Jason is standing in a small clearing, waiting for me. Highgate Woods seemed a sensible choice of venue, impersonal and hidden. The trees offer camouflage and protection from prying eyes. We could be any two strangers who are passing the time of day, who have met by chance. We stroll for a few yards before I speak.
‘Why, Jason? Was it all about the money? Tell me.’
We find a bench in the heart of the woods and sit, side by side, like any ordinary couple.
‘I like you, Susan. You must know that.’ He takes my hand and my resolve wavers as I relish his warmth.
‘Does Caroline know? Does she know you use online sites to meet people?’ I’m unable to stop.
He takes his hand away and sadness fills its place.
‘Yes. She’s thrown me out.’ He looks at the ground, like a naughty schoolboy who’s been discovered smoking behind the bike shed.
‘How did she find out?’
‘I forgot to delete my browsing history and she came across the Join Me website. She found my profile on there and put two and two together.’ He doesn’t hesitate, always so plausible. I sense he’s come prepared, ready for the questions.
‘What about the money I lent you? I need it back.’ I take a deep breath and carry on. ‘I can’t risk Roger finding out. I’m sorry about Caroline but I want to make my marriage work, for the children.’ I don’t say for Roger as it still doesn’t seem appropriate.
‘The problem is that Caroline has banked the money. She deals with the finances; always has. I don’t think I can get it back, not at the moment anyway while she’s not speaking to me.’ He looks contrite with his downcast eyes and something makes me want to believe him. Doing so would make me feel less of a fool.
‘Does Caroline know about me?’ I’m still confused. Did she know the night of the dinner party? Has she known all along when she has been popping round for coffees? Vince is smartly diverting culpability away from himself. I still think of him as Vince. This is who I am talking to today, not Jason, the husband of my new so-called friend.
‘She suspects. She saw that I’d been talking to you through the website.’
‘Did she know the night you came round for dinner?’ I spit. My anger is hot and vicious, ready to explode. Nothing makes sense. I am being played. He takes his hands away rather too sharply as a lady walking her dog strolls past. Perhaps he knows her? Perhaps he has screwed with her head also. His answers are vague.
‘I think she might have done but I didn’t know we were going to your house, I swear.’ I believe him on this one otherwise he would have won an Oscar for his acting skills on the night in question.
‘I do like you, Susan, have grown very fond of you but…’
I stand up. He is not going to finish with me first, I won’t let that happen. I suddenly realise it has all been an aberration, an illusory moment of madness. He needs to use websites for excitement because he lacks substance and has perfected an outward appearance to fool the most astute of victims.
‘I can’t see you again, Jason. It’s over. I love Roger and hope you can sort it out with Caroline.’ Before Vince has time to answer, I tell him I want all my money back. Although I know there’s little chance of this happening and that I’ve most likely seen the last of it, I repeat myself. ‘I want every penny, Jason. There were no investments, were there?’
He at least doesn’t try to offer more convoluted lies but says, ‘It’ll take some time but I’ll try. I promise.’ Something in his manner and in the hang of his head gives me faint comfort that perhaps I wasn’t so stupid after all, that perhaps Caroline has been the calculated driver behind the extortion. Perhaps she controls him. Perhaps he had no choice. But I suspect I’m lying to myself.
However, at the moment the money I’ve lost seems like a small price to have paid for my actions and I now have to walk away, try to forget the whole thing ever happened. As I turn to leave, he utters a single word.
‘Sorry.’ It tells me all I need to know. He’ll not be back.
Roger gets home early, thrilled to see me in the kitchen, fully dressed and made up and as he comes over to kiss me, he sniffs the air inquisitively trying to work out what’s in the oven.
‘Lamb shanks in red wine with peas and potatoes. Your favourite,’ I proudly announce. Tilly and Noah run in from the car, dropping their school bags in the hall, shrieking and arguing and for a brief moment in time, all is right with the world. I am back. My mistakes, like ghosts, have been laid to rest. There is now no reason for Roger to find out. I taste the casserole and add the seasoning and think that perhaps Roger and I should have a weekend away; somewhere without the kids. We deserve time alone and maybe it would give us a chance to ignite our own dormant passions.
