‘Have you ever visited?’
‘I’ve never been,’ Cindy murmured. ‘I thought Africa was all famine and jungles and people starving to death and getting eaten by flies.’
Melissa shrugged. ‘It probably is,’ she admitted. ‘But you don’t see a lot of that from the traveller’s bar at the Nairobi Hilton.’ She continued talking, saying many more things about the Nairobi Hilton, its swimming pool and other amenities, and how she had spent a glorious summer lounging there and working on her tan during a gap year.
Cindy wasn’t listening. She wasn’t even paying attention to the slurs in the woman’s speech anymore. Richard’s macabre suggestion still rang in her thoughts. It was more darkly exciting than any other proposition she had ever heard from him, and that list included quite a few deviant proposals that had thrilled her to the centre of her sex. She deliberately shut those salacious memories from her mind, not wanting to think about having kinky sex with Richard whilst she was sat facing his hateful wife.
It was easier and more comforting to think about practical matters, such as murder. The idea of removing Melissa from their lives would have been exciting on its own. Melissa was the one thing that stopped Cindy and Richard from openly showing their affection for each other in the office. Melissa stood between them living together and starting a family and being a normal couple. Removing Melissa would mean that their lives could be absolutely perfect. The prospect was so tempting Cindy couldn’t understand why they’d never discussed the idea before.
And, as Melissa continued to sip at her bourbon and talk about a five-star hotel on the other side of the world, and how wonderful it had been ten years ago, Cindy’s gaze fell on a block of knives by the side of the kitchen sink.
The kitchen itself was hatefully free of clutter.
Cindy couldn’t imagine living in a kitchen that didn’t have a jar of instant coffee permanently sat beside the kettle, or stains on one worktop or another, or takeaway packages sitting near the fridge, or empty wine bottles waiting beside the sink for her to remember to dump them in the recycling bin.
But Melissa’s kitchen was meticulous. The only clutter on the worktops came from items that were supposed to be in a kitchen or, at least, those items that were shown in the kitchens of the rich and fashionable. There was an espresso machine beside the hob, a rack of dark green wine bottles beside the fridge, and a block of chef-standard knives sitting like bold temptation by the side of the sink.
Cindy wrenched her gaze from the knives before her interest aroused suspicion. She couldn’t bring herself to stare at Melissa’s perfect face. The woman’s sultry pouting lips and sculpted cheekbones were another reminder that Melissa had more than any person deserved. Instead, Cindy found herself studying the glossy tiled walls, the easily wiped-down kitchen surfaces, and the shiny kitchen floor that would undoubtedly be so simple to mop clean of every last red stain.
‘What are you thinking?’ Melissa asked.
Cindy started.
‘You’re thinking he’d prefer Africa, right?’
Cindy swallowed and agreed. She guardedly supposed that Africa would be preferable for Richard. Melissa clearly intended to condense the entire continent of Africa into a month-long hibernation inside a luxury hotel with a traveller’s bar and a swimming pool. She supposed Richard was bound to find that more pleasing than the threat of seasickness, shuffleboard and drowning. But she also thought, if Richard was serious in his earlier proposition, the choice between Africa and a Caribbean cruise might become moot.
Melissa took the empty highball from Cindy’s hand. Their fingers touched briefly and Cindy was stung by an electric sliver of excitement. She glanced into Melissa’s face, saw the woman’s eyes grow momentarily wider, and then Melissa was turning away and returning to the fridge and her hidden bottle of Jack Daniel’s.
Cindy considered refusing another drink and then changed her mind. Melissa clearly drank like alcohol was a necessity. Cindy wondered if she was being foolish for thinking of killing Melissa when common sense told her that the woman’s drinking habits were undoubtedly going to put her in an early grave. Pragmatically, she reasoned that Melissa’s drinking habits were unlikely to put her in a grave by the end of the evening.
Thinking about it rationally she figured, if Cindy’s alcohol abuse continued, someone from her wealthy family would either force an intervention and spirit her off to a five-star detox clinic, or simply buy her a new liver and kidneys for Christmas and then have the organs slipped into her body the next time Melissa was visiting her regular cosmetic surgeon.
