Shopaholic & Baby
Page 87
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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—”
“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—”