As we sit down to a candlelit meal, which Tilly and Noah are mocking with childish derision, Roger says he has heard that the house next door has been taken off the market. An offer has been accepted apparently. I immediately think of the grey-haired man in the Jaguar.
‘You’ll never guess who the buyer is. None other than your friend Caroline Swinton.’ I watch Roger cut the lamb shanks into delicate little mouthfuls and raise his glass to his lips.
‘Delicious,’ he says, while Tilly and Noah bang their glasses of orange juice rather too heartily together and yell ‘Cheers’ in unison.
35
Alexis
Today I’m meeting up with Jason in my official PI capacity to try to find out for Caroline where he has gone and whom he is seeing. Caroline is increasingly desperate and has sent me numerous texts and emails propelling me towards urgent action. Apparently he has been off her radar for three days and she is becoming increasingly distraught.
I’m waiting for Adam to leave home and go to work before I come downstairs. He’s hovering in the hallway, but I can’t hear any movement. I know he is there. The front door hasn’t been opened yet and I can see his car in the driveway from my vantage point upstairs.
‘Alexis!’ The sudden yell up the stairs makes me jump. ‘I’m off. See you later.’ He’s acting as if we’re a normal loving couple, as if nothing is wrong and he hasn’t been screwing another woman and been served divorce papers for his sins. He is waiting for me to drop the proceedings once he has convinced me of his contrition. He won’t give up.
‘Bye!’ I shout down from behind a locked bathroom door which I peel open once I hear him leave the house.
An hour later I’m driving to Camden to meet with Eddie 300, whom I now know to be Jason Swinton, Caroline’s husband. Gary is at the lock-up ready to follow our mark as soon as I call him. Today our goal is to find out more about Caroline’s cheating spouse.
I’m early and as I enter the trendy gastro pub, Freemans, located off Camden High Street, I remind myself that this is not a date but a working assignment. However, as I watch Jason enter the pub I realise how ill-defined such boundaries might become.
‘Hi,’ he says, kissing me simply on the cheek.
‘Hi. Good to see you,’ I say, cringing in case he thinks I’ve been desperate to meet up with him again. He’s probably used to this being the case.
We sit down at a brightly lit table like a couple of friends about to share a companionable lunch. Although Jason, in his guise as Eddie 300, acts as if he has all the time in the world, I have work to get done.
‘Sorry about the other day,’ I begin. I sip my mineral water, determined to keep a clear head while he relaxes back with a bottle of Peroni beer. ‘I’ve got a few problems at home.’ I could tell him the truth that I’m married, going through a messy divorce but I don’t want to get into personal issues, not mine at any rate and now is definitely not the time.
‘Don’t worry, no harm done.’ His dark eyes crinkle at the corners. His smile is direct and he is definitely being flirtatious.
‘Have you met many people on Join Me?’ I ask, eager to get some answers. ‘Where have you been to?’
‘Here and there. London Zoo. A few wine bars. Still waiting to take that trip up
the Thames though,’ he says, his smile set like concrete. ‘What about you?’
‘To be honest, I only checked out the site when I broke my leg. It gave me something to do and made me realise how much London has to offer. You’re the only contact I’ve made and now I’m back to work, I’ve not really got much time for sightseeing.’
‘What sort of work? Tell me about you.’ He tries to divert interest away from himself. This could be a tactic, making his dates feel important by letting them talk about themselves while he feigns interest.
‘Nothing much to tell really. I do a bit of consultancy work.’ I keep it vague.
‘Are you married?’ It comes out of the blue.
‘Yes, but getting divorced. You?’ I turn the question back on him while I spear a small stick into an olive and nibble at the end. The taste is tart.
