I thought about David, an old-fashioned schoolmaster perfectly suited to his current post, a vital disciplinarian in a school, but hardly a romantic figure.
‘So what’s the gossip about Nick?’ I asked.
Angela shook her head. ‘None as yet, but I’ve no doubt there will be. Just give it time.’
We laughed. Watching her closely, I believed she was telling the truth, but that didn’t mean there was no hidden scandal about to break.
‘And what about you?’ I asked.
‘What about me?’
‘Is there anyone?’
She pulled a face. ‘There was, but not anymore.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘No, it’s okay, we’ve been divorced forever. It was never really going anywhere. It was a mistake. Stupid, but there it is. I was happier on the day the divorce came through than I was on our wedding day.’
‘Life can be a bitch,’ I said, as though I had gone through a similar break up.
Actually, my own experience had been very different. Nick had proposed to me, in a manner of speaking, at the end of our first term at university. I was eighteen. To begin with I had been overawed by his attention. Everyone said he would go far, and the general faith in his abilities was borne out by his rapid progress from first year student representative to president of the students’ union, while still managing to do well in his studies, eventually graduating with a first class Honours degree in History.
Attractive, intelligent and personable, as the son of a surgeon and a solicitor he had been raised by high-achieving parents who had managed to inculcate in him and his equally successful brother an unshakable self-confidence. We had waited for several years, but I had always known we would end up together. Only I was no longer sure that Nick was as committed to our relationship as I was. Doing my best to dismiss the idea that he could have the energy to chase another woman, I tried to forget about Rosie’s allegation.
When Nick came home that evening, he was preoccupied with his work, talking at length about problem pupils, and troublesome parents who worried him more. I listened patiently to his complaints, pleased to provide him with a listening ear so he could vent his frustrations in confidence. On the pretext of not wanting to bother him, I shied away from challenging him about the note in his desk, refusing to acknowledge I was afraid of starting that conversation for fear of what it might reveal.
About a week passed before Rosie contacted me again.
‘Can I see you?’
Immediately regretting having answered her call, I told her that I was extremely busy, which was true.
‘I have the proof you asked for.’
‘Proof?’ I repeated, affecting not to know what she was talking about. ‘Proof of what?’
‘I thought you might want to see it.’
‘Stop calling me.’
‘I’m just telling you the truth. I don’t think husbands who cheat should be allowed to get away with it.’
‘Did your husband cheat on you?’ I asked, noticing the bitterness in her voice.
‘This isn’t about me. I can go away and leave you alone, if you don’t want to listen, but surely it’s better to know the truth. Maybe you don’t care if he’s seeing someone else. This might not be the first time, for all I know, and if you’re okay with it, that’s up to you. I’m just telling you the truth, because you have a right to be aware of what’s going on. Don’t you want to be sure, one way or the other? I know I couldn’t live with that sort of uncertainty.’
On the point of telling her to get lost, I hesitated. If the conversation ended right there, I would never find out what she had been going to say, and suspicion would eat away at me. It might be better to hear what she had to tell me, and put an end to her malicious gossip. So far, her “proof” had amounted to no more than a love letter that looked as though it had been written by a teenage girl to one of our sixth form boys. If that was all Rosie had to show me, her accusation would be quickly scotched, and I was keen to put an end to her lies. Even without any basis in fact, rumours could take hold.
Telling myself I was doing this to protect my husband’s reputation, I agreed to see her. Keen that no one else should chance to overhear our conversation, I invited her to come to the house when Nick would be out attending a meeting with his departmental heads. Hanging up, I had an uneasy feeling that it was a mistake to see her again, but there was nothing else I could do. I had to know the truth.
Chapter 5
That night I slept badly, increasingly apprehensive about my meeting with Rosie and regretting the arrangement to see her again. It was too late to cancel her visit and besides, I was curious to hear what she had to say. The night passed slowly, but at last morning dawned on another beautiful sunny day. After watching Nick stride off to school, I tried to distract myself while I waited for Rosie, but my thoughts kept returning to her accusation. If it were true that my husband was having an affair, he might actually be seeing his mistress at that very moment. Horrible imaginings flashed through my mind until I was almost tempted to race over to his office to check that he was seated at his desk, focused on his computer screen or talking on the phone.
Admittedly, Nick was kept busy running the school – interviewing parents, writing reports, and discussing budgets for future projects – but at any particular time I had no idea what he was doing, and there were numerous places around the site where two people could slip away to spend an hour together unseen. The wording of the pink note Rosie had shown me on her phone seemed indelibly stamped on my brain: “Can’t wait to be alone with you, my love, and feel you inside me again.” The more I ran over the message in my mind, the less it sounded like something written by a teenage girl who would be more likely to use language like “make out” or “cock”.
By the time Rosie arrived, I was tense with worry that she wasn’t going to turn up and, what was even worse, fear about what she would tell me if she did. The bell rang promptly at ten o’clock, as we had arranged, and we sat down on a sofa in the living room. Without offering her anything to drink, I asked her what she wanted.
