fine,â said Montignac. âIâll see to that.â
âRight. Good,â said Alexander. âI noticed that Raymond fellow mooching around outside in the garden. Youâd think heâd be taking care of her today rather than playing with the flowers.â
âI can take care of her,â said Montignac in a tone which made it clear to his friend that his presence was no longer required. After a few moments he heard the door close behind him and he turned around with a sigh, allowing his body to relax for a moment, glad to be left alone. In the corner he noticed a suit jacket that one of the men had left behind and stared at it, narrowing his eyes as he identified a bulge in the inner pocket. He walked over at a steady pace to where it lay, reached inside and withdrew a wallet. Opening it he saw a clutch of twenty-pound notes and selected five, placing them in the heel of his shoe, before returning the wallet to the jacket and leaving the room, closing and locking the door behind him.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
RAYMOND DAVIS STOOD IN the grounds of Leyville, examining the different breeds of roses that were planted outside the living-room bay windows. His parents had been keen gardeners and had passed their passion for all things horticultural down to him, and he had been growing new strains of roses in the grounds of his own home a few miles to the east of Leyville for several years. One particular variety, a deep pink, yellow-striped Cabana Hybrid Tea with ovoid buds, had taken him the best part of four summers to perfect but it was doing excellently now and a cutting from it, planted in the flower beds here, had taken root and was beginning to prosper. He touched the petals of the flower, stroking them tenderly as he might a sleeping cat, and recalled how Stella had decided to plant the cutting close to the house so that their scent might rise up when the roses had grown sufficiently and infiltrate the atmosphere of her fatherâs bedroom, which was situated just above. Remembering this made him step back a little and he wandered down the steps into the garden proper. He didnât want to seem macabre but his eyes plotted a trajectory of their own and he found himself staring at the large bay windows of Peter Montignacâs room some twenty feet above. They were locked now and the curtains were closed; they had remained so since his death.
Turning away he checked his watch and wondered why Stella had avoided him so completely today when he had hoped to be a source of comfort and support to her but she had spent most of her time with her cousin Owen instead, who Raymond only vaguely knew. They had been together for just over a year and he was keen for them to take the next step towards marriage but whenever the subject came up she dismissed it quickly and said they would talk of it another time. Their engagement had already been announced but Stella seemed to view that as something of no great importance. They had shared intimacies, however, and in a moment of weakness she had confided in him that she had been hurt before and that he should forgive her if she seemed difficult to grow close to.
It had been his intention recently to take Stella out to dinner and make a more formal proposal, setting a date in their diaries for the nuptials; in fact he had gone to Peter Montignac only a week earlier and asked for his approval, which he had grudgingly given. However, events had seen to it that the proposal could not take place for the moment and he wondered about the etiquette of such a thing, how long one was supposed to wait after the death of a prospective brideâs parent before asking for her hand.
He turned to step back inside and looked up again towards the bedroom window where he saw the curtains twitch and suddenly open, followed by the windows themselves, and a shadow stepping away. He shivered, the unmistakable feeling of being watched.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
THE GUESTS
âRight. Good,â said Alexander. âI noticed that Raymond fellow mooching around outside in the garden. Youâd think heâd be taking care of her today rather than playing with the flowers.â
âI can take care of her,â said Montignac in a tone which made it clear to his friend that his presence was no longer required. After a few moments he heard the door close behind him and he turned around with a sigh, allowing his body to relax for a moment, glad to be left alone. In the corner he noticed a suit jacket that one of the men had left behind and stared at it, narrowing his eyes as he identified a bulge in the inner pocket. He walked over at a steady pace to where it lay, reached inside and withdrew a wallet. Opening it he saw a clutch of twenty-pound notes and selected five, placing them in the heel of his shoe, before returning the wallet to the jacket and leaving the room, closing and locking the door behind him.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
RAYMOND DAVIS STOOD IN the grounds of Leyville, examining the different breeds of roses that were planted outside the living-room bay windows. His parents had been keen gardeners and had passed their passion for all things horticultural down to him, and he had been growing new strains of roses in the grounds of his own home a few miles to the east of Leyville for several years. One particular variety, a deep pink, yellow-striped Cabana Hybrid Tea with ovoid buds, had taken him the best part of four summers to perfect but it was doing excellently now and a cutting from it, planted in the flower beds here, had taken root and was beginning to prosper. He touched the petals of the flower, stroking them tenderly as he might a sleeping cat, and recalled how Stella had decided to plant the cutting close to the house so that their scent might rise up when the roses had grown sufficiently and infiltrate the atmosphere of her fatherâs bedroom, which was situated just above. Remembering this made him step back a little and he wandered down the steps into the garden proper. He didnât want to seem macabre but his eyes plotted a trajectory of their own and he found himself staring at the large bay windows of Peter Montignacâs room some twenty feet above. They were locked now and the curtains were closed; they had remained so since his death.
Turning away he checked his watch and wondered why Stella had avoided him so completely today when he had hoped to be a source of comfort and support to her but she had spent most of her time with her cousin Owen instead, who Raymond only vaguely knew. They had been together for just over a year and he was keen for them to take the next step towards marriage but whenever the subject came up she dismissed it quickly and said they would talk of it another time. Their engagement had already been announced but Stella seemed to view that as something of no great importance. They had shared intimacies, however, and in a moment of weakness she had confided in him that she had been hurt before and that he should forgive her if she seemed difficult to grow close to.
It had been his intention recently to take Stella out to dinner and make a more formal proposal, setting a date in their diaries for the nuptials; in fact he had gone to Peter Montignac only a week earlier and asked for his approval, which he had grudgingly given. However, events had seen to it that the proposal could not take place for the moment and he wondered about the etiquette of such a thing, how long one was supposed to wait after the death of a prospective brideâs parent before asking for her hand.
He turned to step back inside and looked up again towards the bedroom window where he saw the curtains twitch and suddenly open, followed by the windows themselves, and a shadow stepping away. He shivered, the unmistakable feeling of being watched.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
THE GUESTS
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