Chapter Eighty-Seven

“… What a romantic little nook.”

“However,” says Claudia, “It didn’t sound much like a business meeting to me and it wasn’t so private as you think. I've recorded every word the pair of you said since you sat down.”

Irene’s lip curls, her voice growing high. “And who exactly are you?”

Claudia sighs. “That's the trouble with celebrities. They never remember the little people. Claudia Schmidt. I’m a reporter with City News.” Eyes sparkling, she offers a card. “Come on, Mrs Vandervoort, you love the press. You’ll be there in great and glorious colour on the front page with this. And your little friend here.” She cocks her head. “What do you think, Officer Pensby? You seem like a man who would enjoy some publicity.”

“I'm not a celebrity,” he burbles, panic flashing.

Claudia flashes brows. Grins. “You will be by the time City News has published this. I can just see the headline…” She raises hands, sweeping an invisible banner through the air, somehow enunciating a capital letter with each word. Mayor's Wife. Affair With City Hall Official. But that’ll be small fry compared with the sub-heading… Criminal Conspiracy Against Prominent Citizens.” Her grin goes Cheshire Cat-ward. “It could even go national.”

He starts to reply, but Irene rants over him. “If you publish my private business, I will sue your paper, and you personally, for every...”

Claudia clicks her tongue. Wrinkles her nose. “So sue. Or try. When the truth about this comes out, I don’t think you’ll have the funds to keep a gerbil, let alone pay lawyers or fund Lover-Boy here. Besides…” She eye-points me. “… whether not I publish depends on my friend here. What do you say, Beth?”

Irene stills. Pales. Then hisses, “I demand you delete those files. Raymond, get that phone from her.”

“Ah-ah…” Claudia shakes her head. “Already uploaded to the cloud. Stealing my mobile wouldn’t save you. But it would be another charge on the sheet. Theft of personal property.”

Pensby blusters. “This is entrapment.”

“Hardly,” I huff. “No one induced you to come here. Either of you. Or tricked you. This is a public restaurant. And the pair of you chose to be here. As you have chosen on several previous occasions.”

Irene’s eyes slit. “My husband will hear of this…” she hisses. “And when he’s dealt with your husband…”

And there’s my cue. I smile brightly. “Ah, yes. Your husband. I’m so pleased you brought him up, Irene. You see, while Claudia and I have been talking with you, my Richard is having a word with your Jack…”

Her eyes fling wide. Her mouth drops open. And in that moment, something buzzes… A phone, ringing from her purse.

She stiffens, but makes no move to take the call.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” I resist the urge to drip honey from my voice…

No schadenfreude…

Be one of the big girls…

“No? I wondered if you would. Never mind…” My own cell vibes. “… Ah, yes, I think that will be Richard.”

Sure enough, my Master looks out from my screen. Behind him, store window displays glitter and sparkle. Traffic flashes by. “Good evening, my Love. Where are you now?”

“I'm at the Maison de Diamante restaurant with Claudia. And we ran into some friends.” I hold up my phone to capture Irene’s face, then flip my camera, making a slow arc to take in Pensby too.

My Master gives a kind of indrawn whistle. “Such a coincidence. Good to see you, Irene. As for you, Pensby, I’ll not say I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, but I have been anticipating it.” He turns, speaking offside. “You want to talk to her?”

The reply too, comes from off-screen. “Thank you, Richard. Yes.” Irene freezes, eyes darting this way and that as her mouth opens and closes. Pensby sits, stiff and unspeaking, lips flattened.

My Master returns his attention to me. “Elizabeth, I’m with Jack Vandervoort. Could you put his wife on, please. He'd like a word with her.”

Panic darts in shoals behind Irene’s expression as I hold my phone up. She’s in full view of whoever looks out from the screen. A smile makes a rictus of her face. “Jack? What are…? Why…? Jack, I… I decided not to go to the gym this evening…”

I can’t see Vandervoort’s face, but his tone is rough. “So I see. And as you decided, I understand, last week and the week before. When did you last attend the gym, Irene? All those evenings when you told me that’s where you would be. And afterwards, that it’s where you had been.”

