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recording, I knew it was likely that
the case was simple, a devastated wife hoping to be proved wrong, that her
darling husband wasn’t fucking his secretary behind her back. A refusal for the
recording was usually the type of woman who wanted proof to use against him, or
who would want us to fabricate proof. Those type of women I needed a
recording for, those type of women were likely to try and twist things,
to imply that they’d only asked for evidence and one of my girls had taken it
too far, resulting in the destruction of their marriage. Before I knew it I’d
be sued, hence the reason for the state of the art recording system that was
already working its magic, without her knowledge. I sat back on the sofa
opposite, crossing my legs and folding my hands in my lap, as I watched her. No,
this woman had no sexual presence about her at all, she came across as a cold
hearted bitch, one who’d throw her own child under the train, if she had one. Based
on her looks, and going along the generalisation that one attracted someone
with similar looks and status, I deduced that her husband was probably not much
to look at either. This should be a walk in the park and I’d be home in time to
kiss Tristan goodnight.
‘My husband has a permanent suite at The
Domville, on Green Park. He is a creature of habit. From when he arrives on a Friday
evening, he tends to spend the weekend either working out in the gym, running
around the park, eating in the restaurant, or hidden away in his suite. He
never goes out sight-seeing or for entertainment. On a Monday evening however,
at precisely seven-thirty p.m. he sits at the bar, the stool on the far
left, in the corner and orders a cognac, which he nurses for most of the night.
Occasionally he has made it to three cognacs, never a fourth. Every
Monday night, many beautiful women will go and sit by him, to try to engage him
in conversation, or maybe more. But after idle chit-chat, he persuades them to
leave and always retires to his suite alone, or at least that’s what we imagine
he does, we’ve never been able to get past hotel security to be sure. Some
incident in Paris with a famous actress has meant that the whole hotel chain
has restricted access to the lifts, or stairs, for guests with key cards. They
won’t even allow access to a floor that your room is not located on.’
‘So, my understanding is that you’ve already
had him under surveillance and come up empty handed? You want me to gain entry
to his suite and plant my own surveillance equipment to see if he’s having an
affair?’
‘Non, chérie,’ she laughed, with a wave of her gloved
hand. She leaned forwards as she fixed me with a piercing stare, that made me
involuntarily shiver. ‘I want you to ensure that he has an affair.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m a little confused,’ I frowned.
‘For the most part women come to me desperate to have their suspicions proved
wrong, or because they need a large divorce settlement, which will be topped up
if evidence of an affair comes to light, so we make that happen for them. You
appear to want evidence of your husband cheating on you, yet you’re an
incredibly wealthy woman in your own right. I can’t imagine that it’s a share
of his assets that you’re after.’
‘Of course not,’ she replied, with another
laugh and a flick of her hand. ‘I have absolutely no need for his money. You
are discreet, yes? Nothing I say will go further?’
‘Of course not, my business depends on
discretion.’
‘Very well, but if this comes out I shall deny
it and sue you for slander. I come from a well-known ancient family, who have
very strict ideologies. The sanctity of marriage, for one. My husband and I …
how would you put it? Ah yes, a marriage of convenience. A merger of two of
France’s most profitable enterprises. We are a financial force to be reckoned
with. However neither of us wanted each other, it is an empty marriage and the
sex is non-existent. I am a woman with
the case was simple, a devastated wife hoping to be proved wrong, that her
darling husband wasn’t fucking his secretary behind her back. A refusal for the
recording was usually the type of woman who wanted proof to use against him, or
who would want us to fabricate proof. Those type of women I needed a
recording for, those type of women were likely to try and twist things,
to imply that they’d only asked for evidence and one of my girls had taken it
too far, resulting in the destruction of their marriage. Before I knew it I’d
be sued, hence the reason for the state of the art recording system that was
already working its magic, without her knowledge. I sat back on the sofa
opposite, crossing my legs and folding my hands in my lap, as I watched her. No,
this woman had no sexual presence about her at all, she came across as a cold
hearted bitch, one who’d throw her own child under the train, if she had one. Based
on her looks, and going along the generalisation that one attracted someone
with similar looks and status, I deduced that her husband was probably not much
to look at either. This should be a walk in the park and I’d be home in time to
kiss Tristan goodnight.
‘My husband has a permanent suite at The
Domville, on Green Park. He is a creature of habit. From when he arrives on a Friday
evening, he tends to spend the weekend either working out in the gym, running
around the park, eating in the restaurant, or hidden away in his suite. He
never goes out sight-seeing or for entertainment. On a Monday evening however,
at precisely seven-thirty p.m. he sits at the bar, the stool on the far
left, in the corner and orders a cognac, which he nurses for most of the night.
Occasionally he has made it to three cognacs, never a fourth. Every
Monday night, many beautiful women will go and sit by him, to try to engage him
in conversation, or maybe more. But after idle chit-chat, he persuades them to
leave and always retires to his suite alone, or at least that’s what we imagine
he does, we’ve never been able to get past hotel security to be sure. Some
incident in Paris with a famous actress has meant that the whole hotel chain
has restricted access to the lifts, or stairs, for guests with key cards. They
won’t even allow access to a floor that your room is not located on.’
‘So, my understanding is that you’ve already
had him under surveillance and come up empty handed? You want me to gain entry
to his suite and plant my own surveillance equipment to see if he’s having an
affair?’
‘Non, chérie,’ she laughed, with a wave of her gloved
hand. She leaned forwards as she fixed me with a piercing stare, that made me
involuntarily shiver. ‘I want you to ensure that he has an affair.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m a little confused,’ I frowned.
‘For the most part women come to me desperate to have their suspicions proved
wrong, or because they need a large divorce settlement, which will be topped up
if evidence of an affair comes to light, so we make that happen for them. You
appear to want evidence of your husband cheating on you, yet you’re an
incredibly wealthy woman in your own right. I can’t imagine that it’s a share
of his assets that you’re after.’
‘Of course not,’ she replied, with another
laugh and a flick of her hand. ‘I have absolutely no need for his money. You
are discreet, yes? Nothing I say will go further?’
‘Of course not, my business depends on
discretion.’
‘Very well, but if this comes out I shall deny
it and sue you for slander. I come from a well-known ancient family, who have
very strict ideologies. The sanctity of marriage, for one. My husband and I …
how would you put it? Ah yes, a marriage of convenience. A merger of two of
France’s most profitable enterprises. We are a financial force to be reckoned
with. However neither of us wanted each other, it is an empty marriage and the
sex is non-existent. I am a woman with
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