by Nina Jon
It was with a rather bemused look on his face, that Hugh eventually carried both wife and pet cat across the threshold.
“My God! What a tip!” he said to his wife, still in his arms, when faced with the dereliction inside the building.
“Yes, but it’s our tip,” Jane replied, kissing him, while in her arms Suzi purred happily.
II
They’d renovated the cottage together. It took years. They left until last a small south-facing room used for more than a century to hang game birds. It took new sash windows, floorboards, and re-plastered walls to rid the room completely of the smell of blood and feathers. A lick of bright paintwork transformed the room first into a cheerful nursery, then into a playroom, for Adele. When that use eventually became redundant, they’d used the room for occasional storage, until in late middle age, Jane and Hugh had invested in their first computer and found a purpose for the rarely used room again.
Jane still used this room as her study. She was there now, sitting in front of her computer, reading an e-mail enquiry sent to her website – her third case and still only January.
‘Dear Mrs Hetherington,’ the e-mail began. ‘My problem is a common one. I’m engaged to be married, but I think my fiancé Phil, is cheating on me. I need to find out if he is. Please help me. I have no one else to turn to.
Yours,
Sam.’
Jane wasted no time in replying. From now on in she’d try to meet her clients face to face if she could, before deciding whether to take their case on. She asked Sam where and when they could meet up.
‘You can come here whenever you want,’ Sam replied. ‘Phil’s never here anyway.’
III
It was around noon, when Jane arrived at the cul-de-sac where Sam and her fiancé lived. The young couple’s home turned out to be one of a select number of very large modern houses, set in an affluent area on the outskirts of a London commuter belt. Jane drove up the long drive that led to the house and parked behind a silver convertible sports coupé with silver alloy wheels, which was parked in front of a double garage. The convertible was brand new. From her car, Jane surveyed the house. It had been built recently and from the outside at least, appeared to contain five or six bedrooms. The immaculate gardens must have stretched to an acre at least. Away in the distance, a gardener was busy raking the lawn. His must be a full-time job, thought Jane, who could not see a single weed, an uneven hedge, nor an out-of-place tub. No doubt in the summer there wouldn’t be a flower bed or hanging basket which wasn’t overflowing with flowers and the gardener would be expected to spend hours mowing the lawn, criss-crossing his route to create a series of perfect horizontal stripes.
On her way to the house, she’d driven past a decorator’s van leaving the property. They must have done a very good job she thought, because the outside of the property was pristine and she had no doubt the inside would be as well. She walked up to the front porch and rang the doorbell.
“Mrs Hetherington?” a young woman asked her, peering round an inner door. It was Sam.
“Please call me Jane, dear.”
Sam stepped into the porch and let Jane in. Her hostess was still young enough to be able to wear the dark hipsters, silk-satin silver halter neck top, and pale green silk headscarf, in which she was dressed. Jane, conversely, had dressed conservatively, in a pair of woollen navy trousers and a short-sleeved navy and white striped jumper.
Inside the porch, Sam asked Jane to remove her shoes. Jane obliged. After stepping into the house, she followed Sam along the hallway. A row of silver coins, stitched along the hem of Sam’s jeans, jangled as she walked. A hand-knotted silk rug stretched along the entire length of the hallway. Jane paused, bent down, and ran her hands along the carpet.
“What a beautiful rug,” she said.
“It’s Indian. Watch this,” Sam replied. While Jane waited in the doorway to the kitchen, Sam knelt down by the long rug and picked it up at one end and gently shook it. The wave this caused rippled from end to end and as it did, the weave in the carpet imperceptibly altered from pale to dark. Sam squealed with joy. Jane smiled at her childlike enthusiasm. To her, this beautiful handmade silk rug, one of the world’s most ancient art forms, seemed out of place, lying as it did along a modern white hallway, lined with photographs of puppies and lit by bright spotlights, but this was Sam and Phil’s home, and who was she to criticise their taste?