‘You can bunk up in the spare room,’ Melissa declared. She returned holding two freshly replenished glasses. Cindy could see that Melissa’s glass was almost full to the brim. The woman was no longer diluting her drink with ice cubes. Cindy was surprised the woman had bothered to transfer the drink from the bottle.
‘I’ll tell Dicky to make the bed up for you.’
‘If it’s no trouble,’ Cindy murmured.
Melissa put a hand on her arm. Again there was that sliver of electric excitement that made the light dusting of hairs on Cindy’s forearms bristle and stand erect.
‘It’s no trouble,’ Cindy promised. ‘It’s fun having you round here to chat with at last. Dicky talks so much about you that I’ve been longing to meet you and talk with the legendary Cindy myself. And it’s been fun too.’
Cindy smiled and said nothing.
There had been no conversation. It had just been Melissa talking and Cindy pretending to listen. She doubted Richard had said that much about her. He was a careful man and Cindy believed he would do nothing to raise his wealthy wife’s suspicions about the woman with whom he was car-sharing and having a clandestine affair. Sipping at her bourbon, and nodding a polite thank you in Melissa’s direction, she watched the woman glide smoothly towards the kitchen door.
‘DICKY!’ Melissa called. Her voice echoed shrilly from the kitchen tiles. ‘Dicky! Do you have a moment? We need you in here!’
Cindy’s gaze returned to the block of knives.
The uppermost one was clearly a cleaver and, although she could only see the handle, Cindy could imagine the blade was a highly-polished square of lethal, razor-edged steel. She had a brief mental picture of the cleaver in her hand, Melissa’s mouth open in a scream of protest, and then the shiny silver blade would be glossed with thick red liquid.
Melissa was shrieking in agonised bewilderment.
The blade was slicing down for a second time. It was whistling through the air, slapping wetly as it buried itself into the split flesh of Melissa’s throat. A third swipe silenced her screams of protest. A fourth cut through the remaining skin and allowed Melissa’s head to roll free of its body. There was an unspectacular scarlet fountain spurting from the stump of Melissa’s neck.
Then the body fell heavily to the floor.
Cindy trembled in her seat. She had thought the arousal Richard inspired in the bathroom had been powerful when he encouraged her to pee whilst he watched. But the aphrodisiac qualities of plotting Melissa’s demise were even more powerful. Cindy shifted on her seat, pointedly aware that there was a growing warmth and wetness in her loins.
‘I shouted him,’ Melissa said as she returned to the breakfast bar.
She took three attempts before finally managing to balance herself on her stool. There was a flutter of embarrassment on her face, as though she realised her lack of grace was a dead giveaway that she was drunk, but the embarrassed blushes had disappeared before they could become a fixed feature of her expression.
‘He’ll be down in a minute.’
Cindy continued to stare at the block of knives. The murder would be easy. She could be mopping and cleaning the kitchen whilst Richard dug a hole in the substantial grounds of Melissa Mansion. It was getting close to nine o’clock. The sun was finally sliding behind the horizon. Cindy figured, if she killed Melissa now, she and Richard would be able to share a shower to clean themselves up and be fucking
gratuitously by midnight. She could have a screaming orgasm and the cries of her satisfaction would resound freely from the palatial walls of the house.
The idea made her squeeze her thighs tight together.
She looked up at Melissa with sudden, predatory interest. Not thinking about what she was doing, not allowing herself to question her actions or fret that there might be consequences she hadn’t considered, Cindy reached out for the fat, stubby handle of the meat cleaver.
18
‘Cindy!’ Richard exclaimed. ‘You’re still here. Has Melissa kept you talking this long?’
‘Cindy’s staying the night,’ Melissa told him. ‘I wanted you to make up the bed in the spare room for her.’
Cindy carefully slid her fingers away from the tempting handle of the meat cleaver. She was sure that Melissa had not seen what she was doing. A part of her suspected that Richard might have noticed.
‘Make up the spare bed?’ Richard’s voice sounded plaintive. ‘Can’t Jack do that?’
