Dave Sharpness doesn’t look taken in.
“I think you do care.” His voice descends yet lower. “I think you care very much.” His bloodshot eyes are so mournful, I can’t hold out anymore.
“OK, I do care!” I sniff. “Just tell me, OK? Has he been seeing her?”
Dave Sharpness opens a manila folder and surveys the contents, shaking his head.
“This part of the job is never easy.” He sighs, shuffles the papers, then looks up. “Mrs. Brandon, your husband has been leading quite the double life.”
“Double life?” I gape at him.
“I’m afraid to say, he’s not the man you thought he was.”
How can Luke not be the man I thought he was? What’s he talking about?
“What do you mean?” I say, almost aggressively.
“Last Wednesday, one of my operatives trailed your husband from his place of work. He checked into a hotel under a false name. He ordered cocktails for several…women. Of…a certain type. If you know what I mean, Mrs. Brandon.”
I’m so gobsmacked, I can’t speak. Luke? Women of a certain type?
“My highly skilled operative followed up his alias.” Dave Sharpness gives me an impressive look. “He discovered that there has been trouble at that particular hotel in the past. There have been…regrettable incidents with women.” Dave Sharpness looks at his notes with a distasteful expression. “All of which have been hushed up and paid off. He’s clearly a powerful man, your husband. My operative further discovered several sexual harassment charges which were never pursued…a joint allegation of bullying against himself and a colleague, again hushed up….”
“Stop it!” I cry, unable to listen anymore. “You must have got your information wrong! You or your operative. My husband doesn’t drink cocktails with women of a certain type! He would never bully anyone! I know him!”
Dave Sharpness sighs. He leans back in his chair and rests his hands on his huge stomach.
“I feel for you, Mrs. Brandon, I really do. No wife wants to hear that her husband is less than perfect.”
“I’m not saying he’s perfect, but…”
“If you knew the number of deceivers out there.” He eyes me lugubriously. “And the wife is always the last to know.”
“You don’t understand!” I feel like slapping him. “This can’t be Luke. It just can’t be!”
“It’s hard to come to terms with the truth.” Dave Sharpness is inexorable. “It takes great courage.”
“Stop patronizing me!” I say furiously. “I do have courage. But I also know my husband isn’t a bully. Give me those notes!” I grab the folder from him, and a pile of shiny black-and-white photographs falls out onto the desk.
I stare at them in confusion. They’re all pictures of Iain Wheeler. Iain outside Brandon Communications. Iain Wheeler walking up the steps of a hotel.
“This isn’t my husband.” I look up. “This is not my husband.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Dave Sharpness nods in satisfaction. “Your husband has two sides to his personality, as it were—”
“Shut up, you stupid man!” I shout, exasperated. “It’s Iain! You’ve followed the wrong person!”
“What?” Dave Sharpness sits up. “Literally the wrong person?”
“This is one of his clients. Iain Wheeler.”
Dave Sharpness grabs one of the prints and stares at it for a few seconds.
“This isn’t your husband?”
“No!” I suddenly spot a photo of Iain getting into his limo. I grab it and point at Luke, who is in the background on the other side of the car, barely in focus. “That’s Luke! That’s my husband.”
Dave Sharpness’s breathing is getting heavier as he looks from Luke’s blurry head to the photos of Iain, to his notes, and back to Luke.
“Lee! Get in here!” he shouts, suddenly sounding far less smooth-caring-professional and more pissed-off-South-London-geezer.
A few moments later, the door opens and a skinny guy of about seventeen pokes his head round the door, holding a Game Boy.
“Er…yeah?” he says.
This is the highly skilled operative?
“Lee, I’ve had it with you.” Dave Sharpness bangs his hand furiously on the table. “This is the second time you’ve buggered up. You’ve only followed the wrong bloody man. This isn’t Luke Brandon.” He jabs at the pictures. “This is Luke Brandon!”
“Oh.” Lee rubs his nose, looking unconcerned. “Shit.”
“Yes, shit! Yes, I’ve a good mind to fire your bloody arse.” Dave Sharpness’s neck has turned bright pink. “How d’you get the wrong man?”
