‘Not in my eyes, you’re beauty and the brains, sis. You’re doing a great job, at work and at home, don’t get down about it. There are thousands of single mothers out there working long hours too, you’re giving him the best life that you can. A much better life than most could give him and he loves you.’
‘I know, thank you,’ I smiled gratefully. Dom could always make me feel better. ‘Go, be fabulous in Covent Garden, see you when I see you.’
‘Love you, to the end of my life and beyond,’ he replied, holding out his palm to blow me a kiss.
‘You too,’ I replied, doing the same and cutting him off. I smiled at our family endearment, it went back as far as we could remember, Grandma saying it to Mum, Mum to us, Grandma even telling us that her mum used to say it to her and now I said it to Tristan. I hoped one day he’d have a family of his own to say it to. I started working my way through my voice messages, waiting for Violet to return. I’d do the emails when we were done, I always had so many I preferred to do them from the comfort of my desk and large screen computer.
I jumped as my intercom on the phone system beeped, I’d been so focussed on the jaw dropping financials of the Le Grands, that had been provided by Ian my background checker’s firm, that I was in a world of my own and hadn’t even realised the time. This was the financial power couple to end all power couples. I frowned as I realised that I had everything but their photographs. It wasn’t like Ian to be sloppy.
‘Yes, Violet?’
‘Mrs. Le Grand is here.’
‘Please bring her in,’ I replied. I quickly scribbled the word Photos??? on a post-it note and pressed the button to activate the recording equipment, very cleverly hidden and strategically placed around the room, one could never be too careful. I kept all recordings, just in case I ever needed them. I stood up and smoothed down my dress, checking my ponytail and lip gloss in the mirror. Violet knocked and came in first, Mrs. Le Grand following closely behind, a waft of expensive perfume clouding the room as she entered. She was immaculately dressed in a cream shift dress, with a brown fox fur stole draped around her neck, high brown heels and a brown crocodile leather bag, with matching gloves. She had so much gold jewellery on I dreaded to think of her net worth, just standing here as she was. She was quickly followed in by a tall thin man, with large round spectacles and greased back black hair. I got a creepy vibe off him straight away and resolved to avoid eye contact with him, wherever possible. I walked around my desk to greet her with a handshake, mentally assessing the rest of her as I did, sure she was doing the same with me. Those designer clothes and accessories she was wearing would make even my wardrobe groan with shame. She reeked of money and status, but the biggest surprise to me was her face. Her paperwork had said that she was about my age, but in person she looked older and she was no oil painting. She had harsh features that made her look unapproachable, her severe mousy brown bob doing nothing to soften her face at all.
‘Mrs. McQueen,’ she nodded, as she put her limp gloved hand into my firm one, as a way of introduction. I hated flaccid handshakes, so I relaxed my usual hold.
‘Miss McQueen,’ I corrected, with a forced smile. ‘But you can call me Lulu.’
‘Mrs. Le Grand,’ she replied, as she looked down her nose at me. So no first name basis with her. I could see this was a woman who was used to being revered, that she probably treated everyone else like a second class citizen. She removed her hand from mine and I got the sense that she was still sussing me out, as her eyes continually roved over my face and body. She almost had a look of contempt in her eyes, leading me to wonder how I’d possibly offended her already.
‘Please take a seat. Would you like a drink?’ I offered. ‘Water, a tea or coffee perhaps?’
‘Please,’ she scoffed, as she wrinkled up her face in disgust. ‘You English and your poor excuse for coffee. I’ll pass, I won’t be here long. You have work to do.’ She sat herself down, stiffly, perched right on the edge of the sofa. Now even Dom would have a pussydar when it came to this woman, one that said she was no hellcat in bed, I could tell that myself. No wonder her husband was allegedly looking elsewhere.
‘Of course,’ I replied, relieved that we were getting down to business, I didn’t want to spend any longer than I had to in her company. She was almost toxic, along with her assistant too. I looked over at Violet and stretched out my arm, offering her the post-it note in my hand, which she took and quickly disappeared. ‘Do you mind me recording our meeting? I prefer to focus on the details than to be taking notes.’