‘Jacinta,’ Melissa corrected, absently, ‘is off this evening. You know she doesn’t work Friday nights.’
From Melissa’s tone of her voice, Cindy guessed that Jacinta was the overworked and underpaid Polish housemaid who clearly did all those chores that were beyond the abilities of Melissa. Cindy had never met Jacinta, and suspected she never would, but she felt a rush of sympathy for the poor woman who had to endure Melissa’s demanding worthlessness. She guessed if Jacinta had been in the kitchen and privy to her thoughts, the housemaid would probably have been encouraging Cindy to take the meat cleaver and put it to good use.
‘The lazy Polack bitch doesn’t work most nights,’ Richard grunted. ‘Why isn’t she here? And why doesn’t she keep a bed made up in the spare room? What’s the point of having a spare bed in there if it’s never made up when needed?’
Cindy’s gaze was drawn back to the block of knives. If she reached for one now, she wondered if Richard would hold his wife down so they could get rid of her in the most efficient fashion. With Richard holding her there would be no hope of Melissa running or fighting back or raising the alarm.
Melissa pouted at her husband from behind her glass of bourbon. ‘Come on, Dicky,’ she coaxed. ‘Be a good boy and make up the spare bed for Cindy here. We’re having a really good girls’ talk together. This is the best fun I’ve had in simply ages and I’ve already decided that Cindy is definitely coming to your birthday party next weekend.’
Cindy acknowledged this new information with a blink.
‘Are you still hiding the bourbon in the fridge?’ Richard sounded tired.
‘It’s not hidden,’ Melissa protested. ‘It just tastes better when it’s cold.’
‘Tastes irresistible,’ he muttered, trudging past her. Opening the door, snatching the bottle and pouring himself a generous drink, he took a desperate swig from his glass and said, ‘Yeah. I’ll go and get a bed made up for Cindy. Anything else you want me to do before I finally get a moment to wind down after putting in a full week’s work?’
Cindy glanced expectantly at Melissa. She could see the woman was seriously contemplating her answer to his question, as though trying to remember if there were any further chores she need him to perform before he was finally allowed to put the working week behind him. Cindy had only known Richard for six blissfully short months but already she believed she understood him and his sarcasm far better than this woman who had been married to him for seven years. She marvelled that Melissa could be so indifferent and insensitive to the man with whom she shared her life.
‘Get yourself another drink when you’ve finished,’ Melissa grinned. ‘I think you’ve earned it, Dicky.’
Richard stormed out of the room without another word.
Melissa laughed musically. The sound was a surreal contrast against the murderous anger that seemed apparent in Richard’s indignant egress.
‘Dicky tells me you’re divorced.’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened?’
Cindy hesitated for a moment, and then decided there was no reason to keep the truth from Melissa. She didn’t like the woman, but the causes of her divorce were not something she held as a precious secret. ‘I caught him screwing around,’ she said. She sipped at her bourbon to show that was the end of the story. The silence in the kitchen grew ominous and thick and Cindy deliberately kept her gaze from returning to the block of kitchen knives.
The mobile phone on her hip emitted its familiar trill beep.
As though the sound was a prompt for her to speak, Melissa said, ‘What a bastard. Tell me you got some revenge on him.’
Cindy shook her head. ‘There didn’t seem a lot of point.’
Melissa downed her drink with one gulp and then slammed the glass against the kitchen worktop. Cindy flinched from the thump of the heavy impact. Her senses were dulled by drink but she could feel a rising disquiet in the pit of her stomach. The idea that Melissa could be something of a threat made her ready to retaliate should the need arise.
‘Of course there’s a point to having revenge,’ Melissa insisted. ‘If I discovered Dicky was… if I discovered he was doing something he shouldn’t I’d… I’d have my revenge. I’d… I’d… I’d…’ She glanced desperately around the kitchen. Her gaze fell on the block of knives. Her eyes grew wide with childish excitement. She snatched a large cook’s knife from the middle of the block. With a drunken lunge she pushed it towards Cindy’s face.
