The Utility Room

I waited till we were on the M23 before confronting her. I didn't want to give her time to compose her thoughts.

"Open the glovebox, there's something in there for you."

"I can only see the movie camera."

"That's right. You had nothing when I married you Sammi, and I gave you everything. A house, the new kitchen you wanted, and you keep everything you earn at the hotel."

She looked worried.

"So now, I'll demonstrate how I feel about you. Press Play."

She did and stared aghast as the movie showed her going through her repertoire with James and Richard. Which would she think was worse? Confess it was a moment of madness? Or admit she'd been doing it for years?

"Unfortunately for you, those guys are managers at my latest client's firm. They were bragging about how much fun they had, fucking you at your hotel."

"I didn't know you knew them."

"Well, that's stating the obvious. It's clear from your lack of underwear, that you've done all this stuff before. I understand your colleague, May, offers the same services. I even know how much you got paid for that performance, though God knows where you put it all."

I honestly did not think Sammi could surprise me further. But she did. She was completely cool and just gave up gracefully. Though I had no doubt she still harboured faint hopes of retrieving her stash.

"I learned all that 'stuff' as you call it, soon after college. My mum was forced into prostitution to pay off debts after my dad ran off. But she found out a teenager's orifices could make us even more money. I had dozens of blokes before you."

At first I thought she was brave to admit so much. Then again, she'd be betting I wouldn't bring all this up in a divorce court anyway. Revelations of her past would make me look stupid. She might even try to imply I knew all about it before I married her. I decided to change the subject.

"The thing I don't know is how long you've been on the game. That doesn't look like a one-off."

"Soon after I got the job." she confessed. "I only loved you, I still do. I didn't love any of them. It was just sex."

"It was sex for money, which you didn't even need. I gave you everything."

"That was the reason though. I wanted to achieve something for myself."

"Becoming a prostitute is an achievement? I don't get it. You keep all your income from the hotel job. Doesn't that give you some freedom?"

"It's not enough!" she shouted.

"Christ, how much do you need? Or do you mean you don't get enough sex?"

"I get more than enough sex thank you! I mean, I need more money!"

This was a real revelation. She didn't do much with her salary anyway.

"Why?"

"I can't tell you."

"Really. Would you tell all if it helped your case in a divorce court?"

"Do you want a divorce?"

"You're damn right I do!"

"Well there are still things about me you don't know. Divorcing me may be what I deserve, but I don't want to tell you why I wanted the money."

A police officer met us at the ruins of my house.

"Sorry you have to come back to this, sir. The Fire Brigade say someone ransacked the downstairs, then doused petrol throughout, probably to cover their tracks. Apparently, they turned on the gas before setting light to the place, and there were cans of paint strewn about. They must have been quick getting away; it went up like a bomb."

"Jesus! Do you have any idea how they got in?"

"Probably came up that little lane running along the back, over the fence, and through the window of your utility room. After that it was relatively easy to break into the kitchen, and no-one would have heard."

I looked at Sammi, accusingly.

"Right."

"The fire was reported by the Marstons next door, about four a.m. They heard a 'crump' noise which woke them. That would have been the gas. But your closed heavy curtains, behind double glazing, would have muffled the sound. It was already too far gone by the time the windows gave out."

Sure enough, Sammi picked her way through to what had once been her utility room. It had gone. Nearly everything had. She could hardly ask if there was any trace of thousands of pounds, but the disappointment on her face was a giveaway. Long ago I had over-insured the house and all the contents, new for old. The insurance company had photos of my first editions but they would never look for them. It's not as if I'd be reporting them stolen. And the burnt second hand books were unrecognisable.

Sammi and I went to a nearby coffee shop to give the firemen and police time to finish their investigations.

"I think you set this up." she accused.

"Really? I discover you've been whoring at the Excelsior, and decide to burn my house down as a punishment? How does that work?"

"You said it yourself; burn 'my' house down. It's yours, and you'll get all the insurance. And you made sure the Brighton house was in your name too. It seems rather convenient for this one to go up in flames, just after you'd said it would be mine."

"Interesting theory, but I lost all my precious books; they can't be replaced. From day one, you lie about what time you finish work, giving you an extra hour for your whoring. You contribute nothing financially to this marriage, and let me pay for a new kitchen and utility room. Exactly which one of the two properties do you think you deserve? And, more importantly, which one do you think a divorce judge would give you?"

"OK, You'll win in the divorce court."

"Anyway, why would I burn the place? I could just use that movie evidence to show you were the guilty party."

"Are you going to?"

"Which would you prefer? Surely it would be better if this never goes to court. We should just go for two years separation and do it quietly."

"We should?"

"Think about it. In court I show that movie. You get your name in the papers, the hotel denies any involvement, and you lose your job. So does May, I imagine. You'd have to start all over again. But, if we do this quietly, my evidence never sees the light of day. You keep your job ... both jobs to be precise. You're a good-looking woman, you'll soon be rich enough to buy your own place."

"Perhaps you're right. So, what do I get?"

"Keep the money in your bank, plus any cash you made. And I'll give you one third of the insurance payout on the house, but not on the contents."

"Sounds fair."

"But in return, you have to tell me why you did it."

"I suppose I may as well. I lied about my mum being dead. She's alive, and living in a bed-sit near King's Cross station. I wanted to get a better place for her. She's too old to still be on the game."

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped her."

"You still don't get it do you? I wanted to do it myself. She never forced me to go with all those men; I did it to help her. And I still want to help; I love her."

Once the insurance company paid up, I took a week off work and sorted out the Brighton house. I recreated my library of first editions but didn't see the need for a utility room. Flush with cash from the house and contents insurance, I browsed Brighton's bookshops to expand my collection. There was enough left over for a small villa in Spain.

Sammi and I agreed to have no contact, and she got accommodation at the hotel. After our two years was up, we went to the courts and got our divorce. But three months after that, I did wonder if perhaps I'd been too generous with her. She could afford a lot with her bank account, new earnings, and the compensation payment I'd shared. And what got me thinking that, was returning to my Brighton house from a business trip.

It had been burned to the ground.