The man on the doorstep wasn’t what she expected. Younger, skinnier, dressed in camouflage trousers and a tatty-looking T-shirt that might have been white sometime in a previous life. ‘Ethan?’
‘Not what you expected, eh?’ he said as if he’d read her mind. He grinned, exposing the kind of dazzlingly white teeth possessed by contestants in reality TV shows. She presumed he kept his mouth shut when doing undercover work. ‘I can do a mean James Bond, if necessary; unfortunately, it rarely is.’ He pointed to the space behind her. ‘Is it okay if I come in?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She stood back to allow him to pass. It gave her a certain amount of relief to notice that, despite his rather worn appearance, he smelt fresh. Like lemons. ‘If you’d go through to the kitchen, I can made coffee or tea if you’d prefer.’
‘Coffee’d be good, thanks.’
He sat while she made it, making no attempt to hide his curiosity as he looked around the room. ‘You lived here long?’
‘Years. We bought it new.’
‘Still seems new.’
It wasn’t a compliment, but since she agreed with him, she didn’t take offence. ‘It’s all the glossy white; it makes it seem like a laboratory.’ It hadn’t been her choice. Mark had seen it in an interior-design magazine and had persuaded her it would suit the modern house far better than the pale-blue, shaker-style kitchen she’d had her heart set on. He’d probably been right; it did suit the house. The problem was… the house didn’t suit her.
She put two mugs of coffee on the table, sugar and milk, teaspoons, a packet of biscuits. Drew’s favourite. She wasn’t sure why she’d bought them; neither she nor Mark were inclined to eat biscuits. ‘Help yourself,’ she said, amused despite herself to see he didn’t need to be told twice, reaching for the packet and tearing it open.
‘I missed breakfast,’ he explained, demolishing three biscuits in rapid succession. He brushed crumbs from his fingers and pulled a small notebook from one trouser pocket, a pen from another. ‘Right. I have a lot of info, so I just need some more details.’ He flicked open the notebook, bent it back on itself, and put it on the table beside his coffee. ‘What time does your husband normally arrive home?’
‘Usually just after six. If he’s been delayed, he phones or sends a message.’ Apart from the previous night when she’d sat like a fool, candles flickering their contempt for her. ‘He didn’t last night, or at least not till much later.’
‘Right.’
Susan sipped her coffee and began to relax as she answered question after question, revealing the minutiae of their daily life, realising as she did, how boring it was, how mundane, how lacking in excitement. ‘We sound so dull,’ she said finally when the questions stopped.
Ethan shook the last couple of biscuits from the packet. ‘Not dull, just ordinary. Like most people.’
Like most people. She sighed, then stood to make more coffee. While the kettle boiled, she looked at him with curiosity and finally asked, ‘Did you always want to be a private investigator?’
He was scribbling in his notebook and looked up with a smile. ‘No, I wanted to be a police officer. I was for a while, but I quickly discovered I wasn’t cut out for it. Too many rules and regulations. But then I did some undercover work and discovered I loved that.’ He tapped his pen on the table. ‘It’s more my scene. Following trails, finding the pieces of the jigsaw, fitting them together. It didn’t take me long to discover I could do it better in the private sector. The police are constrained by the need to make sure a case can stand up in court, we’re not hindered in the same way although we’re obviously not allowed to break the law.’
‘Good,’ she said because it seemed the correct thing to say. If she’d given it any thought, she’d have assumed private investigators broke the law with impunity. ‘So when will you start?’
‘Might as well be this evening. I’ll check out his office, watch till he leaves. Go from there.’ He returned the notebook to the trousers’ capacious pockets. ‘You’re sure he’s in work today?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Where else would he be? With the woman he was with last night? That was the problem with doubt; it had sharp, little claws that tugged painfully to remind you that you really knew nothing. ‘That’s where he’s supposed to be, anyway.’
‘Could you ring his office, find out if he’s there? Save my time, and your money.’
