PART 7 - FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES
Saturday PM.. the following day
After the events of the night before it actually felt good to get away from London. Uncle Steven had been quite a bit older than her father but still retained his youthful outlook on life. His great passion was clay pigeon shooting and when she visited he never missed an opportunity to challenge her to a match. Of course, even with unwieldy shotguns, she could have beaten him anytime but she always underplayed her shooting skills and more often than not she would end up paying for the round of drinks in the club bar following his victory. The range was very quiet, some idiot had lost his solid gold cigarette lighter and half the club was in a frenzy looking for it.
Blaam, went her shotgun and the clay pigeon disintegrated above their heads.
‘Good shot my dear. I see I am going to be on my best form to beat you today’ he said.
As the afternoon wore on she began to miss more and more targets and by the final round she needed one last hit to draw level.
‘Pull’ she shouted. The target soared above her head and she immediately had it in her sights. One pull of the trigger now and she would be level. She hated doing it but she jerked her aim slightly to the left. The shotgun roared but the pigeon remained in flight.
‘Bad luck my dear, the drinks are on you’ he beamed.
‘Okay uncle, you stay here and finish up and I’ll get them in’ she conceded.
She had walked half way back to the clubhouse when it happened. She had seen something glittering in the grass and immediately leant over to pick it up. Blaam went the gun and she dived for cover. She looked to where the shot had come from and there was Uncle Steven shotgun in hand as white as a sheet. He dropped the gun and ran over to her.
‘My god, are you all right? I don’t know what happened. I was just about to unload the damned thing and my finger slipped. Thank heavens you’re all right ‘. He still looked dazed and the realisation of what had happened caused his next words to be spoken very slowly and very quietly ‘I could have killed you’.
She looked at the cigarette lighter which had just saved her life. ‘And you damned near did’ she thought to herself.
MONDAY LUNCHTIME... The following week.
It had been quite a weekend.
Uncle Steven had spent the rest of the weekend apologising for the accident. In all his
years as a shooter he’d never known anything like it he kept repeating. By the time
she had left to return to London he was in a worse state than she had been when the lead
shot had narrowly avoided her head. Anyway that was all behind her now she hoped. This
lunchtime she had hurriedly arranged a meeting with Amanda for their shopping trip.
She sat in the crowded wine bar fending off the attentions of several men in business suits before Amanda arrived. If any of them had have been familiar with the fashion industry they may have half recognised her, but in her other profession anyone who had seen her face would very likely be dead. When Amanda finally arrived she made her usual timid entrance dressed in an unflattering knee length skirt.
‘I’m sorry I am late but it was such short notice I’d forgotten I’d also arranged to meet Brandon at the same time.
‘Who is Brandon?.
‘My boyfriend. I must have told you about Brandon he is just so handsome. He’s the sophisticated one, owns his own advertising agency. He’s so looking forward to meeting you, you being a model and all'.
She had to smile to herself. Just what a sophisticated and handsome advertising executive would see in Amanda she couldn’t understand. Maybe she was a changed woman in his presence. She would certainly be a changed woman after their foray into the smarter fashion shops of London if she had her way.
‘Here he is now’.
She swung round on her stool ready to greet Amanda’s ‘young man’. She was just about to say ‘Pleased to meet you’ when the words stuck in her throat. For when she tuned round on her stool the last person she expected to see was her contact, her organiser in the contract killing market.
TO BE CONTINUED
