Temptations
- a tale with a twist
by Rob Hopcott 'How unfaithful is your partner?
Alice frowned as the advert in Homemaker Weekly grabbed her
attention. Self consciously she patted her tightly curled fair hair then seated
her diminutive figure primly at the kitchen table of her three bedroom
semi-detached - and read on.
'Finding out is so easy for members of Fidelity Investigation Club
(FIC). Just send us brief details about your partners likes, dislikes and
leisure movements plus an undertaking that you will occasionally give just half
a day of your time to helping other club members. Then sit back and enjoy the
reassurance of having questions answered that may have niggled you for years.
Alice felt the color rising in her cheeks. The idea, of John being
unfaithful was ridiculous - even thinking about it was quite enough to make her
feel hot and bothered. Nervously, she pulled her light blue cardigan sleeves
further down towards her wrists.
'Membership of FIC costs only £10 and could save £1000's in
Private Investigator's fees.'
"Stupid people," she thought, contemptuously. "How many of their
readers are going to spend that sort of money?"
She turned the page and tried to read an article on wine making
from rhubarb but couldn't concentrate and eventually found herself drawn back
to the stuff about the Fidelity Club.
The questions were straight forward - and she could easily see,
together with the photo that was required, they would give enough information
for a discreet surveillance. But one question stood out starkly and gave her
real difficulty.
'What qualities would tempt your partner to infidelity?'
Alice desperately wanted to write down a description of herself. (She was only
entering the attached form so she could consider it in an organized manner.)
But she had seen her husband's eyes inexorably drawn by tall women with dark
gypsy-like features.
"If a job's to be done, I suppose it must be done properly," she
thought determinedly as she provided the honest response
Surprisingly quickly the form was completed, including a section
about herself. Separate photos of herself and her husband were easily brought
to hand from the special photo album in the drawing room dresser. So was the
stamp, envelope and cheque book.
"After all what's £10 these days," she thought as she popped the
letter in the post box at the end of their quiet cul-de-sac.
"If it's a con trick, what have I lost? If it's genuine, it will
be nice to be reassured!"
She returned to her routine of dusting and tidying, contemplated
briefly how often her husband had been late back from the office recently then
dismissed the matter from her mind. It had been dealt with.
A week passed and she was beginning to scold herself for being
gullible, when a brown package arrived by second post.
Its post paid franking as it lay on the kitchen table carried the
emblem of the club abbreviated to 'FIC'. She had a feeling that what lay within
could change her life and dreaded opening it.
It was with relief that she found no ghastly revelations inside,
merely the assurance that arrangements for the surveillance were now under way.
The organizers wanted to know when she could spend a few hours
helping another member with some discrete surveillance. (It seemed so stark to
see the words in print.)
"Fair enough, I suppose", she thought to herself. "After all it's
what I agreed to and the task seems simple enough: just visit a hotel bar that
the other members partner frequented, sit next to him and observe his reactions.
The letter explained that she was his 'type' based on what she had
written about herself. If he propositioned her, he was condemned. All she then
had to do was make her excuses and report back. It would all happen in a safe,
public place. There was nothing in the world to worry about.
In return, another temptress member would visit Alice's husband's
inner London haunt, seat herself by him and fill in a similar account of her
experiences. FIC would await receipt of both reports and then send them out to
both participants simultaneously. Simple, easy and efficient. Alice couldn't
help admiring their system - it appealed to her tidy and economical mind.
There was only one thing that she felt ill at ease about. She
didn't like going into a pub by herself. But eventually she rationalized that
it was a hotel bar so there would be all sorts of people, even families, to
make her feel at ease.
Her 'mark' too seemed a very ordinary person. From the photograph
with which she was provided, his tufty eyebrows and balding head fitted the
image she had in her mind of a studious professor. She didn't find him at all
threatening.
So it was well within the prescribed fortnight that she took her
place on a high bar stool besides a middle aged man wearing corduroy slacks and
open checked shirt. The man that she secretly knew to be called Alex was just
sitting there alone and quietly drinking half a lager. The bar bustled all
around them with trade from the main road outside and lunch seeking employees
from the nearby College.
His glance when she took her seat was brief and non-committal but
then after staring back into his glass for a while, he gave her a second look
and a slight smile.
The tiny thrill that raced through her was unexpected. She looked
away to maintain her pre-planned stance of aloofness. Her simple green cotton
dress was not blatant or revealing - but she'd felt obliged to ensure her face
was right and the regular visit to the hairdressers had been brought forward
for the occasion.
It was knowing she was his 'type' that added tension. When the
beer mat, she was playing with slipped through her nervous fingers and fell to
the floor, like a gentleman, he reached down and picked it up. But she knew
with certainty that, somewhat less like a gentleman, he had used the
opportunity for a good look at her from ankles upwards.
"Thanks", she said, with a forced laugh and the just to be polite
went on to observe: "Idle fingers create work.
He looked at her quizzically over the tops of his glasses, blue
eyes twinkling a bit.
"You don't look like one who sits around being idle very much."
The words were spoken in a deep, sonorous voice that was quite
attractive. They gave him the excuse without appearing to be rude, to glance
again at her neat, petite figure and hazel eyes.
His smile made her feel at ease but she couldn't help wishing the
annoying tingles would go from the tips of her toes.
"Stick to practicalities", she told herself, then aloud. "Where
can I get a meal in here?
"You'd be better off in the dining room. There's more space and
the food isn't pre-cooked and then left lying around under a heater. I usually
get a drink at bar prices and then take it through with me.
"Most economical", observed Alice, nodding her head approvingly.
"Goes with the job, I suppose. I lecture in Business Studies just
a couple of stones throws away from here. Alex is the name.
He held out his hand. It felt dry and strong.
"I'm Alice - but couldn't you get something to eat in the
College?" She really felt like a private eye when she asked that question.
"Yes but it's nice to get out and have a break from the students.
Plus the proprietor here knows me quite well - so I always get made welcome."
Alice wrinkled her nose pensively.
"To be quite honest I wasn't sure at all about coming in here by
myself.
I'm on my way to visit my sister and could have got something to
eat there but with another hours drive ahead of me, hunger overcame nervousness.
"If you still feel nervous, you could join me. I'm just going
through and it would be nice to have company."
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