“Dunno!” says Lee defensively. “I got his picture out of the paper.” He reaches in the folder and pulls out a clipping from the Times.
I know this picture. It’s a candid shot of Luke and Iain chatting at an Arcodas press conference. “There, see?” says Lee. “It says, ‘Luke Brandon, right, confers with Iain Wheeler, left.’”
“They got the caption the wrong way round!” I practically spit at him. “There was an apology the next day! Didn’t you check it!”
Lee’s eyes have already drifted back to his Game Boy.
“Answer the lady!” bellows Dave Sharpness. “Lee, you’re a waste of bloody space!”
“Look, Dad, it was a mistake, all right?” whines Lee.
Dad?
This is the last time I ever get a private detective off the Internet.
“Mrs. Brandon…” Dave Sharpness is obviously trying to calm himself. “I can only apologize. We will of course restart the investigation at no extra charge to yourself, this time focusing on the correct personage—”
“No!” I cut him off. “Just stop, OK? I’ve had enough.”
I’m suddenly feeling shaky. How could I ever have hired someone to spy on Luke? What am I doing in this crappy place? Abruptly I stand up. “I’m going. Please don’t contact me ever again.”
“Of course.” Dave Sharpness hastily pushes his own chair back. “Lee, get out of the way! If I can just give you the other findings, Mrs. Brandon…”
“Other findings?” I turn on him, incredulous. “You really think I want to hear anything else you’ve got to say?”
“There was the matter of the eyebrows?” Dave Sharpness coughs delicately.
“Oh. Oh, right.” I come to a halt. I’d forgotten about that.
“It’s all in here.” Dave Sharpness takes the opportunity to press the manila folder into my arms. “Details of the therapist and the treatment, photographs, surveillance notes…”
I want to throw the folder right back in his face and stalk out.
Only…Jasmine does have really good eyebrows.
“I might have a look just at that bit,” I say at last, as stonily as I can.
“You’ll also find a few other pieces of information in there,” Dave Sharpness says, hurrying after me to the door, “that had been collated in regard to your husband’s case. Your friend Susan Cleath-Stuart, for example. Now, she’s a very rich young lady.”
I feel sick. He’s been checking out Suze ?
“Apparently, her fortune has been estimated at—”
“Shut up!” I wheel round savagely. “I never want to see or hear from you again! And if any of your firm follows Luke or any of my friends, I’m calling the police.”
“Absolutely,” says Dave Sharpness, nodding as though this is a brilliant idea which he came up with. “Understood.”
I totter to the end of the street and hail a taxi. It chugs off and I sit clinging to the handstrap, unable to relax until we’re well out of West Ruislip. I can hardly bear to look at the manila folder sitting on my lap like a horrible guilty secret. Although now that I think about it, it’s probably better that I brought it away. I’m taking all this information and I’m putting it straight in the shredder. And then I’ll shred the shreds. I never want Luke to know what I did.
I can’t believe I even went down this road. Luke and I are married.
We shouldn’t spy on each other. It’s practically in the marriage vows, “To love, to cherish, and never hire a private detective in West Ruislip.”
We should trust each other. We should believe each other. On impulse I take out my mobile and dial Luke’s number. “Hi, darling!” I say as soon as I get through. “It’s me.”
“Hi! Is everything—”
“Everything’s fine. I was just wondering.” I take a deep breath. “That phone call you took the other day, at the pram shop. You seemed a bit upset. Is everything all right?”
“Becky, I’m sorry about that.” He sounds truly remorseful. “I really am. I…lost it for a moment. There’s been a small problem here. But it’ll work itself out, I’m sure. Don’t worry.”
“Right.” I exhale. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath.
It’s work. That’s all it is. Luke always has little problems and blips that need sorting out, and sometimes he gets stressed. That’s what happens when you run an enormous company.
“I’ll see you later, sweetheart. All set for the big night out?”
It’s the college reunion tonight. I’d almost forgotten. “Can’t wait! Bye, Luke.”
