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The young man fidgeted in his chair, glaring at nothing in particular through the tall and narrow windows. Outside, a broad expanse of lawn, flower beds, tall deciduous trees and a single marble statue in this very private, totally secure semi-park. One entire block was surrounded by a brick wall some nine feet in height enclosing four sprawling houses, the one in which he was seated standing aloof at one end of the rectangle, the other three clustered together at the other end of the rectangular compound. "It will never work," he finally said, returning his scowl to the unmoving figure seated behind the desk. "If you do what you're told, it will. If you don't try to be too clever, it will. If your ego doesn't run away with you again, if you can just control yourself long enough to do exactly what you're told, it will." The speaker paused for a long moment, eyes never leaving the handsome if vacuous face again scowling at the blameless view outside, then spoke once more. "Of course, if you really believe you're just not up to it, I can always find someone else, you know. But then the flow of funds for your various caprices and habits will dry up at once." The speaker shuddered slightly as if at the very thought of such caprices and habits. At that, this bald threat to his lifestyle, the young man made a concerted effort to gird his loins, as it were, and mustered a blazing smile to go along with his suddenly stiffened backbone. His audience was obviously unimpressed, the only response a tight smile, bordering a sneer. Still, the matter was concluded. "Good. When I hear from you that the job is done -- and don't disabuse yourself that you might fool me about that --" The young man flapped both hands at the speaker, vigorously denying the possibility of such a failure, raising an even more obvious sneer on the face of the only other person in the quiet room. "-- then the funds will be transferred at once to the agreed-upon destination. I think even you should be able manage the support of your disgusting debaucheries for what's left of your miserable life." The young man tried to look insulted and put-upon, but failed to bring it off with any conviction. The prospect of such an unexpected amount of money would dazzle anyone, and he knew when to keep quiet. The basilisk stare of the other person continued to blaze on his face, making it extremely difficult to hold his place, to appear nonchalant and manly. Any person with more perspicacity than the rattled young man himself would have seen the ill-hidden glee behind those watchful eyes, the virtual feral enjoyment of a hungry tabby who had indeed caught her mouse, one who truly enjoyed the chase more than the kill. "And, of course," the sibilant voice continued, "on top of the money, you will have the wretched, ungrateful girl all to yourself, totally dependent upon your mercy and goodness for her very survival." The words mercy and goodness were grated out in a tone unmistakable. He had the grace to jerk away from that voice, recognizing the undisguised malice and venom in those two words. He struggled to understand the reason behind the hate in this person. "But how can you --" And his ill-considered question shut off abruptly when the eyes in the pale face before him virtually impaled him. He was not a brave man. And that was the end of it. One long, imperious finger pointed to the door in the far end of the book-lined room. When the young man opened his mouth to speak, the other hand rose from the surface of the desk, palm extended towards him. The dismissing finger jabbed once again in the direction of the door, the other hand making a shooing motion. He was dismissed. Long after he finally made his departure, the rigid figure sat at the heavy desk, her eyes glazed, staring blindly at nothing, utterly motionless with the exception of the incessant grinding and twisting of an innocent handkerchief in her lap, one that eventually ripped asunder, the sound startling her enough to bring her back from whatever scene of revenge and destruction her hate had taken her. After a while she blinked once, twice. The lines cleared from her cheeks, her deep-set dark eyes refocused, and she made ready to face the outside world in her usual guise. She stood, and after a quick glance around, picked up her handbag, gloves and coat, leaving by the mullioned French doors to the tiled side patio, then to the dark sedan parked and waiting under the portico nearby. The driver helped her into the rear seat, re-entered the car, and drove straight to the guarded gate where he was waved through to the outside world without apparent interest or comment as a light rain began to fall. The deed was done. Wheels were in motion, and until it was over she would have to be very, very careful to protect herself from suspicion. No one must ever suspect either of them had anything to do with it. But the other one -- ah, all would look to her with unshakable conviction that she was surely responsible. What is it they say? Two birds with one stone? The woman's eyes blazed and a grim smile tightened her lips. Had she seen the object of her scorn at that moment, watching from the cover of some shrubbery, she might have felt a momentary frisson of concern . . . missed something, perhaps? The wipers on the heavy car began to sweep away at the increasing drizzle, but the woman heard nothing, saw nothing. |