by Sofia Grey
It hadn’t taken long to compile my report for Alan, emailing it from the little café that I’d found with a WiFi connection. Tomorrow I’d head back to London.
When I got up the next morning, I confirmed I’d be checking out and went to pack my overnight bag. Coming back downstairs, I was surprised, and a little worried, to see Anita waiting for me, Jon by her side. She looked fierce. Her lips were a thin, tight line, eyes flashing fire with little spots of colour in her cheeks. This was a girl on the warpath. Jon’s face darkened when he saw me, while Anita’s scowl grew deeper. Striding across Reception, she grabbed the front of my shirt with one hand, staring furiously at my face.
“It was you, wasn’t it? What the hell do you think you’re playing at?”
Fury, pure and intense, emanated from her. Disgust in equal measure. Her mind screamed at me. How could you? Behind her, Jon stepped up, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. “Neeta,” he murmured, but she shrugged him off. Trembling with rage, she slapped a bundle of papers against my chest.
“Who are you? Give me one very good reason why I don’t call the police now. Are you a journalist?” How dare you!
I met her gaze and she must have seen the surprise in my eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Look at them. You took these didn’t you? You tampered with these.”
“Neeta.” Jon’s voice sharpened as he took her hand. “Not here. Not in front of the guests.”
A flush of guilt softened her temper as she glanced back at her mother, standing pale and shocked by the reception desk. I strove for control. “May we use your office, Mrs. Cartwright?”
She nodded. Anita all but shoved me through the doorway, Jon following. He watched, grim-faced as his wife backed me against the wall. “You told Suki you write for computer magazines. You’re a journalist. Who’s paying you for this crap?”
“Neeta. That’s enough, sweetheart. Don’t give him cause for any more muck raking.” Jon pulled her back, wrapping his arms around her while he stared at me. “Did you take these pictures? Did you manipulate them?”
Anita threw the pages at me and I caught the rolled up sheets before they hit the floor.
I had a bad feeling before I even looked at them. Smoothing out the printed pages, I sucked in my breath. There was my photo of Anita hugging Nathan, happy smiles on both their faces. The photo I’d emailed to Alan Houghton yesterday. The second page showed Nathan again with Anita, but he held her close, kissing her cheek, while Beck looked on. It hadn’t happened like that—he’d been kissing Beck with Anita watching. I raised the page to the light, examined it closely. The manipulation had been cleverly done. It certainly looked like Anita in Nathan’s arms.
I had to make a rapid decision. Tell the truth and suffer the open disgust from them… or lie my way out of it. Either way, I had to speak to Alan immediately. The work I did was sensitive enough without it being used for this kind of trick. I didn’t want any more referrals from him. He could get someone else to do his dirty work.
Anita and Jon were waiting for me to speak. “I can honestly say I’ve never seen these photos before.” I looked at Jon. Met his angry stare head on. “I remember seeing Anita and Nathan in this first picture, but I didn’t take it. Why me?”
“Because you were the only stranger there.” Anita had subsided, Jon’s hands soothing her. I could feel her stress, tinged with fear. “I know everyone else. It had to be you.”
O-kay, this was difficult. I ran a little deflection while I tried to figure out what to tell them, if anything. “I don’t understand what’s happened. Where did you get these pictures?”
“They were emailed to me first thing this morning, from an anonymous Hotmail account.” Jon’s voice was cold, light years from the friendly guy whose hospitality I’d enjoyed the other day.
I winced. “Is someone trying to blackmail you? Did they make any threats?”
“No, there wasn’t a message. Just the pictures.” He flashed a reassuring look at his wife. “Blatantly false pictures.”
I shrugged, at a loss for words. “Why would someone do that?”
“Stirring up filth.” Anita again. “It’s been done before.” She turned to press her face into Jon’s chest and to my alarm I heard a sob emerging. His arms tightened as he continued to glare at me.
What could I do? I held out my hands and tried to look honest. “I’m shocked that you think it was me. I don’t know anything about this. It’s awful.”
