Quite right. Bugger off, little man.
The lady has an appointment.
‘No. Sorry. Yes. But I’m with the police, see? Detective Sergeant Davis. Can I come in?’You could almost smell the deference oozing from every pore.‘I’m afraid I have some bad news.’
Oh, thank youverymuch.
A cop.
Just what the evening needed.
Bastard.
And Andrew’s erection keeled over like a drunken tramp.
It was time for Plan B: find a nice dark, quiet corner to hide away and lurk there till the house was asleep, then sneak out the way he came in. And yeah, he could still give her a little ‘treat’ on his way out, but that hardly seemed fair. He wasn’t amonster, after all.
But first: only human to want a little peek, right? See what he could’ve won.
Andrew peered around the corner, keeping the rest of him well out of sight.
The lady of the house, Natasha Agapova, might’ve been in her late forties, but she was still a total MILF. Mahogany-red hair framed a heart-shaped face with lips like cherries, high cheekbones, and deep dark eyes. And yeah, she’d probably had work done – given there wasn’t a single wrinkle on her face – but there was nothing wrong with that.
Hadn’t done Andrew any harm, had it?
Looked like she’d got a bit of the old nip-tuck done below the neck too, because she went in and out everywhere a proper woman should. The hourglass figure accentuated by a glittery black ballgown and jewellery that was way too showy to be real.
Got to wonder how she ended up having an Ozzy accent, with a name like ‘Natasha Agapova’. Kinda think she’d sound Russian, or Ukrainian, or Eastern European...
Something else that didn’t really make sense was themassivebeige teddy bear, clutched under one arm. Thing had to be at least five feet tall, wearing a hard hat, rig boots, rigger gloves, and a ‘PATHAKOILSERVICES’ T-shirt.
She,Natasha, turned her back on the doorway and ditched the bear in the middle of the hall. Kicking off her heels to pad across the deep oatmeal carpet to a long sideboard thing tastefully decorated with expensive-looking ethnic vases, where she dumped her keys and took off her earrings. Then pulled a face. ‘It’s Adrian, isn’t it. He’s finally wrapped thatstupidAston Martin round a tree.’
‘It’s probably best if I...?’DS Davis stepped into the hall. Might as well not have bothered, though. He was an unremarkable bloke with greying hair at his temples – the kind of guy you wouldn’t look twice at if you passed him on the street – in a cheap-looking grey suit with a white shirt and blue tie. The only thing evenslightlynoticeable about him were the sandshoes on his feet. And even they were beige.
A sniff from Natasha. ‘I take it someone’s told that pudding-headed blonde tart of his? Well, she can whistle if she thinks I’m paying for the sodding funeral!’
Davis stared at her. ‘Sorry?’
‘The divorce settlementclearlystates he’s—’
‘Pay for thefuneral?’ Davis threw his arms out. ‘You just can’t help yourself, can you? You’ve got to be abitchabout everything.’
Hang on a minute.
She stuck her hands on her hips, voice getting louder. ‘I beg yourbloodypardon?’ Chin up. ‘Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?’
‘Oh, I knowexactlywho you are. Bitch.’
‘I want your name and badge number, right now!’ Jabbing a finger at him. ‘I happen to beverygood friends with the Chief Constable and she—’
And that’s when DS Davis punched her. Right in the mouth. Hard enough to send Natasha staggering backwards on her bare feet.
Hard enough to make Andrew flinch.
‘Not so gobby now, are you, Bitch!’
Two
