The first surprise was running into Vanya Jameson in Rosita's Country Club. Not the kind of place I'd expect to find him: $400 a plate, gold faucets in the bathroom, Persian carpets. I wouldn't have been there myself if I wasn't working. I sat with him; nothing more inconspicuous than two people having a friendly chat.  The second surprise was when I noticed that he was glancing at Mrs. Hoyle and her companion every few moments. I got out a pen and wrote on a napkin, 'Are you following that woman in the red hat?'

 

"Am I that obvious?” he replied.  “I hope you're the only one whose noticed.”

 

'I'm following her too,'  I scribbled on the napkin.

 

Shock flickered across his face. He began to respond but I passed him the pen before he could speak.  'Who hired you?' He wrote in a sloppy cursive.

 

'Dr. Hoyle.'

 

The expression on his face confirmed that our employer was the same man.

 

"Guess he doesn't think either of us is good enough," I said.

 

"He thinks I'm not good enough to follow a bloody..."

 

"Vanya," I snapped and he quieted. "Maybe we should talk about this later?"

 

We ate the rest of the meal in silence.  As for Mrs. Hoyle, I was quickly convinced that she was not sleeping with her lunch companion. Their body language was too stiff for lovers.  After they finished, they went to play a game of squash.  Vanya and I waited in the gym adjacent to the courts.

 

"I can't believe he hired both of us," grumbled Vanya.

 

"I’m not that surprised.  When we spoke yesterday he seemed irrationally worried that his wife is cheating on him."

 

"He hired you yesterday!" Vanya looked offended.

 

"When did he hire you?"

 

"A week ago."  Obviously Vanya took this as a personal insult. I merely found it funny. That is, until Vanya started getting hostile.  "Just so you know,” he barked.  “I'm going to get the bonus.  No way an idiot like you will catch her before I do."  The bonus he spoke of was the extra $4000 Dr. Hoyle had promised he would add for photographs of his wife in the act.

 

Vanya’s immature behaviour surprised me because we had worked in the same precinct for years (I quit, he was fired). To call Vanya immature is hypocritical because I acted like a twelve year old myself and rose to the bait. "I'm sure you'll catch her before I do. Even if you don't find any evidence that won't stop you."  A low blow I admit. Rubbing his face in the reason he was expelled from the police force was crossing an unspoken line. He walked away in disgust and I wished I could take back my words.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

Two days later, I was following Mrs. Hoyle through the East-End market square when I noticed a man with a cane who was slowing down whenever Mrs. Hoyle paused at a stall. Another one! Another two actually. A burly young man wearing a tropical T-shirt also seemed very interested in Mrs. Hoyle's movements. How many bloody detectives had Dr. Hoyle hired?

 

Now that I was aware of it, I kept my eyes open and over the next day I picked up another two men and one woman shadowing Mrs. Hoyle. Including myself and Vanya (who was nowhere to be seen) that made seven detectives. It was insane. The expenditure alone was astonishing. This was more than just paranoia; did Dr. Hoyle have some kind of compulsion? Was he a shopaholic who was never satisfied with one of anything, detectives included? And didn't he realise how counterproductive it was? One person could easily blend in, but seven! And whose to say there were only seven of us.  I had noticed six but there could be others. Vanya was probably observing Mrs. Hoyle from afar with binoculars and he might not be the only one. Mrs. Hoyle was sure to notice something was amiss sooner or later, if she hadn't already. No way she'd go to see her lover when she knew a squadron of detectives were following her.. 

 

I wanted to call Dr. Hoyle and tell him how stupid he was being but he might fire me for being so presumptuous and, truth to be told, this case was the easiest money I'd made all year. I'd taken one look at Dr. Hoyle’s three story mansion and tripled the amount I asked for. I'm sure the other detectives had done the same. Seven or more detectives had all hit the lottery at the same time and who was I to mess with a good thing. Imagine there was no lover? How long would Dr. Hoyle keep paying all of us before he was convinced?   I wondered how many of the others knew they were not alone. If I hadn't run into Vanya, would I have noticed?

