Chapter 6

I left Jenny lazing in bed whilst I showered and dressed.

"What time is it?" she moaned as I returned to the bedroom.

"Seven thirty."

"Too early," she complained.

"I've got to be going," I informed her. "I'll see you after the weekend."

"Give me a kiss before you go," she demanded.

I stooped to place a quick peck on her cheek but she dragged me into a more passionate embrace, making the most of our last few moments together. I slipped free and made my way downstairs to prepare a quick breakfast. Rain hammered against the windows and I didn't relish the walk to the tube. I soon discovered I had little choice as my car was completely blocked in by Stella's Golf and there was no sign of either her or Toby. It also meant I'd need to come back to the house before setting off for home, an even greater inconvenience.

Waiting for a short break in the downpour, I raced down the street only to be caught minutes from the tube station as the heavens opened once more. It was nearly lunchtime before I felt dry again and the thought of braving the elements on the way back held little appeal. Whilst tempted to sneak away early whilst the weather held, I resisted the impulse and struggled through my final lecture with one eye on the window, watching the overcast sky.

By the time I'd returned, packed up my things and set off, I was trapped in the height of evening rush hour and it was mid-evening before I finally arrived in Newbury.

"I didn't think you were coming home," Vanessa said. "Your dinner's probably ruined."

A great start to the weekend, I concluded and probably not one that was likely to improve depending on how things developed between us. Unaware that I'd witnessed her liaison, Vanessa acted perfectly normally even as I tried to coax some sort of confession out of her, asking if she was still lonely being alone in the house all the time.

"I'm keeping busy for the most part," she confessed. "There are the preparations for the SATs coming up and my project takes up much nearly all my spare time."

"Do you see much of Donald?" I asked casually.

"I see him from time to time. He's really doing a great job on the information booklet."

"Hmm."

"Why do you ask about Donald specifically? There are lots of others working on the project too."

"You seemed quite drawn to him when he came around here for dinner."

"I admire him, professionally I mean. There's nothing more to it than that."

"I see," I replied absently.

"What do you mean by I see? What are trying to imply?"

"Nothing."

"Do you think I'm involved with him or something?" she snapped, her face flushing red.

"You said it, not me."

"I'll make us a drink," she announced hastily, jumping up and disappearing into the kitchen. I saw the guilt written on her face but as expected, she'd denied anything untoward. She returned with two teas and broached a subject that had me struggling to keep my face straight.

"A car got vandalised in the week."

"Oh, where?"

"A few doors away. Kids let the air out of two of the tyres."

"Is that all?"

"The guy drove fifty yards before he noticed. By that time they were ruined. Apparently, they cost five hundred pounds each to replace."

"What kind of car has those kinds of tyres?"

"I think it was an Aston Martin or something like that."

"Doesn't Donald drive an Aston?"

"It might have been a Ferrari, I'm not too sure," she added hastily as she realised her blunder. "I thought it might be a good idea to fit some gates on the end of the drive. It would certainly discourage anybody from doing it here."

"I'm sure it's probably an isolated incident. Did he call the police?"

"No ... I don't think so. There were no eyewitnesses so what could they do anyway. It's a sad sign of the times when you can't visit someone without mindless idiots causing so much damage."

"I agree," I stated, my mind gleefully celebrating a successful outcome. I hoped the bastard would think twice before dropping around to take advantage of her in future.

We watched a BBC documentary about teenage delinquency. Several times throughout the program, Vanessa's phoned beeped and she broke off to reply to the text. "A few of my colleagues are watching the same program," she explained.

Despite still being hungry from my earlier improvised meal, I decided to go to bed, leaving Vanessa wading through a mountain of marking. I didn't hear her come upstairs; it must have been very late when she eventually turned in.

The room was dark and Vanessa slept on her side facing away from me. I lay awake, thinking things over, then carefully slipped from under the covers so as not to disturb her. Her handbag hung over the back of the bedroom chair and I quietly rummaged inside it to locate her phone. After assuring myself that she was still soundly asleep, I sneaked downstairs and opened up her inbox. It contained less than a dozen messages, all received within the last day or so. Over half were from the same sender.

