by Roberta Kray
There was a crush of people around the station, commuters returning from their day’s work. They spilled out across the pavement and formed untidy queues around the row of bus stops. He weaved through the crowd until he reached the office door. Before going up to the flat, he nipped into the newsagent’s and bought a pint of milk and an evening paper. A pile of unpacked crates awaited his attention, but first he’d make himself a brew and have a quick read through the news.
On the first floor he checked again that the office was locked and then went back along the landing and up the next flight of stairs. He sniffed as he opened the door. The flat had an unpleasant musty smell, as if it had been empty for a long time. He sidled past the crates and opened the two double-glazed windows. The roar of traffic poured in, along with a blast of exhaust fumes.
Harry took a moment to re-examine his new home. The living room was a decent size, although it was sorely in need of redecoration: the walls were a bilious shade of green, the ceiling had been Artexed – probably at some point back in the seventies – and the cream paintwork on the doors and skirting boards was badly chipped. There were two bedrooms, a bathroom with just enough room for a shower, basin and toilet, and a narrow galley-style kitchen. It was hardly the height of luxury, but it would do for now. He had a roof over his head and that was all that mattered.
Showered and shaved, Harry was back at Adriano’s by ten to eight. He wore a bland dark blue suit, a white shirt and blue tie. Nothing fancy, nothing to make him stand out. He needed to blend into the background and make sure he didn’t draw attention to himself.
Martin Locke, true to his word, had made the booking and Harry was shown to a table in the centre of the room. It was an excellent vantage point and he wondered if that was down to luck or if Locke had specifically requested the position. He sat down and ordered a bottle of still water.
While he was waiting for his drink to arrive, he took a leisurely look around. The restaurant, one of the best in Kellston, was almost full. There was only one other man sitting on his own, over by the window. The guy was in his mid-twenties, slimly built, with a thin face and a mop of curly brown hair. He was casually dressed in jeans and a jacket and kept glancing down at his watch. Yes, he was certainly waiting for someone, but was that someone Aimee Locke?
Jess arrived at the same time as the waiter turned up with the water. She ordered a beer, then pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Harry. ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Twice in one day. People will start to talk.’
‘Thanks for coming. I know it was short notice.’
‘A free dinner,’ she said, grinning. ‘What self-respecting freelancer could refuse an offer like that?’
‘I like to do my bit for the poor and needy.’
‘And very grateful we are for it too.’ She gestured towards her clothes. ‘Sorry, I meant to get changed but I didn’t have time to go home.’
‘Don’t worry. You look fine.’
Jess lowered her voice as her grey eyes swept the room. ‘So is she here yet?’
Harry shook his head, resisting the urge to glance towards the man by the window. ‘She’s not due until half past.’
‘The poor woman’s going to wish she hadn’t come at all.’
He heard the note of censure in her voice. ‘You don’t approve.’
Jess raised her eyebrows. ‘Of adulterous wives, or the men who spy on them?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Come on, you’re not that keen on all this sneaking around yourself. You hate doing this kind of work.’
He shrugged. She was right, although he wasn’t prepared to admit it. ‘Hate’s a strong word. I can’t claim it’s my favourite part of the job, but it goes with the territory. And anyway, when it comes to poking your nose into other people’s business, you’re hardly whiter than white.’
Jess laughed. ‘True enough. So what’s he like, the cuckolded husband?’
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Client confidentiality.’
‘Boring,’ she said.
‘And what happened to innocent until proven guilty? We don’t even know that she is playing away yet.’
‘I bet he’s older than her.’
Harry knew that she was waiting for a reaction. He didn’t give her one. Jess was used to digging – she’d made a career out of it – but he wasn’t going to spill the beans about Martin Locke. Instead he said, ‘I hope you’re hungry. We could be here for a while.’
Jess refused to be sidetracked. ‘If he’s so certain that she’s coming here tonight with her bit on the side, why doesn’t he just turn up himself? Why bother paying you? He could save himself a few bob.’
‘Hey, it’s this job that’s paying for your free meal, remember. I wouldn’t be too quick to recommend the DIY approach.’
Jess laughed again. ‘Good point.’ She picked up the menu and began to read through it. ‘God, I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.’
‘And if he did turn up, it would be game over, wouldn’t it? She’d know she’d been rumbled.’
Jess glanced up. ‘So he catches her in the act. What’s the problem with that?’
‘In the act of what, though? Having dinner with a man who’s not your husband doesn’t qualify as grounds for divorce. She could claim he was an old friend or a mate from work. And what if it is perfectly innocent? He could end up looking like a fool.’ Harry thought about Locke for a moment. ‘I think he wants to get his facts straight before he starts hurling any accusations around.’
Jess opened her mouth, about to say something, but promptly shut it again as her beer arrived.
‘Ready to order?’ the waiter asked, notepad at the ready.
They both picked the crab ravioli as a starter. For the mains, Jess chose the tagliatelle porcini and Harry went for grilled lemon sole with a side salad. He’d been living off takeaways for the last few days and felt in need of something healthy.
‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ Harry asked.
‘No, I’ll stick with the beer.’
