d known Bill for a few weeks now and they got along well enough. But the woman never spoke about anything apart from the business, so it was hard to imagine her having a life outside of her office and this car.

  She was different from anybody Chantelle had ever met before. She dressed scruffily, and her car was old – and smelly, courtesy of Mitzy’s continuous farting. Yet her accent was posh, and she used words that Chantelle, who had always been near the top of her English classes, didn’t always understand. For all Chantelle knew, she was from a really rich family and had grown up in a house like those they were sitting outside. But she doubted that she would ever find out, because her boss wasn’t the kind to talk about personal stuff.

  They had been sitting there for over an hour and the windows were steamy by the time Bill saw movement. ‘He’s off,’ she said. ‘Quick, get down.’

  Chantelle glanced out of the window in time to see a flashy BMW emerge from a driveway up ahead. As it turned onto the road and began to head towards them, she slid down in her seat and held her breath until it had passed.

  Bill stared at the tail lights in the rear-view mirror. As soon as they disappeared around the corner, she sat up and started her car, causing Chantelle to hold onto the sides of her seat as Bill quickly turned around and set off after the BMW.

  The suspect’s car was four vehicles ahead of them when they hit the main road. ‘Camera ready?’ Bill asked, keeping the tail lights in her sights.

  ‘Yeah, just need to press record,’ Chantelle told her.

  Bill smiled to herself. The girl was a quick learner who rarely needed telling twice, and she was far more polite and respectful than most girls of her age who were all too often consumed by a staggering sense of self-importance and entitlement. The best thing about Chantelle was that she had a genuine interest in the work and had quickly picked up a knack for judging when something was about to happen, saving Bill from having to wade through swathes of film before reaching the money shot. All in all, she was proving to be a good addition to the business.

  Unaware of Bill’s silent appraisal, Chantelle reached into the glove compartment and took out the photograph that the client had emailed to Bill earlier in the day. The suspect was handsome, with short, dark, stylishly cut hair and piercing blue eyes. The picture looked as if it had been taken at a party, and Chantelle guessed from the expression in his eyes that he was intimately connected to whoever had been on the other side of the camera. Maybe his wife in happier times – before the rot had set in and she’d decided to have him followed. He looked fairly young, but he obviously had money to be living in such an expensive neighbourhood, and his car was really classy, too.

  As she felt the envy stirring again, Chantelle put the picture away and sat back in her seat.

  The man drove into the city centre and parked up on a backstreet off Deansgate, not far from the wine bar where Chantelle had done her first job. Telling Chantelle to duck down, Bill drove past and pulled over a couple of hundred yards further down. She watched in the rear-view mirror as the man sauntered down the road, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the jacket that was slung casually over his shoulder. When he went into the doorway of a nightclub on the corner, she said, ‘Game on.’

  Chantelle took the money that Bill was holding out to her and climbed out of the car. No longer afraid of being challenged about her age, she paused to smooth her skirt, then strolled confidently down the road and into the club.

  She gazed around as she entered, and quickly located the suspect being greeted with handshakes and slaps on the back from two men at the far end of the bar. She ordered a Coke and carried it over to a table in a dimly lit corner. Then, taking the camera-phone out of her bag, she surreptitiously kept track of the suspect and his friends as they settled at a table in the opposite corner.

  It was more than an hour before anything happened, by which time the club had started to fill up. With her view now partially obscured by people on the dance floor, Chantelle moved to an empty stool at the end of the bar and started the camera rolling when she saw a woman approach the men’s table and sit down.

  The woman was very beautiful, with long dark hair and a great figure, and Chantelle could clearly see by the way she was pouting and batting her lashes that she was flirting with the suspect. She kept leaning in close to speak into his ear, and he obviously found whatever she was saying amusing because he was doing a lot of smiling and nodding. But just as Chantelle thought that something incriminating was about to happen, the suspect received a call on his mobile phone and excused himself from the table. And when he went
back a couple of minutes later, he picked up his jacket, shook hands with his friends and kissed the woman on both cheeks before strolling out of the club.

  Chantelle waited a few minutes to see if the woman would follow him, then called it a night.

  Bill unlocked the car door and gave Chantelle a questioning look as she climbed in. Chantelle shook her head and handed the videophone to her.