I opened up the earliest message and read the contents.

"I've bought a new dress for you. Slinky and see through. I can't wait to see you in it."

I flicked through the rest in quick succession.

"I revised the second section we talked about. It reads much better now."

"You left your panties in the car :)"

"I love your body. You are so sexy. I can't get enough of you."

"I'm missing you already. I can't wait until we're together again."

"I wish there was a way we could spend the weekend together."

I navigated to the outbox and read Vanessa's replies.

"I'll see you later. Try not to get come all over my dress this time - it's a devil to get out."

"You are too much of a perfectionist."

"I didn't realise until after you dropped me off. Keep hold of them for me."

"I loved swimming naked in the pool and the sex afterwards."

"Pete's just gone to bed. We can talk now."

I grabbed a glass of milk and returned to bed, slipping the phone back into her bag.

"Pete, is that you?" Vanessa mumbled.

"I went downstairs for a drink. Go back to sleep," I urged.

Clambering in beside her, I digested the latest information and thought about ways to keep better track of her activities. An idea suddenly sprung to mind and I made plans to investigate it the following morning.

Saturday was usually a time for food shopping but I cried off citing a request from Sir Paul to discuss an ongoing project.

"It's your day off," Vanessa complained. "Doesn't he realise you have a life away from work?"

"It should only take a couple of hours. We'll do something together this afternoon."

Leaving Vanessa to tackle the supermarket, I drove to work to enact my scheme. There were always people working over the weekend; short deadlines and paid overtime providing a great incentive. A past project for a large transport chain involved the development of an asset tracking system. Pallets would be fitted with a small battery powered unit that housed a GSM modem and a GPS locator. Every few yards, it would transmit its geographic location with the information being logged to a central server. Several functioning prototypes were maintained in the event of future amendments and I spent an hour testing and configuring one of them before returning home.

As soon as Vanessa returned, I helped her unload the groceries and then secreted the unit in the glove compartment of her car, burying it beneath the car owner's manual and service booklet where hopefully she'd not discover it. I switched on the laptop and logged onto the server's virtual web page which displayed a map of the local area with a red dot where my house was located, confirming the position of Vanessa's Ford. The system would now track the vehicle's movement and allow me to query the database to display any journey and the time it took place. Satisfied with the results, I joined Vanessa for lunch.

Afterwards, we drove in Vanessa's car to a local gallery where a visiting exhibition of popular landscape artists was on show. We called in at the garden centre on the way home, purchasing a few shrubs to replace those that had perished during the harsh winter. The remainder of the afternoon was spent with spade in hand, moving things around and planting what we'd bought.

When alone, I used the laptop to double-check the tracking system. It provided a complete breakdown of the car's journey, confirming its operation to my complete satisfaction.

Vanessa cooked up a reasonable curry and I tolerated watching the X-Factor to pass away the evening. My wife's phone remained thankfully silent, her lover obviously having other things to do or perhaps he had decided not to keep texting her when I was around. I found her duplicity hard to swallow but still harboured hopes that the affair would founder and we could put the unsavoury episode behind us.

"Are you happy?" I asked her

"What do you mean?"

"With life, everything, us?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"We seem to be somewhat in limbo."

"What do you expect when you're away all week?" she replied bitterly.

"I know that. It wasn't what I was asking."

"Is there a problem, Pete? Is there something you want to talk to me about?"

"Nothing specific, but if there was a problem, you'd tell me wouldn't you?"

Vanessa pondered the question and then nodded. "Of course I would."

With another opportunity missed, it appeared Vanessa was happy to maintain the illusory separation between our supposed domestic harmony and the alternate life she led. I felt afraid to confront her with the truth for fear she'd choose to abandon me in favour of Donald. Whilst she remained ignorant of my knowledge, there remained the distinct possibility that our relationship could survive. I felt enough love for Vanessa that this outcome was desirable above all others.