This time Rosie had brought a series of images. With a feeling that she was leading me to the edge of a precipice, I looked at the phone she had placed on the table in front of me. The screen showed my husband with his arm around his personal assistant, Sue. Rosie reached out and scrolled onto the next photo, which showed them kissing.
Shocked, I looked back at the first image to check the couple really were Nick and Sue, then went forward to the second one. This was no friendly peck on the cheek. The third image was even more compromising. With a low cry, I pushed the phone away from me and stared out through the window, trying to blot the image from my mind.
For an instant the room seemed to go black, but the upholstered seat of the sofa was pressing against my back, and Rosie’s sphinx-like eyes were fixed on me, dark and inscrutable.
Recovered from my initial shock, I could only assume that the photographs were fake and said so. There was no reason to trust Rosie. For all I knew, she had a personal grudge against Nick. She could have been the mother of a child who had been expelled from the school, or bullied, like Bertrand in Year Nine. On the point of asking her if she had a son, I held back, because that information could be found in the school records. What I needed to discover was whether Rosie herself had any history with my husband, and that could only be learned from her.
Hard as it was to believe a complete stranger would have taken the trouble to mock up images of my husband having sex with his secretary, the only other possible reason for the photos was that he was actually having an affair. He wouldn’t be the first man to have been seduced by someone he worked with so closely, and Sue was attractive. Whatever the truth, every explanation was disturbing.
Switching off the phone, Rosie slipped it back in her bag. ‘You can have copies of the photos if you like. I can easily print them off for you.’
‘Why would I want to look at them again?’ I wat
ched her closely. ‘So let’s have it. Where did you get hold of them?’
She nodded as though she had been expecting the question. ‘As you know, I’m an investigative reporter. After coming across the note in your husband’s desk, I decided to follow him around for a few days and see what I could find out. I’m so sorry, but this is where it led me.’ She tapped her bag where she had put her phone. ‘I’m a reporter,’ she repeated. ‘I have a nose for stories.’
‘Stories?’ I repeated scornfully.
This was my life she was dismissing as a “story”. I could imagine the headlines. Headmaster of public school caught with his pants down. It was the kind of careless falsehood that destroys lives. On the other hand, if Rosie’s allegation turned out to be true, then perhaps Nick should be exposed for the adulterer he was, hardly the kind of man to be head of a prestigious school.
While deriding her scandalous allegation as slander, I was also weighing up the implications should the accusation prove to be true. If Rosie published her photos, my whole way of life would be threatened: the money, the house, the travel, the pension for our old age. Everything would be snatched away from us. Whatever happened, this allegation must never become public. To protect my marriage and my status, I had to ensure Rosie never published her story or showed the photos of my husband to anyone else.
‘What are you after?’ I asked. ‘Are you intending to blackmail us? Because you won’t get away with it.’
She gaped at me in genuine surprise. ‘Do you think I want to be paid to keep quiet about this? Listen, Louise, we’re not discussing whether to expose a crime, are we? I mean, it’s not as if your husband’s been interfering with little boys. A man takes a mistress. It’s hardly big news.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t think it would even make the front page of the local paper. The photos aren’t exactly titillating, are they? Two adults shagging between the sheets.’
I shuddered. This was my husband she was talking about, the man I loved more than anyone or anything else in the world.
‘What are you doing here then? What do you want?’
‘It’s like I told you, I think you have the right to know what’s going on. This is about you, Louise. It’s your life. If you want to sweep this under the carpet, that’s up to you. For all I know, you’ve been in this position before and have made a deliberate choice to turn a blind eye to your husband’s goings on. You wouldn’t be the first woman to put up with a partner playing away from home. You can forget about it, if you like. I’m not planning to tell anyone. As far as I’m concerned, this is a private matter between you and your husband. It’s really not that interesting to anyone else.’
We both knew that wasn’t exactly true. The police might not attach any importance to my husband’s affair, but the school governors would react very decisively to the discovery that the head of Edleybury was an adulterer.
‘I’ll let myself out, shall I?’ she said, standing up.
I had no intention of offering her tea. ‘I’ll see you to the door,’ I replied stiffly, and heard myself thanking her politely as she left.
I was still undecided what to do when Nick came home.
‘How was your day?’ I enquired.
As usual, he reeled off a series of meetings and incidents.
‘So what have you been up to?’ he asked, when he had finished.
‘Nothing out of the ordinary,’ I lied, as though hearing he was unfaithful was an everyday occurrence. ‘I played tennis with Angela and then sent out a batch of emails about a gathering I’m arranging with the parents association. Did you eat at school or shall I make you something?’
‘I ate earlier.’ He peered at me. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Sure. I’m just a bit tired. Were you pleased with the way the interview went the other day?’ I asked, unable to restrain myself from touching on the subject.
‘You mean the interview we did for the magazine?’
I nodded.
‘It should be fine. Why?’
