Agent Provocateur by Faith Bleasdale Page B

some wives still send photos that are years out of date. It makes no sense.
    Grace tried to keep out of the way while she waited for his companion to turn up, but of course, she isn’t the most inconspicuous person in the world and she ended up having to fend off quite a few men. Her target didn’t notice her, though, which was good.
    Sure enough, he met a woman. A young woman, younger than Grace. The way they greeted each other left little doubt that this wasn’t a friend, and Grace moved closer so she could hear their conversation. Her client had asked for photo evidence, so Grace wore a tiny camera built into a large brooch on her top, one of her favourite gadgets. It was made for her, and although the diamonds are fake, the camera is not. It also records sound perfectly, although with the noise level in the bar tonight she wasn’t sure how much of the conversation they would get. By the way the pair were acting, the pictures would tell his wife all she wanted to know. On a job like that, Grace feels like a proper detective, and she enjoys it, even though she’s still spying on a cheater.
    The husband had his hand on the young woman’s buttocks within half an hour. She was pressing her small breasts into his chest. They had been there an hour when they left. Having heard the conversation, Grace knew they were going to a hotel. Picturing the scene, she knew that they would be tearing each other’s clothes off as soon as they got into the room. She felt sorry for his wife, the poor thing, and she had to call Nicole.
    Grace hailed a taxi and called Nicole from her mobile. She promised to have the tape ready to courier over first thing in the morning.
     
    She picks up her shoes and hobbles to the sitting room. She lays on the sofa, too tired to move, watching the fish, and drifting off to sleep.
    The buzzer wakes her and she feels disorientated for a while, unsure of where she is. Then she realises and answers the intercom, surprised to hear Oliver’s voice on the other end.
    ‘You’re looking hot,’ he says when he’s at her door, kissing her on her lips.
    ‘I fell asleep. Have I got cushion marks on my face?’
    ‘No. So I guess you’ve been working.’
    She nods. ‘I had a job.’
    ‘So which poor sucker did you seduce tonight?’
    ‘None, I just had to spy.’ She smiles. She likes the idea of being a spy, although not in a James Bond sense; in a far less energetic way.
    ‘So why did you dress up then?’ he asks, assessing her short, tight, black dress with a suspicious look on his face. He knows that he isn’t her only man, although she will not tell him exactly who he has to share her with. In his worst fears it is any number of men, although he hopes that really she just says that to keep him at arm’s length. He is constantly confused by Grace, and he knows that she needs that. But still he cannot walk away from her because he knows a few truths about her. One is that she isn’t a bad person, she has the biggest heart, it’s just not fully functioning. Another is her immense vulnerability. She hides it well, but at times, if you look hard enough, you see it. And lastly is the fact that he loves her and he believes that, deep down, she loves him.
    ‘Don’t know, force of habit. What are you doing here?’ Finally she is fully awake and she realises that Oliver has committed a cardinal sin. He has turned up unannounced.
    ‘I did call you, but your answer phone was on and your mobile was off.’ She must have been in a deep sleep not to hear the phone.
    ‘But it’s so late.’ She is still scowling.
    ‘Yes, and you work late. Look, Grace,’ he sounds cross, ‘I was at an album launch in the area and I wanted to pop in on the off chance. Not to upset you or to bug you, or to catch you out, but because I wanted to see you. I’m off to New York tomorrow for a while and, well, I just thought that it would be nice to see you.’
    Grace stops scowling and smiles. She cannot help herself.