The Lethal Encounter

by Amy Alexander

  THE LETHAL ENCOUNTER

  When Katie McGovern finally put her heavy briefcase down on the immaculately presented king size bed, she realised how tired she actually was. She raised her hands above her head and stretched, arching her back to try and relieve some of the tension that had built up over three days of intense meetings with her new client. She bent sideways and rolled her head around, feeling the knot of pressure just beneath her shoulder blades. God, she could do with a good massage. Maybe she should treat herself at that tranquil looking spa downstairs – now that would be a good way to start the evening. She shrugged off her jacket and placed it on the chair and then, out of habit more than anything else, switched on the TV using the remote control beside the bed.

  Flicking through the channels she settled on MTV, pausing for a moment to look at the video currently playing, before moving over to the large windows. Turning the latch, and pushing open the doors, she stepped out onto the small balcony and leant on the iron balustrade.

  As always, the sight that greeted her filled her with an almost absurd sense of happiness. The bay of Cannes was stretched out in front of her and the bustling Croissette was starting to fill up with evening traffic. This was one of her favourite views in Europe (not that she knew that many) and it never failed to fill her with a sense of absurd hope and happiness. She scanned the sea, noticing that the large cruise liner that had moored there overnight had left with its load of American tourists and its place had been taken by a couple of luxury boats of the Russian oligarch variety. She could just make out the bustle of activity on their decks as the passengers no doubt supped expensive cocktails prior to boarding their landing craft for another lavish night out in one of Cannes' many expensive restaurants and then later in the Palm Casino.

  She switched her attention to the beaches, with their colourful placards announcing the rows of beachside restaurants. She could see the remaining people, still lounging on their comfy beds and soaking up the last rays of the Mediterranean sun as it slowly slipped down towards the hills to the west of Cannes. There was already a number of mainly older people studying the menu boards and discussing the merits of moules marinières and steak tartare. Kate felt her stomach tighten and she suddenly realised that she had not eaten since breakfast. Her taste buds twitched in anticipation and she turned to go back into the room. A quick glance at her watch showed she had ample time to shower and dress before she, too, joined the throng milling to and fro across the road.

  She reached for the buttons on the side of her skirt and slid the garment off, walking across the room to deposit her ear rings and necklace on the bedside table as she did so. Her shirt followed and, still in her underwear, she walked into the bathroom. The luxuriously appointed room with its huge bath and walk in shower suited Katie's tastes and, as she reached in to turn on the water, she noted with appreciation that the small lotion bottles had been lovingly refilled by room service earlier.

  She turned to the mirror and removed her lingerie, stopping only momentarily to check out her reflection. Due to her travels, she had not managed to exercise for several days and, in those circumstances, she always felt as though her whole body was sagging and droopy. Turning sideways, she sucked in her stomach and straightened her back, shaking her medium long dark brown hair behind her. She noted with no small sense of satisfaction that her breasts still remained perky, with the small brown nipples pointing reassuringly upwards.

  Katie smiled to herself when she remembered how she had wished her breasts were larger growing up in that small provincial town in the Midlands where the size of a girl's boobs seemed to be the measure of her personality and attractiveness. How times and age change perceptions because Katie was now definitely glad that her medium sized breasts were just that, rather than the larger variety that would just be starting their journey south.

  She turned to walk into the steaming shower and immediately felt the cascade of water surround her. She swivelled her face into the flow and rubbed her eyes before reaching out for the bottle of shower lotion, unscrewing the top and tipping a large amount onto the palm of her hand. Slowly she rubbed the mixture into her stomach and the rest of her body before turning to let the water play on her aching back.

  God that felt good! If there was one thing that Katie loved when travelling, it was to spend many hours under a boiling shower. The time she had spent hunched at that damn conference room table seemed to melt away as her brain cleared and her muscles relaxed. She turned this way and that, enjoying the feel of the water pounding down over her shoulders and body. She washed off the last of the soap and, regretfully, turned the taps off and stepped out of the shower cubicle. She reached for one of the big fluffy towels and pulled it towards her, gently patting her body dry. The steam from the shower had misted up the bathroom mirror and so she opened the door and moved into the room, walking once again towards the balcony door. Aware that she was naked and not particularly wanting to draw attention to herself (although that was not really possible unless there was an eagle eyed peeping tom on one of the bobbing yachts in the harbour), she wound the towel around her body and knotted it above her breasts.

  Turning back to open the wardrobe door, she surveyed her rapidly dwindling array of clothes and pulled out her last remaining blouse before laying it on the bed. She would wear that together with her jeans and a pair of older pumps.....the latter may not be too fashionable but she knew they were comfortable and tonight was about her, not about trying to impress someone else. Turning once again, she went to the chest of drawers to select underwear that joined the blouse on the bed.

