*
Walther studied the Ordnance Survey Map with a microscope; he had moored the boat to a muddy bank a few minutes earlier and darkness had begun to fall. Susan had gone on deck for a look around and was surprised when he immediately called her back in.
“Why?” She had asked.
“I'm not sure yet.” He peered through binoculars out through the cabin window at a house half way up the gently sloping valley.
“I think that’s it.” He said.
“What? The house? Do you mean we've found it already?” Susan was incredulous.
“Yes, it was easier than I'd thought, there it is.” They both fell silent for a moment, Susan bit her lip as she used to when she was nervous. Walther resumed his study of the map,
“Now we must carefully consider our next move.”
Eve, on the prowl, High Wycombe
Eve had found him drinking in a bar in High Wycombe. She chatted to him, established that he was staying alone in his 'second home',
“I'm in the jewellery business...” It sounded like a boast, “...diamonds and such...” It was, “...are a girls best friend the saying goes.” She smiled at his lack of charm and let him continue,
“The wife n kids are at home in leafy Leamington Spa, much easier to commute into town from here though, Monday to Thursday you'll always find me in my little pad...” He sniggered, “...if you ever want to drop by-” She interrupted him,
“Why not now?...” She made the suggestion very suggestive, “...I'd love to see your little pad.” They finished their drinks and walked the short distance to his flat, an uninspiring first floor conversion, he continued to do most of the talking,
“Doesn't look much on the outside, I'll grant you...” He put the key in the door, “...but wait till you see what I've done with the place.” He showed her in, took her jacket, hung it in the hallway next to his own and led her into the living room. She was, slightly impressed, and said so,
“I like what you've done.” He had recreated the likeness of a 'gentleman's study', with comfortable leather chairs, bookcases, a drinks cabinet and the long wall covered with pictures.
The self-satisfied gentleman gestured proudly towards his collection of fine art prints, his voice loud and pompous,
“Of course they're not the originals...” He laughed absurdly, “...they're all in museums...” this was apparently humorous, so Eve obliged him with a smile, “...but these are the finest prints money can buy...” He was very pleased with himself and his red cheeks bloomed in evidence, “...and what I've spent on the frames!” Eve looked at them, her inner fury barely in check.
He turned to fix drinks.
She joined him smiled, and offered,
“I make a very good Manhattan, or so I've been told.” He nodded, not knowing if he had the ingredients,
“Go ahead, by all means, use whatever-”
“I'll need the kitchen...” She strolled across the room holding a bottle of bourbon, “...through here?...” she pointed to a likely door, “...why don't you put on something more comfortable while I make drinks?” He nodded again, pointed to another door,
“Back in a jiffy!” He disappeared, Eve entered the kitchen. The cooker appeared unused, but there was a fine knife rack next to it, she selected the best for the job and returned to the living room. In seconds she had crushed a little pill into his glass and added the bourbon. He returned eager and expectant, she pressed the glass into his hand,
“You don't have the ingredients...” raised it to his lips, “...I prefer it neat anyway...” raised hers and chinked, “...down the hatch...” she downed hers in one, he did the same. Game over.
Eve slipped away from the corpse, cleaned the knife and then showered, she always believed in making a quick getaway for if she had any fear at all, it was of capture, her memories of medieval incarceration too vivid for her to forget.
She dressed looking at the wall gallery, pride of place went to Rubens' 'The Mantuan circle of friends' , it caused her to pause,
“Friends...” She sneered at the concept, “... I never met anyone who didn't want something in return for their so-called friendship...” She gazed up at the Baroque masterpiece hanging before her, “...they always have a reason why they want to be your friend, be it for sex, or for your money or for your influence...” The painting remained unmoved by her bitter rant, “...or they want you simply so that no one else can have you...” She turned away from the painting, “...friends are just people who haven't betrayed you yet...” The magnificent painting looked down at her, “...in this world, this life...” she made for the door, “...daggers are a girls best friend.”