“I think you’d better leave, Mr. Summers. And we’d both appreciate it if you didn’t come back.” Jon dropped a kiss on top of Anita’s head. “If we see you hanging around the stable yard again, rest assured, I will call the police.”
I couldn’t blame his attitude, I felt the same about Alan Houghton and his mysterious client. I held on to the offending printouts and spoke carefully, thinking rapidly as I went. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to try and sort this out—it’s my reputation on the line here.” Jon opened his mouth, already shaking his head, but I ploughed on. “I’m a writer, not a journalist, but I do have contacts in IT. I might be able to find out who sent the email.”
He paused. I let him think for a moment, and then carried on. “I mean, what have you got to lose by letting me help? You don’t trust me, but that’s okay, you don’t know me. But while you’re busy assuming I’m behind this, the real culprit is getting away with it.” I crossed my arms and looked stroppy. Jon narrowed his eyes as he stared at me. I could feel the waves of hostility receding from Anita and I waited.
“What do you need to know—apart from the email address?”
Good question. I wanted this to look realistic, as though I put in some effort to find the culprit. It had to be Alan or his client, but I couldn’t say that. “Why don’t you forward me the email. I’ll ask my friends to take a look.”
It seemed we had a truce. One way or the other, I’d get to the bottom of this.
5.5 Suki
Gabe had reverted back to his cold, angry mood. He avoided me when I came in from work and stayed in his den all evening. Again. I lay awake in bed, thinking first about Joe Summers. How kind and funny he’d been, how he made me feel instantly better. I contemplated Anita and Jon, their darling little daughter and how much they loved her, and knew I could never go through that. As much as Gabe said he wanted children—demanded that we didn’t use any contraception—I knew I couldn’t. I kept a regular supply of birth control pills hidden in my underwear drawer. Just another lie I maintained.
My thoughts turned to Gabe. Should I go downstairs to see him? Something was clearly wrong, but much as I wanted to make sure he was okay, I shrank at the thought of going back into his den. If he was glued to his porn, I didn’t want to have to watch it again.
***
By the next day, he seemed more normal and he phoned me in the afternoon. “Well, are you ready?” There was an exasperated tone in his voice.
I gazed at my Outlook calendar. My office appointments were done for the day. We’d been preparing for tomorrow’s show and, technically, I could leave now. “Ready for what?”
An amused sigh. “We’re waiting for you.”
I was lost now. “For me? Sorry Gabe, you’ll have to remind me…”
“We’re in the Rose Garden. I’ve ordered tea and cakes. Are you going to be long?”
I flicked through the calendar on my mobile phone. Nothing either. What the hell was Gabe talking about? The Rose Garden was a local teashop, famous for its Devon-style cream teas. I hadn’t arranged to meet him there. And who was he with? A shaft of anxiety pierced my brain. “I can, ah, be there in fifteen minutes. But Gabe, darling, I don’t have this in my diary.”
“You don’t?” He sounded puzzled. Down the line I heard him murmuring to someone else. “It was your idea, Suki. I only booked it because you asked me to. You said Martha really likes cream teas and she’d love it here.”
“You have Mum with you?” I would definitely
have remembered that.
“Well, duh.” I could hear a smile in his voice. “Don’t fret, we’ll chat until you get here. Don’t take too long.”
He hung up. I stared at the phone, baffled, while my mind turned in little circles. The anxiety now threatened to develop into a headache and I massaged my temples, and flicked again through my calendar, scanning over my emails. No mention of the Rose Garden. No mention of meeting Mum.
Grabbing my jacket and bag, I hurried out of the studio, arriving half an hour later and feeling like a frazzled wreck. As soon as I entered the tearooms, I saw them. Gabe, dark and angelic, his profile looked as though he’d been sculpted. And my mother, thin and nervous, but looking almost relaxed. He had that way with her—she idolised him. I paused to catch my breath, smoothed my hair automatically and made sure my skirt hung straight. Gabe liked me to look well-groomed at all times.