  ‘He met up with some men when he first went in, and they were just drinking and talking for the first hour. A woman arrived after that and it looked like there might be something going on, but then he got a phone call and left.’

  ‘So he didn’t do anything?’ Bill slotted the USB lead into her laptop.

  ‘Nothing.’ Chantelle shook her head. ‘The woman was flirting and I thought he might be responding, but I’m not sure now. See what you think.’

  Bill loaded the film and watched it intently, looking for anything that Chantelle might have missed. There were plenty of telltale signs that even the most cautious of people couldn’t avoid giving off: a look, a subconscious positioning of the body, or a random gesture that betrayed an intimacy they were trying to hide. But, as Chantelle had said, there seemed to be nothing untoward going on.

  ‘Ah, well, the client should be relieved,’ Bill said as she disconnected the lead and closed the laptop down. ‘But I see what you mean about the flirting. She couldn’t have been more obvious if she’d stripped naked and waggled her tilly mint right under his nose.’

  ‘What?’ Chantelle laughed and stared at her.

  ‘Well, it’s true.’ Bill chuckled and reached through the gap between their seats to put the laptop on the back seat. ‘Men are foolish creatures but we’d be out of a job if they weren’t so easily led astray, so I shan’t complain. Anyway, another job well done – so let’s get you home, shall we?’

  13

  Yvette Knight kissed her husband goodbye the next morning and waved him off from the doorstep. As soon as the electric gate slid shut behind his car, she rushed into the kitchen and switched her laptop on. Then, perching on a stool, she opened the private investigator’s page and typed in the pin code she’d received by text when Rob had been in the shower earlier.

  She’d been itching to see what the PI had got for her, and when a series of pictures appeared on the screen now she tucked her hair behind her ear and clicked on the first image to enlarge it. It showed Rob sitting in a club with two men and a woman, and Yvette’s jaw clenched in anger when she saw the way the bitch was gazing adoringly up at him. Yvette was a natural blonde, but that was the only genuine thing about her: everything else was fake, from her nails to her lashes to her boobs – just the way Rob claimed to like his women. But this tart had long, thick, glossy black hair, naturally tanned skin and, Yvette suspected, naturally large breasts.

  Already seething with jealousy, Yvette scrolled through the rest of the pictures. She had been asleep when Rob got home last night, and when she’d asked him this morning where he’d been, he’d said he’d been in a late-night meeting at work. So what the hell had he been doing at a nightclub, with Vampira drooling all over him?

  The sound of the front door opening made Yvette almost jump out of her skin. Hands shaking, she quickly closed the page she was viewing and opened one from the favourites tab just as Rob strolled in.

  ‘Forgot my wallet,’ he said, looking around. ‘Thought you said you were getting a bath?’

  ‘I am in a minute.’ Yvette smiled. ‘Just came to make myself a coffee and got distracted by Jimmy Choo.’

  Rob spotted his wallet on the ledge behind the laptop and reached over her shoulder to get it, glancing at the screen as he did so. ‘Those are nice.’ He pointed at a pair of strappy stilettos. ‘Why don’t you order them?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Yvette gritted her teeth as she wondered if those particular shoes had caught his eye because his tart had been wearing something similar last night.

  ‘Go on – treat yourself,’ Rob said magnanimously, slipping his wallet into his pocket. ‘Not sure when I’ll be back tonight. Adam just called to say he’s scheduled me in for an extra meeting this afternoon, and I’ve got a feeling it might run over.’

  ‘Again?’ Yvette struggled to keep the accusation from her eyes as she peered up at him.

  ‘Can’t be helped.’ Rob shrugged. ‘Business is business. Anyway, got to go. See you later.’

  Yvette tilted her head back when he kissed her on the forehead and smiled as he went on his way. But the smile disappeared as soon as he was out of the door, and she listened for the sound of his car tyres crunching gravel before switching screens back to the private investigator’s pictures.

  One by one she scrutinised them, the anger burning that bit more brightly with each new detail she picked out. When she could stand no more, she slammed the laptop lid shut and lit a cigarette. She took a deep drag and gazed around the room as she exhaled her smoke through gritted teeth. This house was her pride and joy. She had spent months choosing the furnishings and decor which had turned it from a house into a home, and she made sure the cleaners never missed a speck of dust so it always looked immaculate. Rob might be the emperor of all he surveyed at work, but Yvette was the undisputed queen of this castle, and no tarty little bitch was going to wheedle her way into Rob’s life and take her crown away from her. Not without a bloody big fight, anyway.

