The conwoman preying on lonely hearts
Len
Monday 24th September 2007
The advert in the lonely hearts column jumped out at me.
'Lovely, bubbly, attractive blonde widow, 50, seeking mature gents 60-70 for caring friendships and maybe more.'
This lady sounded nice. I wondered if she'd be interested in me?
I'd never seen myself as the kind of bloke who answered personal ads but then, I hadn't banked on spending my retirement alone either. It'd been nine years since my wife, Anne, 59, had died from lymphoma cancer. With the support of my two daughters and the distraction of my joinery business I'd struggled on and four years later I'd retired.
I'd filled my days with fishing, golf and a trip to Australia. But now, I was lonely. Could this lady bring me some happiness?
'Worth a go,' I told myself.
I phoned the number and left a message. Days turned into weeks and I received no reply. Then one morning, four months on, my mobile bleeped.
'Hi, it's Louise, from the personal ads. Sorry I didn't reply sooner. I've been nursing a sick relative.'
I was chuffed she'd finally responded.
Over those following days the texts pinged back and forth. Louise Upritchard lived 45 miles away in Godstone, Surrey. She told me that she juggled two part time secretarial jobs, one at a local solicitors firm, the other at Uckfield Police Station.
'You lead a busy life,' I texted her.
She told me how she'd lost her husband six years earlier in a car crash.
'My stepchildren are contesting his will,' she said. 'I can't sell our house and money's tight.'
On top of that she was saving up to pay for a gynaecological operation. She was having a rough time.
After three weeks Louise phoned for the first time. It seemed like I was chatting to an old friend.
'Why don't we meet up?' I asked her.
'I'm not feeling well enough,' she said. 'When I've had my operation I'd love to.'
I wasn't rude enough to ask her why she needed the operation. But I couldn't help wondering if there was something I could do to help her. Turns out there was.
'Would you be able to lend me the £1,200 for my operation,' she asked after we'd known each other a month.
At first I was taken aback. That was a lot of money and I'd never even met the woman. Then again, I wasn't short of a bob or two - and I had wanted to help out.
'OK,' I agreed.
'Thank you,' she gushed. 'I can't tell you how grateful I am.'
Louise insisted she'd drive to Eastbourne to collect the money but as she didn't know the area we agreed to meet in Tesco car park.
'I'm driving a blue Honda,' she told me.
As I pulled up I spotted a voluptuous, blonde.
'Louise?' I called out.
'Len,' she grinned back.
As I walked over I wasn't disappointed. Louise was dressed smartly in dark trousers and a blouse. Her long, blonde hair was pulled back in a tidy bun and her face was prettily made up.
'Fancy a coffee?' I asked.
'Love to,' she replied.
Back at my house I handed over the money and we sat and chatted.
Louise confessed she was 48, not 50.
'Sorry I lied,' she giggled. 'I prefer mature men and I thought it sounded better.'
'Don't be sorry,' I laughed.
I wasn't. As she got up to leave she gave me a peck on the cheek and a handwritten IOU slip.
'As soon as I've recovered we'll go on a date,' she said.
I couldn't wait.
The following week Louise was admitted to the local Bupa hospital but, in the weeks that followed, her recovery was slow.
'My blood pressure is up,' she'd text me. Or… 'I've got an infection'.
Then, a month after her op, her texts started to get a little raunchy.
'I'm missing you,' she texted. 'I'm feeling better. I'd love to stay over.'
Wow! It was enough to send my own blood pressure sky high. Then, out of the blue, she asked for another loan.
'Can you lend me £5,000 for a deposit on a house?' she texted.
This time I decided it was far too much money. I wanted to break the news face to face so I arranged to meet her in a pub car park in Nutley, East Sussex. Louise must have thought I was going to hand over the cash.
'You won't be disappointed,' she texted. 'I'll be wearing stockings and no knickers.'
I almost dropped my phone when I read that one.
But I was looking for a meaningful relationship, not cheap thrills for cash. When I pulled up Louise tottered over on her high heels. She looked tarty in a mini skirt and low cut blouse.
'Let's go for a walk in the woods,' she giggled.
'Now look here, Louise,' I said. 'I'm not lending you the money.'
'What?' she snapped.
For a moment I thought she was going to get angry but she just took a deep breath.
'I understand,' she said.
But as I drove home she texted and asked if I'd lend her £1,000 instead. Now I know you'll think I'm mad but I agreed and, the following week, I invited Louise over to my house to give her the money. She gave me another IOU slip, then got up to leave.
'I've booked into the Chatsworth Hotel in Eastbourne,' she said. 'I'll freshen up and come back.'
Only she didn't come back, did she? Of course she didn't. I'd been taken for a mug.
To rub salt into the wound, a couple of days later, I even bumped into Louise on Eastbourne's promenade with a man.
'He's my brother,' she whispered out of his earshot. 'Any chance you could pay my hotel bill?'
She had more front than the promenade. Shaking my head, I walked away stunned. She must have thought I was an utter fool but I'd show her.
First I got my solicitor to do a search on her house. Turns out it belonged to someone else and she was renting it. Then I went to Uckfield police station and discovered she'd never worked there. Finally, I paid a private detective £200 to dig up some dirt. I was gripped.
Louise's real name was Lorraine Upritchard. She was married and had several aliases including Smythe and Keogh, and she held several driving licences in different names.
'She's a pro,' I gasped to myself.
How many other men had she conned?
Louise - or should I say Lorraine's - Honda was registered in a man's name.
I went straight to the police.
'Will you set up another meeting with her?' the officer asked me.
I hadn't heard from Lorraine in weeks but as soon as I sent her a text asking she responded in her usual fashion.
'Can you lend me £1,700?' she replied.
'OK,' I texted back.
A couple of days later I arranged to meet her in Tesco's car park.
'We'll be there,' the police promised.
I'm not sure if Lorraine smelt a rat but when the big day arrived she texted to say she'd rather meet at mine. The police headed over to mine, planning to be upstairs when Lorraine arrived. Then she changed her plans again.
'Let's meet in Asda car park,' she said.
Once again I let the police know the new rendezvous.
'We're on our way,' the officer promised.
Unfortunately I was stuck in traffic. Lorraine texted to say she'd arrived and was wearing a red top. I passed on the information to the police.
'We've spotted her,' the officer told me. 'We're going to make the arrest.'
By the time I swung into the car park there was no sign of Lorraine or the police. I'd missed the whole thing.
The next day Lorraine was charged with two counts of deception and bailed. In July this year, at Lewes Crown Court, East Sussex, she pleaded guilty to two counts of deception. I watched from the public gallery. The court heard that Lorraine had conned numerous other men. She'd been placing lonely hearts adverts for two years and kept a list of men's names in a pink folder, marking victims with a drawing of a smiley face. Police guessed she'd pocketed up to £100,000 from the scam.
She was given an 18 month community order and told her she'd have to pay the £2,200 she owed me as compensation. She met my gaze across the courtroom.
'I will,' she mouthed.
Yeah, right! And I'm the King of England.
There were more shocks when we left court. Lorraine walked straight into the arms of another older man. God only knows what she's told him but he seemed more interested in her mini skirt than her conviction for deception.
I later read in the papers that apparently sailor and widower Norman Boxhall, 66, is totally betwitched.
More fool him. That peroxide pirate will fleece him just like she did me. Open your eyes Norman. She a wicked, heartless woman who'll bleed you dry.
Check out these other love rat stories from the Pick Me Up archives:
Was my Brad lookalike cheating?
Punch up at the altar