signs.’
‘Yes, exactly,’ I replied.
‘But no hard evidence?’
‘Not yet.’
‘So at the moment it’s simply a hunch,’ he added, bouncing his fingertips against each other. ‘Alarm bells have been ringing.’ I nodded. ‘Your antennae are twitching.’
‘Like mad.’
‘In fact it’s becoming an obsession,’ he said matter-of-factly.
‘It certainly is,’ I agreed.
‘So what you’re seeking, by coming here, is peace of mind?’
‘Yes. Yes, that’s it,’ I said enthusiastically. ‘I want to have my peace of mind restored.’
‘Well, I may not be able to do that,’ he said seriously. He leaned forward, placed his elbows on his desk and clasped his hands as if in prayer. ‘I may be able to provide you with the facts,’ he went on judiciously, ‘but as for restoring your peace of mind – I might well do the opposite. Because the truth is that women’s instincts about their husbands’ misbehaviour are proved right ninety per cent of the time.’
‘Oh,’ I said faintly. ‘I see.’
‘So you have to consider the consequences, Mrs Smith, if I were to find evidence of your husband’s … indiscretions. For if I take on this case, I will present you with a written report of my findings, which may well include compromising photos of your husband with the other woman.’
‘Yes,’ I whispered, ‘I know.’
‘You must prepare yourself emotionally, Mrs Smith, for what may lie ahead. You may, in a week’s time, say, find yourself back in this office staring at a photograph of your husband holding another woman by the hand … ’
‘Oh.’
‘Or kissing her.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Or entering a hotel with her.’
‘Oh God.’ I felt sick.
‘Or seeing his car parked outside her house. So I ask you, as I ask all my matrimonial clients, to give that serious thought. Will you be prepared for such … unpalatable images, Mrs Smith?’ he enquired. I heaved a sigh.
‘Yes. I think I will.’
‘In that case my fees are forty pounds an hour exclusive of VAT, fifty-five pounds for evening work, with any expenses on top, plus petrol which I charge at a very reasonable eighty-five pence a mile. Now,’ he went on, ‘do you just want the basic?’
‘What does that involve?’ I enquired.
‘I trail your husband to work and wait in my car, with my small but powerful camera at the ready. Wherever he goes, I won’t be far behind, going snap, snap, snap!’
‘Isn’t there a danger that he’ll spot you?’
‘Mrs Smith,’ said Ian Sharp patiently, ‘what do you notice about me?’
‘Notice?’ I said, dumbfounded. ‘Well, nothing, I don’t know what you mean.’
‘What distinguishing features do I have?’
‘Well, none that I can see, really.’
‘How tall am I?’
‘Er … medium.’
‘What sort of frame do I have?’
‘Well, you know … normal. Not fat, not thin.’
‘Precisely!’ he exclaimed triumphantly. ‘Mrs Smith, I am totally nondescript!’ he went on proudly. ‘I am very ordinary. I can pass undetected in a crowd. People do not clock me. They do not remember me. I am invisible in my averageness.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that.’
‘I would not be picked out in a line-up.’
‘Wouldn’t you?’
‘My appearance is dull and hum-drum.’
‘Well … ’
‘Which means, Mrs Smith,’ he went on confidently, ‘that your husband will be oblivious to my presence. May I add that in fifteen years as a private investigator, I have not been spotted once. Mind you,’ he added, ‘these men are usually so wrapped up in their assignations that they don’t notice me trotting along behind. But there I am, Mrs Smith. There I am.’
‘Right. Well, good.’
‘So that’s the basic search. What we call the Bronze Service. However, you can have a more sophisticated service, the Silver Service, in which I wear … ’ He suddenly opened his jacket with both hands, revealing what looked like a bullet-proof waistcoat. ‘This!’
‘Er … ’
‘This is a body-worn harness in which there is a concealed video camera. Can you see the camera, Mrs Smith? Can you? If so, kindly tell me where it is.’
‘Er, no,’ I said truthfully, ‘I can’t.’
‘It’s here,’ he said, pointing to a tiny pin on the lapel. ‘There is a lens hidden in this pin, which is mere microns thick.’
‘Good Lord!’ I said.
‘Now, if you want video footage, this is what I’ll use, but surveillance equipment of this kind is pricey so that’ll add another ninety-five pounds a day.’
‘I see.’
‘We could also use this.’ He picked up a briefcase and slapped it on the desk. ‘This is a recording briefcase, Mrs Smith. I could have it placed in a cupboard in your husband’s office; inside is a powerful radio mike – extremely sensitive – which would pick up any sweet nothings he cared to murmur down the phone.’
‘I see.’
‘And if you want the Full Monty Five Star No Holds Barred Gold Service – well, then that’s going to involve four of my colleagues following your husband full-time, detailing his every move. Mrs Smith, he would not be able to scratch his backside without me and my lads knowing about it.’
‘Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary.’
‘Nor do I, Mrs Smith, nor do I. I think the Bronze Service will be more than adequate for your purposes. Now,’ he added, ‘do you have any idea what this other woman looks like?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Not a clue. And I can’t find out surreptitiously, from Peter, because he denies that he even knows her.’
‘I see. Have you got a photo of your husband?’
‘Yes,’ I said. I produced a recent snap.
‘How tall is he?’ he asked. ‘It’s hard to tell from this.’
‘About five foot eleven, and he weighs thirteen stone. No, he’s lost weight recently, so I guess he might be only twelve. His hair is sandy, as you can see, and he has a fair, lightly freckled complexion.’
‘And what time does he leave for work?’
‘He goes at about eight fifteen and gets the District line to Embankment; then he walks to his office in Villiers Street, where he works on the seventh floor.’
‘Make of car and registration?’ I told him. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’m on the case. But first, I need the usual deposit of five hundred pounds up front.’
‘Oh, of course,’ I said as I opened my bag. ‘I can give you a cheque right now.’ As I wrote it out I mentally thanked Lily for her wonderful help.
‘Mrs Smith,’ said Sharp as I reached for the door handle. ‘One last question. Have you decided what