Cindy was momentarily dazzled by a flash of the setting sunlight darting from the polished blade. She remained perfectly still in her chair, not sure this was how the evening was supposed to progress, and certain that she would do nothing to rouse Melissa’s suspicions about her relationship with Richard. The tip of the knife’s blade was mere millimetres from the end of her nose. Cindy could smell the lemony fresh tang of the washing-up liquid that had been last used to clean its steel edge. It occurred to her that, if she had been sober at that moment, she would have run screaming from the kitchen, demanding that Richard save her from the crazy bitch with the knife.
‘I’d cut his bollocks off if I caught… if I caught him doing something.’ Melissa spat the words with drunken glee. The confusion on her face vanished when she glanced at the knife in her hand. A clarity of purpose made her eyes shine and she said, ‘I’d cut them both off.’ She prodded the knife into the air with a couple of vicious thrusts that were somewhere close to chest height. Cindy thought if that was the woman’s idea of cutting a man’s bollocks off, she had clearly forgotten where those parts were usually located on a man’s body.
‘I’d cut his bollocks off,’ Melissa said again. ‘And then I’d make him eat them.’
‘Innovative,’ Cindy conceded.
‘And as for her…’ Melissa growled. She turned on Cindy. Because the large cook’s knife was still gripped tight in her fist, the tip of the blade was pointed at Cindy’s face. Orange daggers of the fading sunset bounced from its silver length. In the kitchen’s muted light the colour was like diluted blood. ‘As for her…’ Melissa began again.
‘You’d get her too?’ Cindy asked.
Melissa shook her head and put the knife on the counter. Retrieving her highball she stumbled towards the refrigerator and disappeared inside the familiar sanctuary of its large double doors. ‘I wouldn’t do anything to her. Nothing that the bitch doesn’t have coming.’
‘What does that mean?’
Melissa laughed. It was a surprisingly bitter sound that rang hollowly from the tiled acoustics of the kitchen. ‘I know exactly how I’d deal with any woman who tried to take Dicky from me,’ she said. ‘I come from a family who have a lot of experience in meting out appropriate revenge. No woman in her right mind would cross me or my family.’
Cindy suppressed a shudder. She swallowed the remnants of her drink and, when her mobile emitted another sullen beep, she remembered there was a text message waiting for her. Flipping open her mobile she was not surprised to see the message
came from Richard. Confident that Melissa was busy pouring herself another large bourbon, Cindy pressed the button to open the message.
LET HR FINISH THAT BOTTLE OF JD N THN GET HR TO GO 4 A P. I’LL W8 HERE N PUSH HR DOWN THE STAIRS. IT WL LOOK LIKE N ACCIDENT.
Cindy snapped the phone shut and smiled broadly for Melissa. ‘Is there any chance of another drink?’
19
As Cindy had suspected it would be, the kitchen’s lighting at night was spectacular. Spotlights, concealed within the suspended ceiling, created stark overlapping circles around the room. The over-polished surfaces glistened wetly beneath the bright beams. The spacious stylishness of the room gleamed like a showcase of desirable perfection. Slightly awed by the spectacle, and wishing she possessed something as functionally glamorous, Cindy suddenly realised that this kitchen would be part of her prize if she helped Richard to kill Melissa.
‘May I have another drink?’
‘You went through that one quickly,’ Melissa remarked.
Cindy bit back an acerbic response. Considering the amount the woman had drunk this evening, Melissa had no right to comment on Cindy’s drinking.
‘I’m just getting a taste for the stuff,’ Cindy explained. ‘I don’t normally drink bourbon and it’s got a nice vanilla flavour, don’t you think?’
Melissa shrugged as she took Cindy’s glass. ‘It never stays in my mouth long enough for me to taste the flavour.’ She was starting to obviously slur her words and Cindy could see a definite sway in Melissa’s gait as the woman lurched to and from the fridge. Reappearing from behind the double doors, offering Cindy a glass and grinning conspiratorially, she held a finger over her lips and said, ‘But don’t tell Dicky that I drink so much. I don’t want him thinking I’m a dropeless hunk.’
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