‘Non,’ she replied sharply, as her assistant glided to stand behind her.
‘I’m sorry is that no you don’t mind, or no you don’t want me to record?’
‘You may not record. Can we hurry, I have to return to Paris for an engagement.’
‘Of course,’ I replied, as I showed her that I hadn’t activated the digital recorder on the coffee table between us. She gave me a curt approving nod. I resisted a smile. Doing that little charade told me a lot about my client. If they agreed to a recording, I knew it was likely that the case was simple, a devastated wife hoping to be proved wrong, that her darling husband wasn’t fucking his secretary behind her back. A refusal for the recording was usually the type of woman who wanted proof to use against him, or who would want us to fabricate proof. Those type of women I needed a recording for, those type of women were likely to try and twist things, to imply that they’d only asked for evidence and one of my girls had taken it too far, resulting in the destruction of their marriage. Before I knew it I’d be sued, hence the reason for the state of the art recording system that was already working its magic, without her knowledge. I sat back on the sofa opposite, crossing my legs and folding my hands in my lap, as I watched her. No, this woman had no sexual presence about her at all, she came across as a cold hearted bitch, one who’d throw her own child under the train, if she had one. Based on her looks, and going along the generalisation that one attracted someone with similar looks and status, I deduced that her husband was probably not much to look at either. This should be a walk in the park and I’d be home in time to kiss Tristan goodnight.
‘My husband has a permanent suite at The Domville, on Green Park. He is a creature of habit. From when he arrives on a Friday evening, he tends to spend the weekend either working out in the gym, running around the park, eating in the restaurant, or hidden away in his suite. He never goes out sight-seeing or for entertainment. On a Monday evening however, at precisely seven-thirty p.m. he sits at the bar, the stool on the far left, in the corner and orders a cognac, which he nurses for most of the night. Occasionally he has made it to three cognacs, never a fourth. Every Monday night, many beautiful women will go and sit by him, to try to engage him in conversation, or maybe more. But after idle chit-chat, he persuades them to leave and always retires to his suite alone, or at least that’s what we imagine he does, we’ve never been able to get past hotel security to be sure. Some incident in Paris with a famous actress has meant that the whole hotel chain has restricted access to the lifts, or stairs, for guests with key cards. They won’t even allow access to a floor that your room is not located on.’
‘So, my understanding is that you’ve already had him under surveillance and come up empty handed? You want me to gain entry to his suite and plant my own surveillance equipment to see if he’s having an affair?’
‘Non, chérie,’ she laughed, with a wave of her gloved hand. She leaned forwards as she fixed me with a piercing stare, that made me involuntarily shiver. ‘I want you to ensure that he has an affair.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m a little confused,’ I frowned. ‘For the most part women come to me desperate to have their suspicions proved wrong, or because they need a large divorce settlement, which will be topped up if evidence of an affair comes to light, so we make that happen for them. You appear to want evidence of your husband cheating on you, yet you’re an incredibly wealthy woman in your own right. I can’t imagine that it’s a share of
his assets that you’re after.’
‘Of course not,’ she replied, with another laugh and a flick of her hand. ‘I have absolutely no need for his money. You are discreet, yes? Nothing I say will go further?’
‘Of course not, my business depends on discretion.’
‘Very well, but if this comes out I shall deny it and sue you for slander. I come from a well-known ancient family, who have very strict ideologies. The sanctity of marriage, for one. My husband and I … how would you put it? Ah yes, a marriage of convenience. A merger of two of France’s most profitable enterprises. We are a financial force to be reckoned with. However neither of us wanted each other, it is an empty marriage and the sex is non-existent. I am a woman with needs, a woman who has been forced to seek comfort outside of the marital home. I wish to be free to be with my lover, instead of having to sneak around behind closed windows, you understand?’