“I… I…”

“And your friend, Mr Pensby. What are you doing in his company?”

“I need to explain, Jack. I had a plan…” But her voice cuts short as her gaze passes over my shoulder.

“Ah, there they are,” says Claudia, her attention too, toward the entrance.

Twisting around, I see my Master and the Mayor striding side by side for our table. Irene’s high colour blenches. But then, standing, she recovers her parody of a smile. “Jack, darling. What a surprise.”

“Isn't it.” Vandervoort’s voice remains level, but he moves close, looming over the end of the table. “How am I supposed to trust you, Irene, when you behave like this?”

“Jack, it’s not what you think.” She sits again, but backs up in her seat, distancing herself from Pensby. Her tone turns casual. “It’s all completely innocent. I'm simply having a drink with a friend.”

Vandervoort huffs. “As, apparently, you have been having regular ‘drinks’ with him. Irene, I’ve heard every word of your conversation with this man.”

Pensby opens his mouth to speak, but Vandervoort cuts him short, stabbing a finger toward him. “You, be silent until I invite you to speak.”

He casts a look toward Claudia. “My thanks, Miss Schmidt for your assistance in this. When dealing with allegations made against personal acquaintances, especially when they are old friends, the situation can be difficult. Had I been seen to act in this matter, it could have been interpreted as nepotism. But I’ve heard easily enough to make the facts clear. And to provide the proof I need to take action.”

He swings his gaze to me. “Mrs Haswell…”

“Beth.”

“Beth, I can’t apologise enough for what has happened. I had what I thought was a bright idea for tidying up the City tax situation. Instead, I find my own wife is instrumental in a scandal...”

He pauses, plucking at his chin. “And now I think on it, it wasn’t actually my idea…” He angles on his wife. “… Was it, Irene?”

She starts to protest, but Pensby pushes up from his seat, facing the Mayor, chest puffed out. “That’s enough. It's time to bring it out in the open. You had your chance with her, Vandervoort. Irene's mine now. She wants a divorce.”

My jaw falls slack. Claudia examines her feet. My Master looks away for a second, apparently finding a potted palm of consuming interest. When he turns back, a severe facade is pasted over the amusement dancing behind his eyes.

Irene’s eyes open wide in consternation as Vandervoort’s lips twitch, brows rising almost into his hairline. “A divorce, you say?” He snags a chair from the next table, gesturing courteously for my Master to sit, then slides another across for himself, sitting to lean back, hands folded onto the tabletop.

“So, Irene… A divorce? Well, I can arrange that for you. Of course, with proof of infidelity thrown into the equation, you won't come out of it very well. No more expensive parties. Your monthly allowance gone. You'll have to downgrade your car. I understand bicycles can be purchased very cheaply these days. Or you could use public transport, as an economy measure. I understand many do.”

He nods down to her rings. Gestures to the matching necklace. “That expensive designer junk you wear so much of would probably pawn to cover the rent for a few weeks.”

Pensby’s chin juts. “There’s more at stake here than money.”

“Sit down, you idiot!” spits Irene. “Don't be ridiculous. Do you seriously think I'm interested in an asinine half-wit like you?” Pensby’s expression ricochets between shock, dismay and disbelief. “Jack, I don't want a divorce. Of course, I don’t. I know how this looks but, I was simply laying a trap for…”

He husband’s reply is cool. “Close your mouth, Irene,” he suggests.

“But, darling, I was just trying to back you up on something I thought you needed help with.” Her eyes plead. “You do see that, don’t you? I really believed that Richard here and his…” She casts an evil look my way. “… Her… had committed some criminal act. I see now I was wrong. But I was doing it for you.”

Vandervoort gives his wife a long look then, his voice low, enunciates every word. “Get up. Get out. And get in the car. It’s right outside the door. And you do not say a single word to anyone.”