“No!” I cut him off. “Just stop, OK? I’ve had enough.”
I’m suddenly feeling shaky. How could I ever have hired someone to spy on Luke? What am I doing in this crappy place? Abruptly I stand up. “I’m going. Please don’t contact me ever again.”
“Of course.” Dave Sharpness hastily pushes his own chair back. “Lee, get out of the way! If I can just give you the other findings, Mrs. Brandon…”
“Other findings?” I turn on him, incredulous. “You really think I want to hear anything else you’ve got to say?”
“There was the matter of the eyebrows?” Dave Sharpness coughs delicately.
“Oh. Oh, right.” I come to a halt. I’d forgotten about that.
“It’s all in here.” Dave Sharpness takes the opportunity to press the manila folder into my arms. “Details of the therapist and the treatment, photographs, surveillance notes…”
I want to throw the folder right back in his face and stalk out.
Only…Jasmine does have really good eyebrows.
“I might have a look just at that bit,” I say at last, as stonily as I can.
“You’ll also find a few other pieces of information in there,” Dave Sharpness says, hurrying after me to the door, “that had been collated in regard to your husband’s case. Your friend Susan Cleath-Stuart, for example. Now, she’s a very rich young lady.”
I feel sick. He’s been checking out Suze?
“Apparently, her fortune has been estimated at—”
“Shut up!” I wheel round savagely. “I never want to see or hear from you again! And if any of your firm follows Luke or any of my friends, I’m calling the police.”
“Absolutely,” says Dave Sharpness, nodding as though this is a brilliant idea which he came up with. “Understood.”
I totter to the end of the street and hail a taxi. It chugs off and I sit clinging to the handstrap, unable to relax until we’re well out of West Ruislip. I can hardly bear to look at the manila folder sitting on my lap like a horrible guilty secret. Although now that I think about it, it’s probably better that I brought it away. I’m taking all this information and I’m putting it straight in the shredder. And then I’ll shred the shreds. I never want Luke to know what I did.
I can’t believe I even went down this road. Luke and I are married. We shouldn’t spy on each other. It’s practically in the marriage vows, “To love, to cherish, and never hire a private detective in West Ruislip.”
We should trust each other. We should believe each other. On impulse I take out my mobile and dial Luke’s number. “Hi, darling!” I say as soon as I get through. “It’s me.”
“Hi! Is everything—”
“Everything’s fine. I was just wondering.” I take a deep breath. “That phone call you took the other day, at the pram shop. You seemed a bit upset. Is everything all right?”
“Becky, I’m sorry about that.” He sounds truly remorseful. “I really am. I…lost it for a moment. There’s been a small problem here. But it’ll work itself out, I’m sure. Don’t worry.”
“Right.” I exhale. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath.
It’s work. That’s all it is. Luke always has little problems and blips that need sorting out, and sometimes he gets stressed. That’s what happens when you run an enormous company.
“I’ll see you later, sweetheart. All set for the big night out?”
It’s the college reunion tonight. I’d almost forgotten. “Can’t wait! Bye, Luke.”
I put my phone away and take a few deep breaths. The main thing is, Luke has no idea I even went near a private detective. And he’ll never find out.
As we reach the familiar terrain of West London I open up the folder and start leafing through the photos and surveillance notes. I might as well find out about Jasmine’s eyebrows before I get to shredding. I come across a blurry shot of Suze walking down High Street Kensington, and I close my eyes, feeling another wave of shame. I’ve made some terrible mistakes in my life, but this is the worst by a million zillion miles. How could I have exposed my best friend to some seedy private detective?
The next ten or so pictures are all of Venetia, and I pass over those quickly. I don’t want to see her. Then there’s a couple of Mel, Luke’s assistant, coming out of the office…and then…Oh my God, is that Lulu?
I stare at the print, bewildered. Then I remember mentioning her when I was making the list of women that Luke knows. I said that Luke didn’t get on with her, and Dave Sharpness nodded knowingly and said, “That’s often the smokescreen.” Stupid man. He obviously got the idea that Luke and Lulu were secretly having a torrid affair or something—