They made a delightful tableau. Gabe leaned forwards, and poured tea from an enormous china pot, while Mum laughed at something he’d said and wagged a reproving finger at him. Probably some faintly risqué joke. Her eyes were warm when she looked up at me, and today she seemed lucid and controlled. I dropped a polite kiss on her cheek and then pecked Gabe on the lips, before sliding into the seat next to him.
“Darling.” He kissed me back. To anyone watching, we’d look like the perfect couple. “We’ve saved you some cakes. Would you prefer Earl Grey or Lady Grey tea?”
“Lady Grey, please.” I smiled at Mum and tried to dredge up something to say. Gabe beat me to it.
“I thought we’d talk more to Martha about our plans to have a baby.”
Her fingers tightened on the teacup, but she kept her face blank. I stared at Gabe in an agony of indecision. How to tell him this subject was off limits? He ploughed on. “I thought it might be nice to talk about names. You know, family names and that, so when we do conceive, we’ve got some ideas to work with.”
We both stared at him, confused. Talking about names? I wasn’t even pregnant and had no intention of getting pregnant. Mum’s brow furrowed, but she inclined her head. “Well, as you know, our surname is Hubbard. My maiden name was Regan—I always thought that would be a nice first name.”
Gabe chortled as he took a sip of his drink. “Not Regan. Wasn’t that the name of the little girl in The Exorcist? Likewise, not Damien. My liking for horror movies doesn’t extend to using their names for our kids.”
I picked at a miniature cream scone, uncertain where this conversation was going. Gabe leaned back in his seat. “If we had a girl, I’d like to use Martha as her middle name. I’ve always liked that as a name.”
I had a sudden, horrible fear, a premonition of where this was heading. I flicked a sideways glance at him. He sprawled casual and relaxed in his seat, sipping his tea, smiling at Mum. She managed a nervous smile in return. And then he dropped his bomb.
“Of course, if we have a boy, I’ve always liked Antony.”
I froze. It was too late. Gabe smiled some more, and turned to include me in his beam. I saw the horror flash across Mum’s face, the way she closed herself down, and retreated back into her shell. I wanted to thump my husband. He knew. Somehow, God only knows how, he knew about Antony. My chest tightened. How much did he know?
“Is there a problem, Martha? Don’t you like that name? Antony?” He sounded puzzled. Never mind thumping him; I’d happily skewer him now on a cake fork.
“Mum, it’s okay.” I tried to reassure her. I wanted to take away her pain, to prevent her from re-living those memories.
Gabe leaned forward, and placed a sympathetic hand over Mum’s. “God, I’m sorry. I completely forgot. Suki rarely talks about him.” He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze while my mind churned. I’d never mentioned Antony. Or had I? How else could he know? I almost missed his next little comment.
“Suki is so good with babies, aren’t you darling? Look how well you handle little Mindy.” He flashed me a smile, white teeth gleaming like a shark. “Mindy is my friend’s little girl. You probably saw them at the Christmas lunch. Suki went to see her the other day.”
I what? Gabe smiled directly at me, amusement in his eyes. I didn’t tell him. I felt a chill down my spine, as though he was running icy hands across my skin. Suppressing a shiver, I raised my eyebrows enquiringly, and played for time. “What was that?”
“You saw the Craigowans. The other day.” Mum, thank God, was oblivious to the subtext. Gabe looked puzzled, his brows dipped and his head tilted. “You went up to Anglesey, didn’t you?”
The fabled rabbit in the headlights had nothing on me. Christ, what did I say? He smiled helpfully. “When you fetched the Chinese banquet, you told me how tired you were after such a long drive.” Another little frown. “I distinctly remember… you mentioned Anita had bought this new highchair that was a complete pain to assemble.”
Yes, I remembered Anita talking about the highchair. We’d been sitting in her kitchen while she fed Mindy. But how could Gabe possibly know about it—let alone that I’d even been there? I’d told him I was in Manchester all day. Didn’t I? My guts twisted with the fear that, yet again, I’d been speaking with no memory of it.