‘Yes, but we’ve split up too. I’m dipping my toe back in the water and fancy the idea of taking in a few sights around London with new friends. As good a way to start again as any. What happened with your guy?’
‘He had an affair. And you?’ I have to carry on, get some answers.
‘A long story.’ He sighs. It’s all very theatrical as if he is expecting questions but has primed himself not to open up.
‘Do you live around here?’ I try a different tack.
‘Highgate.’ He finishes his beer and quickly offers to get me another drink and something to eat. My phone pings and as I check the screen, I excuse myself and go outside. Gary is exactly on time. We agreed he would text after forty-five minutes and I would call him back.
‘How’s it going?’ The street is busy, chock-a-block with pedestrians pushing up and down the street heading towards the market. I have to talk loudly as the reception is poor and the traffic and bustle make it hard to hear.
‘Hi. Thanks for the text. It’s like getting blood from a stone. He’s giving nothing away except that he lives in Highgate. Give me half an hour and then wait outside Freemans until we come out. I’m certain he came by tube.’
When I go back into the restaurant, Jason is flirting with a random woman. I’m starting to piece together what my online date does. He sucks ladies in with his easy charm, probably gets them into bed but then what? Perhaps Gary will be able to join up a few of the dots.
Gary arrives back at the lock-up around five. After I left Freemans, I decided to while away the time productively and made a start on brightening up our workplace. I’ve begun to paint the walls, changing the colour from a dirty grey to a bright cream magnolia.
‘Love the colour,’ Gary says suddenly appearing through the side door.
I plop my paint brushes in the white spirit and use a tattered cloth to wipe away paint streaks from my fingers. I turn the radio down which is blasting out songs from the nineties. ‘Did you get anything?’ I can’t quell my excitement and follow him closely as he deposits his rucksack on the desk. ‘Well?’
He extracts a small camera from the bag and attaches the lead from the back of the device into the laptop. It takes about five minutes to download the images.
‘He’s staying up in Highgate Village. It’s a huge house, three storeys with a fountain in the front garden.’ Gary is blocking the screen until he’s put the pictures in order.
‘He doesn’t seem to have a front door key and rang the bell for about ten minutes. That’s him ringing the bell.’ Gary proudly points to the first two pictures. ‘Then an old lady came round from the back of the house.’ He points to the next two pictures. The lady may appear old to Gary but to me she looks middle-aged. It’s all a matter of perception. I think I must look old to Gary who’s hardly out of short trousers.
‘Zoom in,’ I say as I lean over his shoulder, keen to get a better look. The sixth picture which comes into focus is one of Jason Swinton clasping both hands with the woman and leaning in to kiss her intimately on the lips. I stare at the woman, trying to get a sense of her role in his life. Her hair is tied loosely at the nape of her neck and although it appears light brown, there is a faint but distinct feathering of grey.
‘Wait till you see the last picture,’ announces my protégé. As Gary flicks through the last half dozen stills, he stops and turns my way, waiting for approval as he presents the final frame.
Jason is standing with his bare chest pushed into this older woman’s breasts. They’re in a room on the first floor, standing back a short distance from the window. Her breasts are large and their fullness draws the eye. Her younger lover is kissing her passionately and his arms encircle her protectively.
‘Well done, Gary, you’re a star.’ He flushes with pride but as I stare at his work, I wonder how I’m going to tell Caroline Swinton where her husband is staying and with whom.
‘Oh by the way, I nearly forgot. I jotted down the woman’s name from a small plaque on her front porch. Francine Dubois B.A., Psychotherapist. I also took down her phone number, in case we need it.’
36
Olive
Bob has turned the heat up high but I’m still shivering. I’m unable to move without the cough starting up again and as I sit by the window I try to stay very still. Alexis has popped in a few times over the last couple of days proffering grapes, magazines and green tea but leaves soon afterwards when she realises I’m not up to talking. It hurts deep down in my chest when I try. None of the other neighbours have called; perhaps it’s because they think that Bob will look after me but I think it’s more because they can’t be bothered. Whichever way they look at it, I’m someone else’s problem.