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

Every night, as he had requested, I faxed Dr. Hoyle a copy of my progress. For example, on Wednesday, October 23rd I sent:

 

Today your wife played chess with her friend Emily from seven to nine. Had lunch with her uncle. Took a drive to the country in the early afternoon. Spent half an hour in a bookstore and spent the rest of the afternoon reading the book she purchased -- Love in the Time of Cholera -- in a cafe. Her evening was spent with her friends Marty (homosexual), Jennifer and Linda. She returned home at 10:49 at which point you met her and shared a relaxed evening.

 

The most ludicrous moment in this day was when she went for the drive. When she turned off the highway the five cars which followed her were all detectives (Where the other two were I don’t know -- still no sign of Vanya.)  Her BMW wove along the barren country roads and behind her a beeline of cars followed like termites on a pilgrimage. How could she not have noticed?

 

How would you respond if you suddenly realised you were being followed? I'd probably think I was crazy for a while and then go to the police. Mrs. Hoyle was more direct. Just my luck that I was the one she chose to confront. It's not because I was less skilled than the others. All things being equal, I am quite good at blending into crowds. However, constantly seeing the same faces popping up must have made her more observant.  The fact that I am six foot two probably also helped.  Whatever the reason, mid-afternoon on November the second, Mrs. Hoyle got up from the park bench on which she was sitting and reading (she was in the final 100 pages of Love in the Time of Cholera) and marched towards the phone booth in which I had been miming a conversation.  I saw her approach and considered bolting. Instead, I stood there petrified and tried to think up an excuse.

 

"Why are you following me?"

 

I fumbled for words, "I... I..."

 

Her grey-blue eyes were simmering.

 

"I know I'll sound like a stalker or something miss..." I looked down at the ground sheepishly.  "It's just that I saw you at the Health club and well...  I...  I wanted to ask you out for a drink. I just didn't know how to approach you. I kept thinking I'd just accidentally bump into you. It got out of hand miss. I couldn't work up the courage and I kept following you. You're just so... so beautiful miss and you make me feel like I'm a teenager again. I'm really not a stalker I'm just..."

 

The look in her eyes was still suspicious but it had softened somewhat. "So you've been following me since this morning."

 

Now, I was in a difficult spot. Was she serious, or was this a test? If she had noticed me following her a few days earlier and I lied, she'd catch me. If I told the truth though, my lie about being a bashful but unthreatening suitor would fall apart. Taking a deep breath, I rolled the dice. "Yes."

 

"You look familiar? You're a member at the club?"

 

"Yes. Josiah Elmer."  I said instinctively and immediately regretted giving my real name.

 

She held out her hand.  "Victoria Hoyle."

 

I shook it and then neither of us said anything. It wasn't so much an uncomfortable silence as a confused one. Finally she said, "You really shouldn't follow women around like this."

 

"Of course."

 

"Still, your actions were romantic in a naive sort of way. You should know that I am married."

 

I allowed my cheeks and shoulders to slump in a melodramatic deflation.

 

"Nothing to be disappointed about. I'm quite annoying once you get to know me. I'm always looking for new friends though. Would you care to join me for a cup of coffee?"

 

How could I say no?

 

We ended up at a small café that was too expensive for me. In the next hour I found out more about Mrs. Hoyle than I had in two weeks of following her. She told me about her expatriate parents and the way she had bobbed from country to country while growing up, hence her melange accent and  eclectic style of dress. She told me about her unrealised ambitions to be a journalist. 

 

My cover story was that I was a lawyer. She laughed a lot at my invented anecdotes and she warmed up to me so much that she started confiding to me about her husband. I felt guilty. Strange, when one considers that I am a professional snoop, but if you could have seen her face. She's in her early thirties but as she began talking about Dr. Hoyle she acquired the look of a woman twice her age. She told me about meeting him and falling in love with his impulsive boyishness and fresh good looks. It was difficult to marry this description to the colicky, bearded man who had hired me. She then began talking to me about the problems in the marriage.  Surprise surprise, her biggest problem was his jealousy. "He flies into rages and accuses me of... things I can't even say. He asks me where I've been and who I've been with every time he sees me." 