I put my phone away and take a few deep breaths. The main thing is, Luke has no idea I even went near a private detective. And he’ll never find out.
As we reach the familiar terrain of West London I open up the folder and start leafing through the photos and surveillance notes. I might as well find out about Jasmine’s eyebrows before I get to shredding. I come across a blurry shot of Suze walking down High Street Kensington, and I close my eyes, feeling another wave of shame. I’ve made some terrible mistakes in my life, but this is the worst by a million zillion miles. How could I have exposed my best friend to some seedy private detective?
The next ten or so pictures are all of Venetia, and I pass over those quickly. I don’t want to see her. Then there’s a couple of Mel, Luke’s assistant, coming out of the office…and then…Oh my God, is that Lulu ?
I stare at the print, bewildered. Then I remember mentioning her when I was making the list of women that Luke knows. I said that Luke didn’t get on with her, and Dave Sharpness nodded knowingly and said, “That’s often the smokescreen.” Stupid man. He obviously got the idea that Luke and Lulu were secretly having a torrid affair or something—
Hang on. I blink, and peer more carefully at the photograph. That can’t be…
She can’t be…
I clap a hand over my mouth, half shocked, half trying not to laugh. OK, I know hiring a private detective was a stupid thing to do. But this is so going to cheer Suze up.
I’m just stuffing all the prints and papers back into the folder when my mobile rings. “Yes?” I say cautiously.
“Becky, it’s Jasmine!” comes an animated voice. “Are you coming in, or what?”
I sit up in surprise. First of all, I didn’t think anyone would even notice I was late. And second, since when did Jasmine ever raise her voice above a bored, monosyllabic drawl?
“I’m on my way,” I say. “What’s up?”
“It’s your mate Danny Kovitz.”
I feel a grip of alarm. Please don’t say he’s lost interest. Please don’t say he’s pulled out.
“Is there…a problem?” I can hardly bear to say it.
“No way! He’s finished his design! He’s here with it now. And it’s amazing!”
Finally, finally, something is going well! I arrive at The Look and head straight up to the boardroom on the sixth floor, which is where everybody has assembled to see the design.
Jasmine meets me at the lift, her eyes sparkling.
“It’s so cool!” she says. “Apparently he was working all night to get it right. He says coming to Britain gave him exactly the final inspiration he needed. Everyone’s really excited. It’s going to be a sell-out! I’ve been texting my friends and they all want one.”
“Great!” I say in astonishment.
I don’t know what I’m more surprised by, Danny finishing his design so quickly or Jasmine coming to life.
“In here…” She opens the heavy pale-wood door, and I can hear Danny’s voice as we enter the boardroom. He’s sitting on the long table, holding forth to Eric, Brianna, and all the marketing and PR personnel.
“It was just that final concept I needed to crack,” he’s saying. “But once I got it…”
“It’s so different!” Brianna is saying. “It’s so original.”
“Becky!” Danny suddenly notices me. “Come and see the design! Carla, come over here.”
He beckons her over—and I gasp.
“You what ?” My voice shoots out in horror before I can stop it.
Carla’s wearing a T-shirt with gathered seams and Danny’s trademark ragged, pleated sleeves. The background is pale blue, and on the front there’s a little stylized sixties-type drawing of a red-headed doll. Underneath is the single printed phrase:
SHE’S a RED-HAiRED BiTCH and I HATE HER
I look at Danny and back at the T-shirt and back at Danny.
“You can’t….” My mouth isn’t working properly. “Danny, you can’t….”
“Isn’t it great?” says Jasmine.
“The magazines will love it.” A girl from PR is nodding enthusiastically. “We’ve already given InStyle a teeny sneak preview and it’s going in their must-have column. And with the signature carrier bag too…Everyone is going to want one.”
“It’s such a brilliant slogan!” says someone else. “‘She’s a redhaired bitch and I hate her’!”
The whole room laughs. Except me. I’m still in shock. What’s Venetia going to say? What’s Luke going to say?
“We’re going to have it on bus stops, on posters, in magazines….” the PR girl is saying. “Danny had a fab idea, which is to run it as a maternity T-shirt too.”
