‘Yeah, I know. Not my wife, though. Not Camilla.’ He doesn’t know why he chose that name for his imaginary spouse. Perhaps something he’d seen in the news.
The man issues a scornful laugh. He seems not to care that it might be taken as an insult. ‘How would you know?’
‘I’d know,’ says Franklin. ‘Believe me, I’d know.’
‘That’s what I thought. About my girlfriend.’
Girlfriend. So not married, then?
‘She cheated on you?’ Franklin injects a calculated amount of incredulity into his question, as though to challenge the temerity of the woman.
The man opens his mouth, then seems to think again now that the accusation has been stated in such bald terms.
‘Well, I can’t prove it, but I’m pretty fucking sure. It’s the only thing that would explain her behaviour.’
‘Her behaviour?’
‘Yeah. With this other guy.’ He says ‘other guy’ in a way that makes it the worst insult ever uttered.
‘Ah,’ says Franklin. The third-party scenario. It crops up time and time again. He could write a book on it. ‘You know him?’
‘Not really. She works with him. Too closely for my liking.’
‘But you think it’s more than that? More than just work, I mean?’
‘I do.’
‘Have you talked to her about it?’
The man gestures to the space around him. ‘Why do you think I’m here by myself? To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t even going to bring it up with her. Like I said, I didn’t have any proof or anything. But she kept mentioning him. Kept talking about him like he was the only person in her life. Wouldn’t you find it a little insulting if your wife kept talking about some other guy? Course you would. So I asked her.’
‘You came right out and asked her? Did she deny it?’
‘Naturally. What else was she going to do? Only, the way she denied it was… excessive, do you know what I mean? What’s the phrase, the Shakespeare thing?’
‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much?’
The man snaps his fingers in the air, then points at Franklin. ‘Abso-fucking-lutely. That’s exactly what methinks. The way she was yelling, you’d think I was the one who’d been sleeping around. That’s a guilty conscience if ever I saw one.’
Franklin bobs his head with a lack of conviction. ‘Maybe. On the other hand, maybe she just reacted badly to what you were saying about her.’
The man leans his head back to peer beneath his drooping eyelids. ‘Whose fucking side are you on, pal?’
Franklin shows his palms. ‘Yours. I’m just saying that it can be easy to jump to conclusions sometimes. I’ve done it myself: thinking the worst when actually there’s nothing to be worried about.’
The man continues to study him with an unfocused gaze, then returns his attention to his almost-empty glass. ‘Ah, what the hell am I talking to you for, anyway? You don’t even know if your wife’s shagging someone else right now.’
This time the insult wears less of a disguise, but Franklin knows not to react badly.
‘Actually, I do. I know I can trust her. And if I didn’t trust her, I’d know how to get the proof before I confronted her.’
The man faces him again. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about relationships. This is kind of my area of expertise.’
‘Oh, Christ. You’re not one of them, are you?’
‘One of which?’
‘Marriage guidance counsellors, or whatever you call yourselves these days. Poking around in people’s affairs and telling them what they need to do to keep their spouses happy in bed, and all that shit.’
Franklin dredges up a smile. ‘No, that’s not what I meant. I don’t really like all that touchy-feely stuff.’
‘Me neither. So, what are you then?’
‘I’m a private investigator.’
The man stares at him for at least five seconds before releasing a guffaw of laughter.
‘Not the reaction I was expecting,’ Franklin says, although in fact he was completely prepared for such a display of disbelief. People who go around saying they are private detectives are usually living in a fantasy world.
‘That’s a good one,’ the man says, still chuckling. ‘A private detective. Ha! Love it!’
‘No, seriously. I am.’
‘What, you’re telling me you’re a private dick?’
‘Well, I prefer not to be called a dick, but yeah.’