  At that moment her phone rang and she went to retrieve it from her bag that was lying on the small desk next to the TV. She picked it up and checked the caller ID before putting the device up to her ear with a smile

  “Mum, hi,” she said.

  “Katie dear, where are you?” said her mother, “only your dad and I want to know when we are next going to see you.”

  “Oh mum.....I'm in France at the moment but will be back tomorrow. Why don't we make a date for the weekend?”

  “What on earth are you doing in France?” replied Katie's mother. “Another holiday, I suppose.”

  Katie sighed. Her parents had never really got to grips with their young daughter flying around the world - visiting places that neither of them had ever been to, or were likely to do so.

  “No mum, I'm here for work…..meeting new customers, things like that.”

  “Work? In France? Good gracious me,” her mother retorted. “Well anyway, Dad sends his love and give us a ring when you get back so we can arrange things.”

  “Will do…..love you,” said Katie before realising that the call had already been terminated. She pressed the red button on her mobile and stared momentarily at it before dropping it onto the bed. It would be good to get out of London for a day or so. Her parents had retired to a pretty cottage just outside Tunbridge Wells and the thought of some gentle walks and home cooking appealed hugely. She loved her parents dearly and, whilst she could never move back to actually live with them, sometimes the pressure of being their only child meant that she always made time to visit them whenever possible.

  Katie tugged the towel off and went back into the bathroom to retrieve some body lotion from the selection of small bottles by the sink. Unscrewing the cap she tipped some contents onto her hand and started to rub it in to her legs and arms. As she smoothed the cream into her skin her thoughts turned to her day. She felt that the four days of meetings had gone well with her new client who was based just along the coast from Cannes. She looked forward to implementing the plans she had presented to them and they had finally agreed to after many months of negotiation. As a sales executive for the big computer sof
tware Shire Electronics, she knew that securing the initial contract was only the start of a very long process that involved a multitude of other people in her organisation. Still, she felt pretty pleased with what she had achieved on this trip and knew that her immediate boss would be delighted.

  Katie did not perceive herself as a particularly ambitious person.....sure she liked the money and prestige the job gave her, but she knew in her heart of hearts that she just did not have the inner drive that drove some women (and most men) to the very tops of organisations and the pinnacles of financial success. Whilst she worked extremely hard, Katie also liked her relaxation time and was not addicted to her Blackberry, unlike some of her colleagues who could never turn their PDAs off - even when they got home. In truth, she knew that she yearned something else in her life, although she had yet to actually understand what that actually was.

  With a little sigh, she replaced the top on the lotion bottle and turned to the mirror to apply some light make up. A touch of powder, some mascara and lipstick and she was done, before returning to the bedroom. Reaching for her underwear, she slipped it on and then finished dressing as her stomach gave another growl of hunger. She quickly flung her phone into her small bag, checked she had her purse and room key and, with a final look round the room, she left.

  The grand, but slightly aging, lobby was bustling with people as she got out of the lift and made her way over to the concierge's desk to drop her key off. The man behind the desk smiled genially at her and Katie smiled back, quite liking the look of the young Frenchman.

  “Merci, Madame,” he said, “have a good evening.”

  “Merci,” responded Katie as she turned to walk out of the hotel onto the bustling Croissette.

  The air was still warm, despite the sun setting serenely down behind the hills and casting its pink haze across the sea. Katie crossed dual carriageway at the nearby crossing, carefully avoiding a manic motorbike that screamed at top speed along the road, and walked up onto the long promenade that stretched the length of the Cannes seafront. She stopped for a moment, debating which direction she should take, before making up her mind and turning left towards Le Plage Bleu, one of her favourite eating places.

  She took a deep breath of humid, salty air as it gently blew in off the sea - the very act of doing so re-energising her as she side-stepped out of the way of an enthusiastic roller blader. She arrived at the restaurant and stopped for a moment to study the menu that had been placed at the top of the steps leading down to the tables. Several things caught her eye and, her mind made up, she walked purposefully down the stairs, her eyes on the lookout for a waiter to greet her.

  Katie travelled a lot but she still had not got used to eating out alone. Quite often, when she was not out with clients, she resorted to room service at the hotel, but tonight she was determined to make the most of her last night in Cannes. She paused at the entrance to the restaurant and, with her head held high, attracted the attention of the Maitre D'.

  “Bonsoir Madame,” he said with a welcoming smile. “Une table pour une personne?”

  “Oui, merci,” responded Katie, before following the man to a perfect table on the far side of the dining area, right next to the beach with its colourful umbrellas and sun beds still out. He pulled the chair from under the table and settled her into the seat before picking up the serviette, shaking it out and laying it across her lap.

  “Le menu. Voulez-vous boire un verre?”

  “Un verre de champagne, s'il vous plait,” said Katie, appreciating the attention as she opened the large menu on the table in front of her.