Sam offered Jane a seat in the airy breakfast room, at the far side of the kitchen. She took it and looked around the kitchen. A patchwork of orange and blue tiles here and there broke up the monochrome effect created by the kitchen’s black granite worktops and stainless steel units. A partition wall, made from a single, thick slab of green glass, in which swirls and air bubbles remained, served no other purpose than to separate the kitchen from the adjoining breakfast room where Jane sat. To her right, a set of double doors led onto a smart, but barren conservatory. Jane thought of her own conservatory, a verdant hothouse jungle, where, if she were at home, she would almost always end her day, watering her beloved plants. Jane looked back at Sam. She wondered what Sam did all day. She didn’t seem to work outside the home, she didn’t yet have any children, and a man who earned enough to live as they did was probably away more than he was at home. Keeps this place up, I suppose, she thought.
“What do you think of the table?” Sam asked, carrying over a cake tin.
Jane studied the table. Its top was made from a sheet of the same green glass used to separate kitchen from breakfast room, and this glass rested on thick cast-iron legs, shaped into two bows.
“Impressive,” Jane told her.
“Bespoke,” Sam informed her, with a wink.
Sam set the cake tin down by Jane and busied herself setting out side-plates and cutlery.
“ ’Scuse the naff cutlery,” she said. “We used to have silver, but the cleaner nicked it, so now we have to use stuff that looks like it comes from a pawn shop. Phil fired her before I found out. I’d have shopped her to the police.”
She proudly removed the cake tin’s lid to reveal an uncut luxury fruitcake from one of the world’s most exclusive food halls. This job complete, she returned to the centre of the kitchen to stand behind her kitchen island, where she set out a tea tray. Jane couldn’t help noticing that the tea, waiting to be put in the pot, was from the same food hall as the cake.
“I’d never be brave enough to have such a modern kitchen,” Jane remarked.
“We spent weeks choosing this kitchen,” Sam replied. “Or rather I did. Phil sort of went through the motions. We must have visited dozens of places. I bought over one thousand magazines,” she said, filling the silver teapot with hot water. “I spent ages indexing and cross-referencing articles. In the end, we plumped for the clean and contemporary look.”
With a sweep of her hand, she motioned around her spacious kitchen.
“It cost more than fifty grand in the end,” Sam admitted, almost guiltily, her hand momentarily covering her mouth. “That sink alone…” she said, pointing to a triple sink unit, “cost five thousand pounds. I’m not counting the furniture, naturally.”
Poor Hugh would be turning in his grave if he could hear the figures being bandied around, Jane thought. She looked at Sam. She cut a diminutive figure – young, but not girlishly so. Against the gleaming, spotless units behind her, she was almost lost.
“Phil’s doing quite well for himself, as you can see,” Sam said proudly. “You know Hamilton’s? The department store?”
Jane, who was not local to the area, had to admit that she’d never heard of the store. Sam looked a little crestfallen at this.
“It’s the region’s premier department store, if you want to know!” She sounded piqued. “Phil’s family owns it. His family are loaded. They’re one of the oldest families in the county, you know. My family’s a bit common by comparison. Phil runs the ‘flagship’ store,” she said, making imaginary inverted commas in the air with her hands. “His brother’s
in charge of running the family mansion. It’s a stately home, miles out in the country. It’s open to the public and everything. I’ve been lots of times, but not as a member of the public, obviously,” she added, smugly.
Something in those words must have caused her to remember why she’d instructed Jane in the first place, and suddenly she began to cry. Jane stood up and hurried over to her. With her arm around Sam, she walked her back to the table and sat her down at it. It was some minutes until Sam was able to blow her nose, wipe her eyes and begin to talk.