 

If only she knew how far his jealousy went.

 

"I always told myself it would end sooner or later. Eventually he'd relax and see I've never cheated on him, but his suspicions get worse every month. And then this month...  I...   Can I tell you something really personal Mr. Elmer?"

 

I couldn't believe it. She was about to confess to me.

 

"I only tell you, because you're a...well you're a lawyer. This month, I started thinking about divorcing him."

 

Not what I expected but hardly surprising.

 

"The thing is," she continued. "I have nothing. He's very rich and I don't want all his money or anything, it's just that I was wondering, I don't know if you know much about divorce law but would I be able to get enough to start over, take some journalism courses and stuff."

 

Actually, I know a lot about divorce law. I'm a private detective. Knowing divorce law backwards and forwards is a prerequisite. "It all depends if you signed any specifics before the marriage but in most cases he'd have to be cheating on you or otherwise have driven you away for you to be guaranteed a settlement."  It was hardly ethical to give my client's wife advice on divorcing him but I didn't feel bad.

 

"Thank you very much Mr. Elmer. I'm sorry I rambled so much. I just haven't talked to anyone about it. I hope you don't think of me as a money-grabbing predator now."

 

"Not at all."

 

"Would you like to meet again?" She asked.

 

‘No’ would have been the most prudent answer. “Definitely,” I replied and we arranged to meet the next day. I walked off shaking my head at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

 

*     *     *     *      *

 

That evening, an angry Vanya Jameson called me. "Trying to get ahead of the game aren't you! If she figures out what you're doing, you've ruined it for all of us."

 

I couldn't bring myself to confess to Vanya that I hadn't planned to have her approach me.  Feigning indignation, I answered, "I'll look into things my way, you look into them yours."

 

After calling me a few colourful expletives he hung up the phone before I could ask him from where he was conducting his surveillance of Mrs. Hoyle. I still hadn't seen him since that lunch at the country club.

 

As always, I faxed Dr. Hoyle and told him how I spent the day. I mentioned talking to his wife but I skirted around the details. I didn't mention her desire to divorce him. She was just considering it besides; mentioning it to Dr. Hoyle would make what might be a passing consideration into reality.  

 

*     *      *     *     *

 

The next day I accompanied Mrs. Hoyle to the Museum of Modern Art. We spent the morning looking at grotesque sculptures and paintings which looked like random splashes of paint. I found myself remarking what a fool Dr. Hoyle was for driving away such a fascinating and beautiful woman. Jealousy. So stupid, but who am I to talk? I had flipped through my ex-girlfriend's diary when I suspected her of cheating on me.

 

Mrs. Hoyle didn't bring up her husband that day and we spent a lot longer together than I had expected. The museum visit led to a meal and then a walk through the park. Mrs. Hoyle told me how she felt guilty that all her days were spent in such inaction. "I should volunteer," she said. "I just keep putting it off. I also feel inadequate to do anything. I never finished university and I know that doesn't imply that I'm stupid; I still feel that way sometimes."

 

I nodded empathetically. I am the duke of self loathing.

 

It was early evening when it happened. Mrs. Hoyle and I were just at the gates of the park when she said it. "Do you live near here? We could go over to your place and have a drink if you want to keep talking..."  There was a slight tremor in her voice and my heartbeat tripled pace. "I know it's presumptuous of me, especially since I am married, it's just been so long since..."  She saw the hesitation in my face.  "Forget I ever mentioned it. I hope you aren't offended by my forwardness."

 

The thing is, at that moment there is no place I would have rather gone than back to my apartment with Mrs. Hoyle; nothing I would have enjoyed more than to kiss her lips and hold her tightly. Of course, there were six detectives following us.

 

Mrs. Hoyle was withdrawn and uncomfortable until we said goodbye and I asked her, "Can we see each other again. I couldn't...you know...but it's complicated. I really have enjoyed the time I've spent with you."

 

"Of course," she said and took down my number.

 

*     *     *     *     *