She reached for her mobile. The office number was saved, although she rarely had cause to ring, contacting Mark on his mobile if necessary. She recognised the voice of the receptionist who answered. ‘Hi, Millie, it’s Susan Shepherd, could you put me through to Mark, please?’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Shepherd, he’s not here. He left a short while ago; said he wouldn’t be back today.’
‘Oh right,’ Susan tried to keep her voice steady. ‘Has he gone to a meeting? I don’t want to interrupt something important by ringing him on his mobile.’
‘No, at least I don’t think so; let me check his diary.’
Susan refused to meet Ethan’s eyes as she waited.
‘No, I’ve nothing down for him this afternoon,’ Millie said. ‘He did look a bit agitated when he passed the desk on his way out. I hope there’s nothing wrong.’
Susan laughed. A false, forced sound that gave her the needed seconds to come up with something remotely plausible to say. ‘No, nothing’s wrong. We’ve been trying to decide what to do for our wedding anniversary, that’s all. I bet he’s gone to organise a surprise. That’s so like him.’ She laughed again, wondering if she sounded slightly manic, cutting the sound off abruptly. ‘Don’t tell him I called; I’d hate to spoil whatever it is that he’s planning.’
‘No, of course not.’
Susan knew she wouldn’t; she also knew that Millie would discuss the call with the other administrative staff. Discuss it, examine it, possibly see it for the lie it was. She put her mobile down. ‘He’s not in the office. Should I ring him on his mobile?’
‘Give it a go.’
‘What should I say?’
‘That you’re checking that his troublesome client wasn’t going to drag him out again… something like that. Keep it light, casual.’
‘Right.’ She picked up the phone again, feeling her blood pressure rise as it rang, then the sudden relief, or disappointment, when it went to voicemail. ‘Hi, just me, checking to make sure you’ll be home this evening at your usual time, okay? Ring me and let me know if you’re going to be late. Or send a message. Right, love you.’ She hung up, dropped her phone on the table and her head in her hand. ‘Fuck, I sounded like an idiot. He’ll know there’s something up. I never sound so… so stupid!’
Ethan was munching on the last biscuit. ‘Does it matter? Within a few days, I’ll have all the information you need to confront him about his affair.’ He took a mouthful of coffee then wiped crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘That is your intention, isn’t it?’
Was it? Confront Mark with proof of his infidelity. Perhaps force him to decide. Stay with Susan or leave her to start a new life with this unknown woman who was probably younger, beautiful, who hadn’t let life and circumstances wear her down as Susan had done.
Mark liked to give the impression he was tough, strong-willed. He wasn’t really. He was easily swayed, easily pushed. She ought to know. It was she who’d encouraged him to apply for new jobs when his career appeared to stagnate, she who’d pushed him to apply for promotion in the new company, who’d convinced him it was the next step to being a partner.
It had been hard work. She loved him, but she knew his flaws. If she’d pushed too hard, he’d have felt cornered, and would have taken the easier option – he’d have stayed in the dead-end job, and watched others being promoted over him. Susan had tread a careful, fine line of encouragement, ego-pumping, support, backing away when necessary, taking a careful step forward when she could.
That was for a job. This was for her life. ‘I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to do as yet,’ she said as Ethan waited for a reply. ‘I’ll wait to see what you find out.’
‘That’s up to you,’ he said, his tone of voice saying clearly that he didn’t give a toss what she did, didn’t care that whatever he discovered might destroy her. He got to his feet. ‘I’ll report back to you on Monday and we can go from there, okay?’
Monday. Susan nodded acceptance. In a few days she’d know exactly what she was up against. How beautiful was this woman who’d captured Mark’s attention? Was she a fleeting fixation, a sexual siren with obvious attractions, or would she be something more dangerous: an attractive, intelligent woman who’d give him everything he thought he needed?
Once Susan had all the information, she’d decide what to do.
She might be ordinary, she might even be dull, but she’d do whatever it took to save her marriage and keep the man she loved.