It Had to Be You by Lynda Renham Page A

clean but his things are everywhere. A razor sits on the sink with shaving gel beside it, the top off of course. What is it with men and shaving gel? I sigh and replace the top. I gingerly open the bathroom cabinet and look inside. Maybe I can find something to incriminate him. Dental floss, yes well flossing hasn ’t yet become a crime has it? Painkillers, they’re still legal aren’t they? Multi-vitamins, at least he looks after himself. Deodorant, nail clippers and aftershave balm. No illegal drugs then, that’s a relief I suppose. He’s pretty clean living. Not even a bottle of aftershave. I sniff his shower gel, and realise that is the fragrance that lingers about him.
    I move a comb to one side and see a small packet of something. Ah, what ’s this? I pull the pack towards me and drop it in shock. My God, condoms and not one pack but two. Muffy was right, he is a sexual predator. I quickly replace them with shaking hands. What’s the matter with me? The man is entitled to condoms isn’t he? He must only be about thirty, so he’s obviously having sex with someone. I curiously find myself wondering who she is and what she looks like.
    I close the bathroom cabinet and head to the bedrooms. The smaller one at the end has a rowing machine and treadmill in it. God, he ’s not one of those health freaks is he? Don’t you just hate those types? I tried running once. Oliver was into this health kick or it may have been a ‘kill Binki week kick’, it certainly felt more like that anyway. I’d downloaded some drum and bass onto my iPod in preparation. Oliver said it was a real motivator but it only managed to motivate me for six minutes before my lungs gave way. I’d felt like a real jogger. I was full of determination and it felt like I was running for a long time but it had only been six minutes and bloody drum and bass was still pounding away. At this point my thighs were trembling and there was a burning in my throat. Oliver was way ahead of me and I tried to signal that I was dying and needed oxygen. He’d beckoned me to hurry and catch up and rather than admit I actually couldn’t take another step I had shamelessly pretended to have twisted my ankle and popped into the local pub. Well, sometimes you have to lie in relationships. I wonder if Oliver has been lying all this time about Miss Brown Nipples. No, I must not think about that.
    I reach the other bedroom and hesitate. What am I doing? But it’s my house isn’t it? Of course I can explore. I open the door cautiously. His soft fresh fragrance pervades the room. The bed is made, that’s a surprise, but then again Cara, the cleaner, has just been. There are shirts hanging outside the wardrobe, God forbid he should go that extra mile and hang them inside. A laptop sits on the bedside cabinet and another on a table by the window. A PDA lies on the bed. My goodness, the man is technology addicted. A row of green envelope files sits on the windowsill and several boxes clutter the floor. Well, he’ll have more boxes soon if I have my way. This bedroom is huge. Trust him to take the biggest room, and actually he has two rooms if you count the exercise room, that’s not fair is it? He’s an arrogant pushy bugger, who has far more money than me. That’s it! I fall onto the bed as the epiphany hits me. If he wants the house so much then he can buy me out. Of course, why didn’t I think of that before? I glance at the folders and study the labels. I stare at the one labelled Bank Statements . I could just peek couldn’t I? After all, it is best to know your enemies isn’t it? Don’t they say keep your friends close but your enemies even closer? Yes, I’m doing the sensible thing. I need to know all I can about this guy. I quickly check the drive and see that there is no sign of his Lamborghini. I carefully pull out the folder and scan the sheets for a balance. I gasp. I don’t believe it. The guy is loaded. I close the folder carefully and slot it back