‘I do,’ I nodded, not correcting her use of the phrase closed windows instead of doors. I was too surprised that she had any sexual cravings at all, let alone a lover. It beggared belief, but I guess the saying that there’s someone for everyone, really was true.
‘I cannot simply divorce my husband without good reason, for a woman to do this would bring shame on my family. But a man straying? O yes!’ she nodded with a triumphant smile. ‘The scandal of a typical horny man who cannot keep his penis in his trousers, this would be fitting, this would be accepted as a travesty. I would be the poor wounded wife, forced to seek a divorce after such a catastrophic betrayal. The shame would be apportioned to him, not to me and I would finally be free.’
‘You say your sex life with Mr. Le Grand is none existent and you have no evidence of any affairs. Could it simply be that he is a rare species, a man who is not driven by his sexual urges? If this is the case, what makes you think that I can convince him to stray, that I can produce damning evidence to support your claim?’
‘O, you mistake me, chérie. My husband is an incredibly good looking man and a very sexual being. It is pitiful to see women swoon at his feet, with no control over their urges around him. His sexual reputation prior to marriage was legendary. But he is also an honest man. He didn’t want me, he accepted me because he knew it would solidify his career, give him a boost up the ladder of success. He also came to me with a wounded and broken heart, he was not looking for love and neither did he find it, but he honours his marriage vows nevertheless, because he believes he has to. For a businessman like my husband, his word is his bond. He has made a name for himself because he can be trusted. He loses that, he loses his very integrity. I doubt he could live with himself if he cheated and once word got out his business would take a hit. Who would trust a man with millions of pounds of their hard earned cash, if he can’t be trusted when it comes to his own woman?’
‘So you’re looking for evidence to divorce him, which you are prepared to manufacture, in order to be free of him and you want to ruin his business and reputation too? It seems as if a divorce is not the only thing that you are after. You appear to be looking for revenge too.’
‘You are the morality police all of a sudden?’ she spat, her thick French accent punching home some of the words, as venom flared in her eyes. ‘You take other women’s money to do the same that I am asking of you, but mine is not good enough?’
‘Of course not,’ I replied, wondering what the hell I was getting myself into with this woman. She appeared to be a nasty piece of work. I was used to women wanting a slice of their husbands’ success, but not to humiliate him, to try and destroy him, especially when he didn’t even appear to have wronged her. ‘As my client, I’m here to provide you with the service you require, I’m merely trying to ascertain the facts. It helps me do my job to the best of my ability. A man who seemingly has a such a strong conscience, who prides himself in his honesty and one unwilling to break his marriage vows thus far, may take more than one appointment to break, even for me.’
‘You have four weeks,’ she replied tartly. ‘That is all the time I can give you, but I am confident in your abilities Miss McQueen. I will pay you two million pounds to ensure that you have enough “evidence” for me to leak the story to the press, so I can get started on the divorce proceedings.’
‘Two million pounds?’ I repeated, stunned. My cases often ran into the thousands, five digits for sure, on a very rare occasion six, never seven. ‘I assure you that my fees will be nowhere near that amount.’
‘I am not paying your fees,’ she snapped, fixing me with a glare that said exactly where she saw my standing as a human being and it wasn’t on an equal footing with her. ‘I am paying you to work for me and me alone for the next four weeks, to achieve my intended aim. For this contract I will pay you two million pounds. Raul,’ she clicked her fingers to the man still standing silently behind her. He deposited a contract and a pen on the table in front of me. I picked it up and read it. It was plain and simple, there was no fancy legal jargon, but it was a contract that would be null and void if I didn’t get her what she wanted. If I failed to meet my deadline, I wouldn’t get a penny and her deposit would have to be returned. ‘Have no fear, Miss McQueen, you will not fail, of this I am certain.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ I asked, for once doubting my abilities. It had been so long since I’d done this, before Tristan was born and this man sounded as if he deserved Sainthood for putting up with not only a sexless marriage, but this awful hard and seemingly emotionless woman for his wife. If he still hadn’t cheated on her, I wasn’t sure even I could tempt him. Maybe I’d be better sending Dom along. Maybe men were his fodder of choice and not women.