My head jerks up in horror. He what?
“Great idea, Danny!” I say, shooting daggers at him.
“I thought so.” He beams back innocently. “Hey, you could wear one for the birth!”
“So, where did you get your inspiration, Mr. Kovitz?” asks an eager young marketing assistant.
“Who’s the red-haired bitch?” The PR girl chimes in with an easy laugh. “I hope she won’t mind having a thousand T-shirts printed about her!”
“What do you think, Becky?” Danny wickedly raises his eyebrows at me.
“Does Becky know her?” says Brianna in surprise. “Is this a real person?”
Everyone suddenly looks interested.
“No!” I gabble in alarm. “No! Not at all! She isn’t…I mean…I was just…thinking. Why don’t we broaden the design? We could have blond and brunette versions too.”
“Nice idea,” says Brianna. “What do you think, Danny?”
For a heart-stopping moment I think he’s going to say “No, it has to be red-haired because Venetia is red-haired.” But thank God, he nods.
“I like it. Pick your own bitch.” He suddenly gives a huge, catlike yawn. “Is there any more coffee?”
Thank God. Disaster averted. I’ll take a blond version home and Luke will never know about the original.
“We need this!” says Carla, pouring out the coffee. “We were up all night. Danny finalized the design at around two A.M. Then we found an all-night silk screener in Hoxton, and they made up the prototypes for us.”
“Well, we appreciate your efforts,” says Eric ponderously. “On behalf of The Look, I would like to thank you, Danny, and your team.”
“Gratitude accepted,” says Danny charmingly. “And I would like to thank Becky Bloomwood, whose brainchild this collaboration was.” He starts applauding, and reluctantly I smile back. You can never stay cross with Danny for long. “To Becky, my muse,” Danny adds, lifting the fresh cup of coffee that Carla has poured for him. “And the little musette.”
“Thanks.” I lift my cup back toward him. “To you, Danny.”
“You’re his muse ?” Jasmine breathes be
side me. “That’s so cool!”
“Well…” I shrug nonchalantly. But inside I’m pretty chuffed. I have always wanted to be a fashion designer’s muse!
It just shows. Whenever life seems total rubbish, it always turns around. Today has been approximately a million times better than I expected. Luke isn’t leading a double life after all. Danny’s design is going to be a sell-out. And I’m a muse!
By the end of the day I’ve changed my clothes a few times, because fashion muses do like to experiment with their looks. I finally decide on a pink chiffon empire-line dress which I can just squeeze over my bump, with one of Danny’s prototype T-shirts layered on top, together with a green velvet coat and a black feather hat.
I must start wearing more hats if I’m going to be a muse. And brooches.
At five thirty Danny appears at the entrance to personal shopping and I look up in surprise. “Are you still here? Where’ve you been?”
“Oh…just hanging out in menswear,” he says casually. “That guy Tristan who works there…he’s pretty cute, huh?”
“Tristan’s not gay.” I give Danny a look.
“Yet,” Danny says, and picks up a pink evening dress from our Cruisewear department. “This is gross. Becky, you should not be stocking this dress.”
He’s totally hyper at the moment, the way he always gets when he’s finished a design. I remember this from New York.
“Where are all your ‘people’?” I ask, rolling my eyes. But Danny doesn’t even get the irony.
“Drawing up contracts,” he says vaguely. “And Stan took the car to go sightseeing. He’s never been to London before. Hey, shall we have a drink?”
“I’ve got to go home.” I glance reluctantly at my watch. “I have this reunion thing tonight.”
“Just a quick drink?” Danny wheedles. “I’ve barely seen you. Hey, what’s with the hat?”
“Do you like it?” I touch it, a little self-conscious. “I just felt like feathers.”
“Feathers.” Danny’s surveying me with an interested frown. “Great idea.”
“Really?” I glow with pride. Maybe he’ll base his whole new collection on feathers, and it’ll be my idea! “Hey, if you want to draw a little sketch of me or anything…” I say casually, but Danny isn’t listening. He’s walking around me, an interested frown on his face.