After the waiter had gone, Jess leaned forward and put her elbows on the starched white tablecloth. She stared across the table at Harry.
‘What?’ he said.
‘Nothing.’ She sighed. ‘I’m just wondering where all the time has gone. Its ages since I last saw you.’
‘About six hours, actually.’
‘You know what I mean. Before this afternoon.’
‘You’ll be telling me next that you’ve missed me.’
Jess’s mouth curled up at the corners. ‘Let’s not get carried away, Mr Wonderful. I’ll tell you what I do miss, though: having a decent story to work on. I feel like I’ve been treading water for the past few years.’
He picked up his glass and took a sip of water. ‘But all that’s about to change now you’ve got the Minnie Bright case to tear apart.’
She left a short pause, her eyes peering intently into his. ‘You’re not still stressing over that, are you? I’ve already told you what I’m writing about. It’s nothing to do with the original investigation.’
‘Except that what you journalists say and what you do can be two entirely different things.’
‘Have I ever lied to you?’
Harry couldn’t put his hand on his heart and say yes, but there was a difference between lying and being economical with the truth. Jessica Vaughan, as he recalled, was an expert in the latter. ‘Not exactly.’
‘Well then.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw some movement. He glanced over towards the window. The thin-faced guy had stood up and was greeting a redhead who bore no resemblance to Aimee Locke. So much for that theory. He looked back at Jess. It was probably time to change the subject. Are you still living in Hackney?’
‘Yes, same old flat. And you? Still in Kentish Town?’
‘No, we sold that place. I’ve just moved in above the office.’
‘No excuse for bein
g late for work, then. What made you decide to shift the business?’
‘Money, basically. The rent and rates are getting way too expensive up West. Actually, it was Val who suggested Kellston.’
Jess looked surprised. ‘Valerie Middleton?’
‘The very same.’
‘Oh, I didn’t realise you two were back together again.’
‘We’re not,’ he said. ‘But we keep in touch.’
She pulled a face. ‘That’s nice.’
‘What’s with the attitude? You don’t think exes can be friends?’
‘Not really. At least not in my experience. Are you just friends?’
Harry, who only last week had stayed over at Valerie’s flat, left a short hesitation before replying. ‘What is this, twenty questions? Since when did my love life become so fascinating?’
Her mouth twitched with amusement. ‘And since when did you become so prickly? Actually, don’t bother answering that. You always were touchy when it came to talking about your love life.’
‘Not touchy,’ he protested. ‘Merely protective of my own private business.’
‘Which is ironic, don’t you think, bearing in mind what you do for a living?’
Harry smiled back at her. ‘Are you having a go at me, Vaughan?’
‘As if.’
He was saved from any further interrogation by the arrival of the starters. As they both tucked into the ravioli, they fell silent – Jess because she was hungry and was concentrating on the food, Harry because he was pondering on what the future held. If history had a habit of repeating itself, then he’d better watch out: the last time he’d become involved in one of Jess’s investigations he’d almost got a bullet through his brain. Jessica Vaughan and a quiet life didn’t go together.
4
It was twenty-five past eight when Aimee Locke walked into Adriano’s with her companion. Heads turned as the two women were shown to their table, but all eyes were firmly fixed on only one of them. Aimee Locke’s photo, Harry rapidly acknowledged, didn’t come close to doing her justice. The flesh-and-blood version was ten times more stunning than the picture.
‘That’s her,’ he murmured. ‘The blonde.’
His gaze took in her face before travelling down the rest of her body. The high cheekbones, wide grey-green eyes and generous mouth were framed by waves of shoulder-length fair hair. She was wearing a black dress, short enough to reveal a pair of shapely tanned legs but not short enough to make her look slutty. She was tall and slim, with curves in all the right places.
‘Are you supposed to be leering like that?’
His eyes slowly swivelled back to Jess. ‘Can you spot any man who isn’t staring at her? Or any woman, come to that. It would look more suspicious if I wasn’t showing an interest.’
Jess gave a snort. ‘Interest? You’ve virtually got your tongue hanging out.’
Harry grinned before glancing back at his client’s wife. Even the way she walked was remarkable, a smooth gliding motion that drew attention to her hips. She was poised and graceful, the epitome of elegance. Aimee Locke was the centre of attention and there was no doubt that she knew it.
‘Quite an entrance,’ Jess said.
A waiter seated the two of them a few tables away. It wasn’t close enough for Harry to eavesdrop, but it was near enough to have a good view. For the first time he focused on the other woman. A slim, dark-haired Asian girl, she wasn’t a loser in the looks department either. It was only her proximity to Aimee Locke that made her features seem ordinary.
‘So, no secret lover,’ Jess said, with what sounded like a hint of satisfaction. ‘Perhaps he got it wrong. Are you sure he’s not just paranoid?’
‘I can see why he might be. Having a wife like that would make even the most confident of men insecure. Although perhaps we shouldn’t jump to any premature conclusions.’
‘Meaning?’ Jess said.
Harry took a bite of his lemon sole, taking a moment to savour the taste. ‘Meaning she could be going on somewhere else after dinner.’