“It started to go wrong suddenly. The usual stuff. He began working later and later and we all know what that means. He became more and more withdrawn and moody. He stopped showing any interest in me whatsoever. We almost never… you know…” she said, looking embarrassed. “We started arguing about really stupid things. One day, out of the blue, he shouted at me that things couldn’t go on like this. I yelled, ‘What’s that meant to mean?’ But he just clammed up. He’s found someone else, I know it, but he just can’t tell me. I’ve asked him over and over again. Two days ago we had another argument. ‘Have you found someone else?’ I said. ‘If you have, just admit it.’ He told me not to be ridiculous. ‘It’s not that,’ he said. ‘Well what is it?’ I wanted to know. I yelled at him. ‘Tell me,’ I said. He shouted back that he had enough on his plate, without me at him the whole time, and stormed out of the house. He didn’t come back for twenty-four hours and then only to announce he was moving into a B&B to think things over. Not that you’d notice he’d gone. He’s been getting back so late and leaving so early, I hardly see him now anyway.
“I want you to find out what’s really going on. I’ve tried everything to find out. I’ve tried checking his phone messages and e-mails, but he deletes them immediately. I even bought one of those magnetic trackers and put it under his car, but nothing. His bank statements and credit card bills go straight to the shop, so I can’t check them. I want you to try and find out if he’s seeing someone else. If he is, I want to know if it’s serious. Phil’s too big a fish to let go without a fight.”
Jane stared at Sam, a young woman apparently prepared to forgive a fiancé’s treachery, not because she loved him, but because he was wealthy. Jane could only wonder which of the two was the more unsavoury. Sam looked up, clearly embarrassed and said, “That makes me sound like such a bitch doesn’t it? Like all I want is Phil’s money, but that’s not true. I love Phil so much. I’d forgive him anything. That’s the truth.”
Ah, thought Jane – the old story.
“I’ve always wanted a big white wedding on a beach in the Seychelles,” Sam continued. “But I’d marry Phil in a registry office tomorrow, if that’s what he wanted.”
Jane felt genuinely sorry for Sam. She loved the good life certainly, but Jane believed her when she said she loved Phil more.
“I’ll find out if your fiancé deserves your love,” Jane said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
PHIL
I
With a photograph of Philip Hamilton, his car registra- tion number and the address of the Hamilton’s depart- ment store, Jane began her investigation immediately by driving straight to the fi ve storeyed property. Jane quickly gauged that it must once have been the centre of shopping in the region – but that was before the com- ing of a city centre mall and the out-of-centre shopping arcades, and now on-line shopping. Nowadays, the once premier store stood away from the main thoroughfare, and the fl ag which still fl ew overhead, was nothing more than a rather forlorn relic of its former glory days. Jane parked in its underground car park. Before she made her way up to the store, she walked to the staff car park. Phil’s car was parked in the corner by the staff lifts. Jane knew that Phil’s offi ce was on the third fl oor, away from the main shop. She used the staff stairs to reach it. She shouldn’t be in this part of the building, but she needed to discover if Phil was at least in the building. Who knows, she thought, I might ‘accidentally blunder’ into his offi ce and fi nd him in fl agrante delicto with his secretary. She didn’t.
The door to Phil’s office was open, and he was sitting behind his desk facing the doorway. He was looking harassed and talking to a woman about the same age as him. The atmosphere in the office was sombre. Phil and the woman stopped talking when they realised that someone was staring into the office.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked.
“I think I’m lost,” Jane said. “I was looking for the ladies.”
“They’re on the second floor,” she said. As she said this, the phone rang and Phil answered it, head in his hands.
Jane decided to spend the next hour walking through the store. She began on the ground floor, which sold accessories, shoes, books, and make-up. After this she walked up the stairs to the first floor – men’s wear – and from there to the second and third floors both selling women’s wear. To Jane, the customers seemed to be very few and far between. For one period of twenty minutes she was alone on one floor. Even the rows and rows of heavily discounted goods didn’t seem to be enough to entice customers, and the staff who stood patiently behind the tills were under-occupied and dispirited.
Jane stopped at a display of scarves and selected a pink silk one with brown polka dots and tassels. She took the scarf to the counter. The scarf was half-price, as was much around it.
“I’m old enough to remember when sales were only on twice a year – now it’s all year round,” she said to the youngster behind the till.
“There’s a lot of competition nowadays,” the shop assistant replied.