‘You will succeed, because you are just his type. He always had a weakness for beautiful brunettes. One look at you, his cock will be hard and that overwhelming need to satisfy his repressed sexual cravings will overtake him. He will not be able to help himself.’
‘You are aware that I don’t have sex with my clients, no matter what fee is being offered?’ I retorted, as I held her gaze, wondering how she could be so sure. Her husband had resisted every woman, but she seemed convinced that I could succeed, where others had failed.
‘I am aware, but what you do with him is none of my concern,’ she shrugged. ‘I just want evidence, real or fake. I need your answer, I must leave,’ she announced, standing up abruptly.
I blew out a breath as I looked down at the piece of paper in front of me, with all those zeros on the end. That would top up my retirement fund for life. I could retire now if I wanted, or at least semi-retire. I could spend more time at home with Tristan, more time trying to have a personal life. Violet was eager for more responsibility, she was capable and I trusted her. She could take over more of the management reigns here and I could employ her an assistant of her own. It was a very tempting offer, though I did feel sorry for the poor unsuspecting Mr. Le Grand. I always did when the lure was the preferred method for my clients. I had to keep reminding myself this was my business, much like a defence lawyer or criminal attorney, I was being paid to do a job, right or wrong wasn’t for me to decide. Granted I’d set up the business solely with the aim of catching out actual cheating spouses, who deserved what they got, but it had soon become clear that the bigger market was for the fabricated affairs. Can’t you find me a daddy so you can stay at home too? came Tristan’s little voice, making my mind up. I picked up the pen and signed. I was going to settle this in one night, not four damn weeks. One night for two million pounds shouldn’t have taken me a second to think about.
‘I have one problem,’ I advised, as I tore off the top copy of the carbonated contract and handed it back to Raul, who slipped back, like a slimy eel, behind his equally reptilian mistress. For a second I wondered if he was her lover, they seemed well suited. ‘I have no picture of your husband, do you have one in your wallet? Or on your phone, that you can email to me so that I can recognise him at the bar?’
‘Trust me, you will recognise him. He will be the most handsome, charismatic man you�
�ve ever laid eyes on. All women will be looking at him, if they are not already attempting to win him over.’ She swept her revolting fox fur stole around her throat and an image of that poor fox’s jaw opening to rip her jugular, flashed in front of my eyes. She’d deserve it.
‘If he’s half the man you claim he is, then tell me, why do you not want him for yourself?’ I asked, full of curiosity. Handsome, honest, trustworthy, skilled in bed, what woman wouldn’t want him? That was even before you took into account his net worth.
‘Would you want to fall in love with a man who barely registered your very existence? Who was fixated on the past, on the memory of a love that never was? Who spoke her name in his sleep?’
‘No,’ I replied, with a shake of the head. So it seemed he did have some short comings. A man like that was best steered clear of, nothing could eradicate the pain of knowing you weren’t his first choice.
‘Exactement,’ she bit. ‘Bring me good news and soon, Miss McQueen. Don’t let me down, we both have a lot at stake here.’
‘Of course, Mrs. Le Grand,’ I nodded, opening the door.
‘You’d better get your wheels on, it is nearly seven o’clock already.’
‘Skates,’ I retorted, unable to hold back the correction. She raised a haughty eyebrow at me, then turned and stalked down the corridor, the creepy, silent Raul hot on her tail. I shuddered. Damn her, if it wasn’t such a large, life changing amount of money, I’d have told her where to go. I had to think of Tristan though, of what this would mean to us as a family. I returned to my desk and stopped the recording, running it back to check it had worked. That was one I definitely didn’t want to lose. I pressed the intercom for reception.
‘Hello, Lulu,’ Violet answered brightly. I smiled, “Lulu” meant I was free to talk, Mrs. Le Grand had already left. “Miss McQueen” meant that we had visitors or staff loitering within earshot.
The Temptress Page 6
