Pillow Talk

‘There’s been another incident.’ The words were out before Maggie had even sat down. She dropped onto a spindly bentwood chair. She was out of breath. Sheena Struthers had been quiet for a week or two. That morning’s phone call, requesting an urgent meeting, had caught Maggie on the hop.

She’d been tempted to make an excuse. Wilma’s reading of Sheena Struthers as ‘just another menopausal woman’ had caused Maggie considerable disquiet. She bitterly regretted their falling-out. In all the time she and Wilma had worked together, they’d never exchanged such harsh words.

Maggie would be able to bill for the time she’d spent on meetings and surveillance, so maybe it was time for her to swallow her pride and call it quits with the Struthers woman. It would be easily enough achieved. Hadn’t Wilma schooled her well in the usefulness of the glib lie?

‘You’d better tell me about it.’ She dreaded what was coming. If it was up to the standard of what she’d heard previously it would be one giant yawn.

‘This morning,’ Sheena said, keeping her voice low, ‘when I woke up, there was a pillow over my face. That’s why I asked you to come out here at such short notice.’

Maggie looked around before she spoke. Terroir, a French bistro and deli on the main drag in Cults, was exposed to passing traffic through a large picture window. That and the open-plan interior weren’t conducive to discreet conversation. She noted, with some dismay, a posse of young mums with buggies in the rear and an elderly woman with a large dog sitting at the next table.

‘I’m not quite with you.’

Sheena’s face was drawn, and there were dark circles under her eyes. ‘I’m convinced Gordon was about to smother me.’

‘Where was your husband at the time?’

‘In bed beside me. No…’ Sheena corrected. ‘He was actually kneeling over me.’

‘What did he have to say?’

‘Laughed it off. Said I must have moved the pillow myself. I haven’t been sleeping, you see.’

‘How many pillows do you normally sleep on?’

‘Two.’

‘Don’t you think, if you had a restless night, one of them might have come adrift?’

‘Definitely not. And there’s another thing. We went down the coast for lunch last week and took a stroll along the cliff path afterwards. I took a bad stumble. Didn’t think much of it until today.’ Sheena broke off, wild-eyed. ‘But after this morning’s incident, I’m pretty sure Gordon pushed me.’

‘Oh, come on,’ Maggie responded. The woman really was trying her patience. ‘It’s been so wet this past while, you probably slipped.’

Sheena’s voice rose. ‘I did not.’

Maggie struggled to find something more to say. Failed.

Sheena filled the silence. ‘Mrs Laird. Maggie.’ Her eyes flashed mute appeal. ‘You have to believe me.’

Maggie wrestled with her conscience. On the one hand, she felt some affinity with Sheena Struthers, recognised in the woman aspects of her past life. On the other, Sheena was a mass of contradictions: the husband is devoted to her, next thing he’s trying to kill her. She says she loves him, but she endangers the marriage by putting a private detective onto him.

Best be done with it, she decided. She drew a breath. Was just about to give Sheena the ‘I’m sorry, but I’m unable to take your case further’ spiel, when there was a commotion. The dog had slipped its leash and made a beeline for the back.

The mums made a dive for the buggies.

The babies emitted a concerted howl.

When the fuss had died down, Sheena changed tack. ‘Did you check up on him – Gordon – like I asked?’

‘Yes, I made some discreet enquiries.’

‘And?’ Sheena Struthers sat forward. ‘How did you get on?’

‘Your husband is where he says he is.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Absolutely. I’ve observed him going to and from his office, at his club, on the golf course. Though at this early stage, you’ll appreciate I’ve only clocked him in and out. Otherwise…’ Mentally, Maggie totted up the hours she could bill, despised herself for doing so.

‘That’s all I needed to know.’ Sheena smiled encouragement.

‘The rest of the time, as I understand it, you’re together either at home or on social engagements.’

‘Quite so. But Gordon is up to something, I’m sure of it.’

‘An affair, is that what you’re hinting at?’ Don’t put words in the client’s mouth!

‘No!’ Sheena Struthers appeared genuinely horror-stricken.