  As the Maitre D’ disappeared into the back of the restaurant, Katie relaxed in her chair and observed the beach. The attendant was half way along the line of sun beds, systematically piling the mattresses up onto his muscular shoulder. Several of the beds in his path were still occupied with people enjoying the hazy heat of the early evening. Despite the oncoming dusk, it was still wonderfully warm and the gentle breeze that blew in from the sea brought with it both additional relief from the sultry heat and a great feeling of nostalgia for Katie. She had spent the first ten years of her life holidaying in the South of France – in a small secluded campsite set back in the hills – and she still vividly remembered the evenings with her parents and friends sitting together chatting and laughing. For some reason the remembrances made her feel sad and she couldn't understand why. Perhaps it was the passing of time and the growing importance of life as it gradually slipped by.

  She shook her head and smiled. Now was not the time to get morose! She had enjoyed a good few days, finalised a new deal and was now about to tuck into the best food and drink this particular restaurant could provide. She lowered her eyes to study the menu and, after a few mouth watering moments decided to go for the crevettes royales to start followed by a simple filet de boeuf with green salad. She moved onto to the wine list and picked out a half bottle of Cotes de Ventoux that she knew would go well with the meat. She would make the champagne last for the first course.

  Her waiter returned with the drink and she relayed her food order to him. Now, with the first sip of her drink gently fizzing inside her mouth she took time to study her fellow diners. The restaurant was quite large, with room for over sixty people, but only about half the tables were occupied. There was the usual selection of French retirees, dressed up for the night and inevitably stroking a small dog that was perched on the laps and every now and again poked its nose up to receive a titbit. Katie always wondered about that and what would happen if you tried the same thing in an English restaurant.

  There was also a couple of tables occupied by businessmen, jackets off, wine flowing and the hubbub of general chatter in several languages over the clank of cutlery and glasses. Katie strained to hear what was being said but could not follow the conversations to any great extent.

  Her first course arrived with a flourish and she picked up an enormous prawn from the elaborate arrangement and gently peeled off the skin before plunging the white meat first into the mayonnaise and then her mouth. The flesh was cold and tender and the flavour of the sauce a perfect compliment. Katie relished the food and then reached out to take another sip of her drink. This was going to be good.

  The sun had disappeared by the time Katie had finished the last piece of meat and pushed her plate to one side. Everything had been superb and she looked at the final half glass of red wine that remained on the table. She was feeling a bit lightheaded and very content as her plates were cleared away.

  “Un dessert, Madame?” said her waiter as he scraped the crumbs off the table cloth with a small metal spatula that he had produced with a flourish from his breast pocket.

  Katie contemplated the small selection of sweets on the menu card that the waiter had laid in front of her. Whilst they looked very tempting, she felt pretty full and, with a twinge of regret, she looked up at the man and smiled.

  “Non, merci. Un espresso s'il vous plait,” said Katie.

  At that moment she noticed some new arrivals, a group of four men, as they came down the steps from the Croissette and got shown to their table on the other side of the restaurant. Her attention was particularly piqued because she instantly recognised one of the men to be the chief executive of her company, Peter Jarvis. In her position, she did not come into daily contact with him at all and, in fact, was several rungs below in the organisation's hierarchy. But, like most employees, she knew of his reputation and thought that people at Shire held him in high esteem.

  She watched him as he confidently signalled the waiter over and discussed the menu and wine list with him, speaking, as far as Katie could see, fluent French.

  Peter Jarvis was pretty much a legend in the computer software industry. He had built Shire Electronics up from scratch into a major player on the world stage, employing hundreds of people around the globe. Katie worked for a small subsidiary specialising in security software for larger tech firms but felt the influence of the parent company in most things she did
. Although she had obviously seen the chief executive in the headquarters and company presentations, she had not met him face to face and never really had much business contact. In fact, she had never been so close to him as she was now and so took the opportunity to make a detailed scrutiny.

  Like most men in his position, Peter Jarvis oozed confidence and character. Although dressed casually, his linen jacket and trousers were obviously from a major name and his crisp white shirt was immaculately ironed. As she watched, he shrugged off the jacket from his broad shoulders and placed it on his chair. He then casually rolled up his sleeves to reveal quite thick forearms covered in a multitude of little blonde hairs to match his blonde/brown hair that looked suspiciously like it had been professionally streaked. Either that or he had spent a lot of time in the sun, because his skin was healthily bronzed and Katie could not help think that a man like him would spend a lot of time, and probably money, looking after his appearance. He was sitting at right angles to her and so she had a good look at his profile that boasted a classically straight nose leading down to a firm chin and sensual lips. He was, undoubtedly, very good looking in a kind of James Bond way and he probably knew it. Just looking around the restaurant, Katie could see women sneaking covert glances at him as he casually chatted with his dinner companions. Was he her type, she wondered, and came to the conclusion that he probably wasn't but he was just too good looking to ignore.