I have my diary open in front of me, trying to work out what is going on. A story is unfolding in front of my very eyes but I’m not sure what it is. Something is afoot in Riverside Close. My mind is fuzzy, cloudy, and I try desperately to wake it up. Bob tells me the antibiotics will take time to kick in, that I must be patient. He knows, after forty years of marriage, that I’m not a patient person.
The mantle clock is ticking with a relentless beat over the background silence and I note it is nearly four o’clock. Bob won’t be back until this evening but when I insisted he join his friends at the golf club, he left the phone beside me with promises that I’ll call him if I get any worse. I don’t think I can get any worse, as the wretched cough is building up again from inside. I need to concentrate. I look at my scribbles.
In my mind I visualise Susan Harper coming and going. She has got thinner, more agitated. She scours the close for people who might be watching as she clambers into her car and drives away, dressed provocatively in short skirts and tight blouses. She’s become mutton dressed as lamb. Roger is spending more time with the children, taking them to school and I’ve even logged a couple of occasions when he’s picked them up. I wonder why but perhaps his work is no longer as demanding. Perhaps he will take early retirement like Bob. Susan doesn’t know when she is well off, far too much time on her hands. I suspect she’s up to no good.
Adam is back with Alexis. I worry for my young friend and have made a careful note of the black-eye incident. You never know, one day, it might provide useful testimony. She has her first real client, a woman who wants her to trail an errant husband. Alexis laughed when she confided that it was a lady she met at Susan Harper’s house when a group of ladies were invited over for drinks and canapés.
I blow my nose with a soggy hanky, too exhausted to get up and fetch the tissues. My nose is red raw round the edges and it hurts to wipe. I let the drips drizzle down my nostrils before I blot the ends to stem the flow.
The lady, whose husband she is trailing is, I’m almost certain, called Caroline Swinton. I haven’t told Alexis that I am piecing together clues of my own and might soon be able to help her; when I’m better, of course.
I saw a blonde buxom lady, dressed in a bright flashy yellow and navy striped jacket and high heels call at Susan’s a while ago. They seemed to be good friends. She stayed for over an hour, probably sharing coffee and gossip. She looks that sort; a bored housewife on a mission. Bob thinks I’m ridi
culous in my summations and can’t believe that I can make up such nonsense from a five-minute sighting.
I now know her name is Caroline Swinton because Mr Herriott the estate agent let the cat out of the bag after I saw her viewing the empty house at number four. He thinks because I am old and now apparently infirm, that my mind has gone as well. I could have him sued for his lack of confidentiality and report him to his bosses for having let slip the name of interested clients. Caroline Swinton, according to the increasingly desperate estate agent, is a serious potential purchaser. A cash buyer, she told him.
The phone rings and the movement to pick it up stirs the mucus in my chest. I can hear Bob on the other end repeat that he will come home, worried that he shouldn’t have left me alone, and I hear him talk agitatedly to a colleague. It’s a few seconds before I can catch my breath and speak.
‘Don’t worry, Bob. I’m fine. Enjoy yourself. I’ll call if I need you.’ Before he has time to protest, I click the phone off and pull my dressing gown tight. He’ll be back by nine o’clock, after the golf club members’ dinner. He didn’t really want to go but I convinced him to make the effort as I need to be on my own, in the quiet, not having to talk. It’s now five thirty and soon I’ll have a nap which will help pass the time. The antibiotics make me very drowsy.
I gave Alexis a full description of this Caroline Swinton. When Alexis popped in yesterday I filled her in on people who had been viewing the empty house. She seemed interested but might have been humouring her sick neighbour. She has a kind heart and misses a mother of her own, I think. She was amused when I talked of the brassy blonde friend of Susan Harper’s who has been viewing the house for sale. She thinks this might be the lady whose husband she is trailing.
4 Riverside Close Page 18