‘No reason. Just that the feature is due to come out soon.’ I hesitated, doing my best to sound casual. ‘Had you met her before?’
‘Who?’
‘The reporter. The one who interviewed us.’
‘Do you mean before she came here to do the interview?’
‘Yes.’
‘No, not that I recall. Why? Should I have known her from somewhere?’
‘You tell me.’
‘I just said, I don’t ever remember seeing her before we did the interview. Why do you ask?’
‘No reason. Only she seemed to know you.’
He nodded, without showing much interest. ‘That’s just her patter, isn’t it. It’s not so very different to my giving parents the impression I know who they are, and know all about their precious sons. I’m an experienced liar too.’ He laughed. ‘A professional liar. It’s what I’m paid to do.’
‘So you’ve never met her before?’
‘No. Why, should I have done?’ He was frowning, mildly irritated. ‘What’s this about?’
I shook my head. ‘Oh, nothing. Just that she seemed to know you, that’s all.’
‘Of course, she would have read up about me before coming here,’ he replied, with unconscious arrogance.
He sounded so indifferent, it was hard to believe he had met Rosie before, let alone had any kind of relationship with her. I wondered whether some other experience could have prompted her to want to wreck our marriage. Nick and I had been together since we met in our first year at university. It was inconceivable he could have a jealous ex-girlfriend. The most likely explanation was that Rosie was an aggrieved mother who blamed us for her child’s academic failure.
I spent the following day tracking down the names of every pupil Nick and I had ever taught, without once coming across a mother called Rosie White. I even looked up the records of Bertrand in Year Nine, in case he had any relations called White. Realising this accusation against my husband was taking up far too much of my time, I resolved to put the whole thing out of my mind, once and for all, simply refusing to entertain the idea that he was unfaithful. He told me he had never met Rosie White before, and there was no reason to doubt his sincerity.
Only now it was Nick’s words that kept repeating in my head: ‘I’m a professional liar.’ After an admission like that, how could I trust anything he said?
Chapter 6
However hard I tried to forget about it, Rosie’s accusation blistered at the back of my mind. No matter how many times I told myself Sue couldn’t possibly be Nick’s mistress, my dreams were plagued with images of them together. When I finally determined to approach him about it, I floundered. To be fair, the opportunity to broach the subject rarely presented itself. When he wasn’t busy, he was preoccupied. In the end I resolved to stop giving any credence to what was no more than idle tittle-tattle passed onto me by a stranger. If Nick and Sue were having sex they could hardly have kept it hidden from the whole school. Someone would have noticed or heard something, and rumours would have been rife. Yet no one had intimated by so much as a glance, a lowered voice or a raised eyebrow, that there was something going on of which I should – or shouldn’t – be aware.
The truth was, I didn’t have enough to occupy my mind and, as a consequence, my thoughts were meandering off in all sorts of foolish directions. Realising I needed something else to focus on, I went to ask the person who was best placed to advise me. Sue had been recruited by the previous headmaster and had been in her post as his secretary for just over seven years when Nick had inherited her with the job. Keeping her on as a useful source of information about the school system, he was soon telling me that she was a valuable asset to him in his new role.
‘No point in reinventing the wheel,’ he told me cheerily. It was one of his favourite sayings.
For my part, I had been pleased that Sue was there, making Nick’s life easier. She was thirty-five and single. Attractive, blonde, trim and pretty, it had never occurred to me to view her
as a possible rival for my husband’s affection until Rosie had planted the thought in my mind, but it seemed perfectly reasonable to suppose there might be a mutual attraction. They certainly had ample opportunity for intimacy, meeting as they did before the school day began.
Since January, Nick had taken to going to his office as early as half past six to confer with her, before going to breakfast in the main dining room where he often ate, as he thought it was good to show himself around the school as much as possible. While I had previously agreed with his decision, I began to speculate about what he and Sue got up to while the rest of the school was still asleep. Banishing such uncomfortable thoughts from my mind, I entered her office, which was adjacent to Nick’s.
‘Nick’s interviewing prospective parents,’ she told me, assuming I was there to see my husband. ‘He should be done in about half an hour. That’s if they don’t overrun.’
‘Actually, it wasn’t Nick I wanted to see. I came to speak to you.’
Sue smiled, without any appearance of surprise. People were always popping into her office with queries, and she made it her business to know and welcome everyone. She was the perfect head’s secretary, skilled at protecting him from unwanted visitors without causing offence. She was so charming, it seemed incredible that I had never before questioned whether she might have cast her spell over my husband.
‘So, how’s everything going with you?’ she asked me, appearing genuinely interested.
‘I’m hoping you can give me some pointers on what to do. With the Gala Dinner and Ball coming up at the end of term, it feels as though I ought to be doing more than I am. To be honest, I’m kicking my heels and it doesn’t seem right. I mean, now we’re settled in the house and everything, I sometimes feel a bit like a spare part. You’re always so frantically busy, I really want to help as much as possible.’
Suspicion Page 3