‘Or she’s just enjoying a pleasant evening out with a friend.’
‘So why lie about it? She told him she was working.’
Jess, in the process of twisting ribbons of pasta round her fork, looked up. ‘Perhaps it’s because he employs private detectives to spy on her. Constant suspicion can get a bit wearing after a while.’
‘That sounds like the voice of experience talking.’
She shrugged. ‘Are you telling me you’ve never had a jealous girlfriend?’
‘I can’t remember the last time I met a woman who was interested enough to be jealous.’
Jess laughed. ‘Ah, poor you. Perhaps you need to work on that work/life balance. All work and no play and the rest of it …’
‘Which is rich coming from a fully signed-up workaholic.’
While they bantered, Harry kept a surreptitious eye on Aimee Locke. She’d ordered a couple of martinis that had arrived in half the time it had taken for his water to be delivered. Occasionally she smiled, reached out and touched the arm of her companion. Her fingers, long and slim, were adorned with a number of rings, although none of them were as bright or as shining as the sparkling diamond on the third finger of her left hand. ‘Perhaps it’s not another man he needs to be worried about.’
‘What, you think they might be …?’ Jess glanced over. ‘No, no way. There’s no body language there.’
‘They seem pretty friendly to me.’
‘Yes, friendly,’ Jess said. ‘But nothing more.’
‘They’re in a public place. Maybe they’re being careful.’
Jess shook her head. ‘No one can be that careful. There’s always something that gives you away.’ She gave the two women another glance before looking back at Harry. ‘I hate to think what’s going on in your head at the moment.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Two lovely women, a hotel room, the slow removal of clothing … Do I need to go on?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘But if you’d like to, I wouldn’t make any forceful objections.’
She raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Spare me.’
‘You’re the one who brought the subject up, so to speak.’
‘Well, consider it closed.’
Aimee Locke was ordering her meal. The waiter’s smile, barely at forty watts when he’d been serving Harry, was now at full brightness. Harry got the feeling that she could have ordered beans on toast and the man would still have enthused about the wisdom of her choice. Still, he could hardly blame the guy; in his position he would probably have been equally fawning. There was something about a beautiful woman that made all rational behaviour fly out of the window.
Half an hour later, Harry and Jess were drinking coffee while Aimee Locke and her girlfriend ate their pasta. The two women had skipped the starters and gone straight to the mains. Their conversation had suddenly grown serious. The smiles were gone, replaced by more solemn expressions. It was the dark-haired woman who was doing most of the talking. Aimee, who was only picking at her food, looked pensive as she listened.
‘Whatever it is, it’s not good news,’ Harry said.
Jess peered at him over the top of her cup, her eyes bright with amusement. ‘Maybe they’re breaking up.’
‘Very funny.’
‘I thought so.’
Aimee Locke’s companion pushed her plate to one side, stood up and made her way across the room towards the Ladies’. After a moment Jess rose to her feet too. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. While she was gone, Harry let his gaze wander back to Aimee, but made sure it didn’t linger there. The last thing he wanted was to inadvertently catch her eye. She seemed preoccupied, worrying on her lower lip and staring absently into space. There was definitely something on her mind. Then, as if she’d reached a decision, she quickly raised a hand, caught the attention of the waiter and asked him for the bill. Harry, who’d already paid, realised that he and Jess had better leave soon or they’d end up following the
two women out.
When Jess got back, he immediately stood up. ‘You ready?’
‘Sure.’
Once they were out on the street, he offered to pay for a cab. ‘I’d give you a lift home, but I’ve no idea where she’s going or how long it’s going to take.’
Jess stopped and put her hands on her hips, looking indignant. ‘Hey, you can’t just dump me now.’
‘I’m not dumping you. I didn’t think you’d want to—’
‘Of course I do,’ she interrupted. ‘You figure she’s cheating. I figure she isn’t. Let’s see who’s right.’
There was no arguing with Jess when she was in this kind of mood, so he didn’t bother trying. ‘Okay, if that’s what you want.’
They walked up the road until they came to where the car was parked. Jess looked at the battered silver Vauxhall and grinned. ‘I see your taste in motors hasn’t improved.’
‘My other car’s a Porsche,’ he said.
‘In your dreams.’
Harry unlocked the doors and they both climbed in. As Jess pulled her seat belt across she said, ‘So, do you want to know the name of the other woman?’
‘Pardon?’
‘I found out who she is.’
Harry drew a breath and stared at her through the darkness. ‘You asked that woman her name? Please tell me you’re kidding.’
‘No, I’m being perfectly serious.’
‘Jesus,’ he murmured. ‘You do realise that the whole point of surveillance is not to draw attention to yourself?’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, smiling. ‘I didn’t mention that I was in the company of a hotshot private detective spying on her mate. It was just Ladies’ chit-chat, nothing out of the ordinary. She’d have forgotten all about it, and me, by the time she got back to her table. I pretended that I recognised her, that we’d met before, and suggested that it might have been at the recent Women in Business conference. She looks the professional type, so I reckoned it was worth a punt.’