  She took another drag on her cigarette and snatched her mobile phone off the ledge.

  ‘It’s Mrs Knight,’ she said when her call was answered. ‘I’ve seen the pictures, but it’s not enough. I want you to try again. Only this time …’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Bill said when Yvette Knight had outlined what she wanted. ‘No, it’s no problem; leave it with me and I’ll get back to you.’

  Bill put the phone down when the call was finished and gazed thoughtfully out over her messy office. She’d just been asked to provide a service she had never before offered, mainly because she had worked alone until recently and was herself completely unsuitable for the role. But now that she had Chantelle it was entirely feasible – as long as the girl felt comfortable with the idea. It would be a stretch as Chantelle had so far had no contact with the suspects she’d been tasked to follow. Looks-wise, she was perfect, but Bill wasn’t so sure about the personality side of things. As sweet as she was, and as comfortable as she now seemed to feel in Bill’s presence, Chantelle had an innate shyness which might prohibit her from putting herself out there in the way this job would require. But Bill supposed she could only ask.

  She picked up the phone again and rang Chantelle’s number.

  ‘Hello, dear, are you free to talk? I have a proposition for you.’

  Chantelle bit her lip when Bill had finished the call. What the hell had she let herself in for? She had just agreed to follow last night’s suspect again, but this time she wouldn’t just be filming him from afar – she would be trying to orchestrate a meeting. A honey trap, Bill had called it, the sweet term making it sound like an exotic, exciting adventure. But Chantelle had never even dated a boy, or had a conversation with one that could lead him to think she was interested. And, on the very rare occasions when a boy had approached her, she had immediately clammed up – as she had with Anton Davis, who had quickly given up after being stonewalled.

  But if the thought of flirting with a boy was alien to her, the idea of doing it with a man filled her with absolute dread. And, judging by his behaviour in the club last night, the suspect, whose name Bill had just told her was Rob Knight, was a highly confident man at that. He had to be extremely smart to have made so much money by the age of 25, and he obviously had no trouble attracting sexy women. So how on earth an inexperienced girl like her was supposed to get him to take her seriously, Chantelle did not know.

  Regretting having agreed to give it a go, Chantelle brought Bill’s number up on her phone and hovered her thumb over the call button. She wanted to tell her that she’d changed her mind, but she guessed that Bill would pr
obably have phoned the client back by now to confirm the booking and cancelling wouldn’t be very good for business.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ Leon walked into the kitchen just then and gave her a funny look

  ‘Nothing.’ Chantelle smiled and pushed her phone into her pocket. ‘Just trying to decide what to make for dinner tonight. What do you fancy?’

  ‘Chippy,’ Leon said, pouring himself a glass of milk. ‘Happy birthday, by the way.’

  Chantelle’s eyes immediately welled up. She genuinely hadn’t expected him to remember, and it meant the world to her that he had. ‘Thank you,’ she said, trying to keep her voice from breaking.

  ‘No need to get all girly about it,’ Leon scoffed, his face creasing with disgust. ‘I take it you’re working tonight?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Heard you on the phone, and you don’t talk to no one else these days so I figured it had to be your boss.’

  Chantelle chuckled softly. ‘Not as stupid as you look, are you?’

  Leon rolled his eyes and carried his milk back up the hall and into his bedroom. Chantelle sighed when he closed his door. That was probably the last she would see of him until dinner time, but at least he’d remembered her birthday – which made him the only one on the planet whose mind she had crossed today.

  Determined not to start feeling sorry for herself, she pulled on her jacket and headed out. If Leon wanted a chippy dinner he could have it, but she still needed to pick up a few bits and pieces from the shop.

  Anton had just arrived at his new flat when Chantelle stepped out onto the landing. He nodded at her as he slotted his key into the lock. ‘Morning.’

  ‘Morning,’ she replied, glancing at the mop and bucket that were sitting beside his door, alongside a dustpan and brush, a small bin, and several bottles of bleach, washing-up liquid and air fresheners. ‘Moving in?’