‘It’s the most common reason by far for someone like yourself to call on my services.’

‘That’s as may be,’ Sheena drew herself up. ‘But my husband is devoted to me. Or was, and…’ There was a catch in her voice. ‘I love him very much.’

Then what are you doing here, silly woman? At that moment, Maggie would have given her eye teeth to have a husband to go home to, faithful or no. Instead: ‘He hasn’t taken extra care with his appearance lately, for instance?’

‘Gordon is always particular about looking well turned out.’

‘What about phone calls?’

Puzzled face. ‘What about them?’

‘You mentioned he won’t turn his phone off at night. Has he made any covert calls? Broken off, perhaps, when you’ve come into the room?’

‘No,’ Sheena insisted. ‘He gets a fair number of calls at home – business and social. Texts too. But I can’t say I’ve noticed anything untoward.’

‘You mentioned he makes trips to London. Could…’

Sheena cut her short. ‘He sleeps at his club – the Caledonian in Belgravia – I’ve checked. No.’ She compressed her lips. ‘I think we can rule out an affair. It’s something else entirely.’

‘How about money?’ Maggie was running out of options now. ‘Has there been any change in his spending pattern?’

Sheena gave a small shrug. ‘I wouldn’t know. Gordon handles all our finances.’

‘Is he secretive?’ Maggie fished.

‘You could say that.’ Sheena picked nervously at her nail varnish. ‘More careful than secretive, I would say.’ Apologetic look. ‘He is an accountant after all.’

‘In short,’ Maggie was running out of steam, ‘your husband of over twenty years goes about his business as normal, does not appear to be conducting an affair and is not profligate with money. Would that be a fair summary of the situation, would you say?’

Sheena Struthers blushed crimson. ‘When you put it like that. Yes, I suppose.’

‘But these are the facts,’ Maggie said gently. ‘At least as you’ve described them. And yet you maintain that your husband is “up to something”.’

Stubborn look. ‘That’s right.’

‘You said, last time we met, that your marriage is “traditional”.’ Maggie was clutching at straws now. ‘Could you elaborate on that?’

‘My husband likes to be the man, if you know what I mean.’

Maggie played dumb. ‘Not really.’

‘Gordon wants to make the decisions, call the shots.’

Small men! She’d lay odds on he was a bully.

‘And he’s a bit of a perfectionist. Likes things just so. Goes with the job, I suppose, being meticulous. Plus, he’s a creature of habit. Follows his little routines.’

‘Your husband is the dominant partner in the marriage, then, would you say?’

‘Yes.’

‘What happens when things don’t go his way?’

‘He gets a bit,’ Sheena Struthers chewed on her bottom lip, ‘het up, I suppose you would call it.’

‘And do you get het up?’

That stubborn face again. ‘Sometimes.’

‘Might I suggest,’ Maggie fixed her companion with an earnest look, ‘that the problem – if there is one – may lie with you?’

Sheena rallied. ‘You’ve asked me that before. I don’t have mental health issues, if that’s what you’re getting at.’

‘Not at all.’ In her dealings with Mrs Argo, Maggie had encountered acute psychiatric problems. ‘But I’ve noticed, during our conversations, a level of anxiety that…’ She decided to improvise. ‘Let me be frank. Is it possible you’re suffering from mild depression? In a long marriage like yours, one sometimes becomes uncertain, wonders what it’s all…’ She broke off suddenly. How did she know? She’d never have that now.

‘Everybody does that,’ Sheena retorted.

Maggie let that pass. ‘From what you’ve told me, and the limited activities I’ve managed to observe, your husband doesn’t appear to be undergoing a mid-life crisis. Might it be possible that you yourself are going through a period of…?’ She struggled to find a tactful expression. ‘Emotional flux?’

‘Well, I…’ Sheena Struthers fiddled with her teaspoon. She couldn’t meet Maggie’s eye.

‘You mentioned you haven’t been sleeping. That can have a knock-on effect on your health. Might it not be worth paying a visit to your GP?’ she suggested. ‘Just to rule out anything medical.’ She reached for her coat. ‘Then we can take it from there.’