Sometime after the store closed, its flag was lowered. Jane watched the ceremony from the street below. She remained where she was for some time, continuing to watch the building, where she could see Phil still hard at work, but this time vacuuming.
An hour later, Phil’s car emerged from the car park and turned left. Jane followed the car until it reached a small bed-and-breakfast a few blocks away from the store. Jane watched Phil park in the car park at the front of the semi-detached house, lock up his car and walk to the house, clutching a paper bag from a well-known sandwich chain. A few minutes after Phil walked into the house, Jane saw him at the window of one of the upstairs rooms, where he promptly drew his curtains. Jane glanced at her watch. It was half-past nine and dark. She’d wait for developments; but forty minutes later, the light in his bedroom window went out. No girlfriends tonight, she thought; nor the following night, as it turned out.
II
Jane was outside Hamilton’s by six a.m. Phil arrived a little over an hour later and parked in his usual spot in the car park. Jane breakfasted elsewhere, returning to the store at nine a.m. She went to and from Hamilton’s at different times that day, so as not to draw attention to herself, but it didn’t matter how many times she left and returned to the store, Phil’s car was always in the car park, and the man himself in or around the store. At one point, Jane, concealed behind a row of coats, saw Phil eating what looked like curry at his desk. He left work as late as he had the night before and drove straight to the bed-and-breakfast with another bag from the sandwich chain. This time he’d turned his light off minutes after returning to his room.
The next day was Sunday, yet Phil’s routine varied little from the previous days. Phil spent most of the day at his desk or on the phone. If he wasn’t at his desk, it was because he was somewhere else in the store – usually running back and forth between somewhere or other. Jane quickly realised that Phil was clearly an unhappy, pressurised man, but whether he was cheating on Sam was another matter, unless the department store itself could be thought of as a mistress.
Jane was beginning to wonder whether she shouldn’t just contact Sam and tell her that she really didn’t think Phil was having an affair, but thought she should give it a few more days.
III
Jane left Phil’s bed-and-breakfast at nine-thirty p.m. that evening; after she’d seen his bedroom light go out. The journey home had taken her over an hour, nonetheless, she�
�d returned to the bed-and-breakfast first thing Monday morning. Arriving at six a.m., she parked across the street. Phil’s car was in exactly the same place it had been when she’d left the previous evening.
She settled down for the wait. Seven thirty a.m. came and went. He’s running late, she thought. The best part of another hour passed without any sign of Phil, leaving Jane wondering if for some reason, Phil had decided to walk to the store, or get the bus, and she’d missed him. Another twenty minutes passed before Phil eventually appeared in the doorway with a young woman. Jane recognised her immediately – it was the young woman she’d seen in Phil’s office only a few days earlier. They left the bed-and-breakfast together and walked over to his car, chatting easily. Jane was so surprised that it took a few moments to pull herself together. Her previous surveillance hadn’t prepared for this.
Phil reversed out of his car parking space and Jane turned her car engine on. Phil pulled out of the car park and joined with the heavy morning traffic, followed by Jane.
The car moved slowly, allowing Jane to stay on its tail. She ensured there were always a couple of cars between them. She was close enough to see Phil and his companion talking continuously, their chatter only interrupted by his companion talking on her mobile phone. They were coming up to a set of traffic lights. Phil speeded up to get through the lights in time. Jane tried to do the same, but two cars separated her car from his and she was too late. The lights changed and she was left to watch Phil’s car disappear down the road. She’d made the mistake of waiting in the inside lane, and when the lights turned green again, found herself overtaken by a taxi, motorbike and half a dozen cars waiting in the outside lane who immediately cut in front of her. This left her a good way behind Phil’s car. She carried on, but she’d lost sight of the car. He could have taken any one of a number of different directions and she simply had no idea which one. She drove around for a while, but it was hopeless. She’d lost him. She pulled into the side of the road and hit the steering wheel in frustration while the traffic roared by. What should she do? Go back to the bed-and-breakfast? The store? Go home? In the end, she did all three, without seeing Phil again that day.