5.6 Gabe
I sat back in my chair and watched Suki’s internal struggles. Liar. All she had to do was smile and give in gracefully. Tell me that the visit had slipped her mind. Tell me any-fucking-thing.
I crumbled a piece of scone with my fingers and let my mind wander. I’d always admired cats for their grace and agility, the patience while hunting and the single-minded determination leading them to sit for hours waiting for one glimpse of their prey.
I had guessed that catching an unfaithful wife, in the act, required a similar level of patience and diligence. Luckily, I possessed both attributes. And when I set my mind on winning, there was nothing stopping me.
Having Googled the ‘episodes’ that Suki and her online shrink talked about, along with ‘panic attacks’, I now knew which particular chinks to look for in my wife’s armour. Divorce would be an ugly prospect and I shuddered at the thought of the publicity. But there were other ways to bring her to heel without that—far more enticing ways for me to play with her.
And I’d start with Alan’s little spy.
CHAPTER 6
6.1 Josh
I made an appointment with Alan Houghton before I left. Calling into Wilmslow on my way home would be an easy diversion and offered a slim chance of seeing Suki again. Arriving early, I took a sunny window seat in the same café as before, hoping to catch sight of her. I was disappointed.
Alan seemed pleased to see me. “My client was very happy with that piece of work. I can write you a cheque now.” Sitting back in his expensive looking leather chair, he laced his hands across his stomach and smiled at me. “In fact, he’d like to hire you for another job, straight away. Same rates, and a bonus.”
I’d gone to see him with the express intention of telling him what I thought of his client. I was sorely tempted to suggest he stick this job up his arse, but diplomacy prevailed. Schooling my features, I spoke mildly. “I have to say, I’m not impressed with your client, Alan. Are you aware what he did with the files I sent you?”
A puzzled expression flitted across his face. As I stared, his right hand crept across the desk to pick up his fountain pen. A Mont Blanc, I noted. “Would you care to elaborate?”
Bloody lawyers. Everything is always couched in Legalese; they never spoke plainly. I held onto my annoyance.
“Your client manipulated some of the images and emailed them—anonymously—to the Craigowans.” I paused, watching the flash of surprise as his eyes widened. “And of course, they assumed that I was responsible.” I leaned forwards, hardening my voice. “I don’t like being put in that position.” I had his full attention now. “So as you can imagine, I’m not overly keen on doing any more work for him. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to explain this.”
Alan played with the pen, rolling it absently between his fingers. His fa
ce was a mask. “Did you consider it might simply have been a prank? He’s a fellow sportsman—they frequently play practical jokes.”
A joke. Was it feasible? I thought back to Anita’s tears, Jon’s threat to call the police. They certainly weren’t treating it as a piece of fun.
“I don’t suppose you’d tell me his name? Your client?”
He just smiled, polite and rueful in response.
“Okay,” I spoke slowly. “This other job he wants, what can you tell me about it?”
His fingers stilled on the pen. “A honey trap. See how readily his wife can be tempted to stray.”
This was my bread and butter routine. I frowned. “So this other job was just to see how good I am?”
A shrug in response. I thought about it some more. The client stunk, but clearly this was the only way I’d find his identity. It was time for me to call some shots. I reached out and closed my fingers over the expensive pen. “I’ll do it, but this time I work with him directly. No more hiding behind you.”
The look he gave me was probably intended to make me shake in my boots, but I just glared right back. He conceded first. “I figured you’d say that. I’ll give you his mobile number. He’s a friend of the Craigowans—you’ll have heard of him I’m sure. Gabriel Bridgewater.”
My thoughts leapt straight to Suki. I hardly breathed. Was her husband hiring me? I knew he was another hotshot racing driver, but that was all. Alan slid a cardboard document wallet across the desk to me, nudging it with his fingertips. He gestured towards it with the Mont Blanc. “This gives you all her background, office location, friends and so on. Gabe isn’t in any rush for this, he’d rather you move slowly to gain her trust.”
I flipped the wallet open and joined the dots in my head. Fuck. Gabriel was married to Suki Bridgewater.
