HER PERFUME

by

MARILYN KAY

Despite the bright August sun, a chill wind swept through the ruined castle’s grounds and ruffled Julie’s chestnut hair. Shivering, she hugged her denim jacket close and moved next to the low stone wall rimming the promontory’s brink. There, she drank in the panorama of the silty brown river snaking its way through the Wye Valley. For a moment, Julie let her imagination soar, spinning a scene of the lord of the manor and his lady sipping wine while looking out over the river from their private balcony.

Before long, though, Julie’s thoughts strayed back to Dima. Today was the six-month anniversary of her husband’s death. For a brief year, she, a diplomat’s daughter, and he, a dashing young attaché, had dazzled London’s social scene. Her heart cried out: Oh my love, we had so little time together. They had not even allowed her to mourn at his grave. Instead, they whisked her away from London to this small Welsh town of Chepstow. They said she had to hide farther afield and quickly, especially after what had happened in Salisbury. Wales would be safer. Even with the tourist lure of a Norman castle, no one would think of searching for her here.

The muffled tapping of rubber-soled shoes on the stairs behind her interrupted her grief. Julie lifted her sunglasses and wiped away a wayward tear trailing down her cheek. A tall, wiry blond man in jeans and navy hoodie came to a halt at the far side of the parapet. She watched him contemplate the sky, the river and the surrounding countryside. After a while, he took his iPhone from his hoodie pouch and proceeded to photograph the view from different angles. Once he’d finished, he turned to her and in an American accent said, “Quite a view, wouldn’t you say?”

She bobbed her head. “Yes.”

He plucked a daisy-like pink flower from the ivy on the wall. Raising his shades to reveal a puckish twinkle in his blue eyes, he sniffed the flower and twirled it between thumb and forefinger before presenting it to her with a bow. “My Lady.”

Charmed, she mimed “For me?” and laughed. Accepting the flower, she pretended to lift a voluminous skirt, placed her right foot behind her left and curtsied. “Thank you, Sir Knight.” She sniffed the flower before tucking the stem into a buttonhole in her jacket.

Smiling coyly, she turned on her heel and descended the stairs to admire the vaulted ceiling of the wine cellar. From there, she could hear his trainers pattering up the steps. Then the sound stopped. He must have wandered onto the grass and over to Marten’s Tower. She went back upstairs to loiter in the kitchen and other service rooms within the remnants of the building known as the earl’s Gloriette, and then meandered into the Middle Bailey area to see if their paths might cross again.

He happened on her while she was snapping a photo of the exterior of the Great Tower. Julie perched her sunglasses atop her head and flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Ah, we meet again, Sir Knight.”

He bowed and gestured forward. “Shall we explore the tower together, My Lady?”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Gareth. Gareth Evans.” He put his hand on his heart. “I am but a lonely errant knight who has crossed a continent and an ocean on my quest to discover this fair ‘Land of My Fathers’.”

She half smiled at his allusions to knights errant and to the Welsh national anthem “Hen Wlad fy Nhadau.”  He was definitely trying. If she were honest with herself, maybe she was, too.

“How about you? You sound like you’re neither from the mountains of Snowdonia—” Gareth’s voice assumed the sonorous tones of North Wales “—nor—” pitching his voice in an exaggerated singsong “—from the green vallees of the south.”

She skipped a beat before answering him. “I’m Julie. And Monmouthshire is quite…Anglo-Welsh.”

“I see. I…didn’t mean to cause you offense.”

“I’m not offended. Come on. I’ll give you a tour of the Great Tower and the rest of the castle. It’ll give me practice for my class’s history field trip next week. How long have you been in Wales?”

“Going on three weeks. I’m doing the castle circuit, with a bit of hiking and other sightseeing thrown in.” He winked, but made no effort to get closer.

Julie soon found Gareth eagerly immersed in the history and architectural and sculptural details of the castle—almost as much as she was. What’s more, he was a fun companion, with no ring on his left finger and California surfer-guy looks as an added bonus.

***

“I should’ve had you for the whole circuit. I’ve learned more from you than from all the guidebooks and apps I’ve tried at the other castles. Thanks, Julie, for giving me so much of your time.” Gareth checked his phone. “It’s nearly six. They’ll be kicking us out soon. What say I buy you an early dinner to give you a proper thank-you? Or would you rather go home and I pick you up later for dinner? There’s got to be a nice place to eat in town.”

Julie considered his offer. She hadn’t had such a lovely afternoon since Dima’s death. “There’s the Riverside Wine Bar. That’s pretty good. Are you staying in a B and B, or at the Two Rivers?”

“I got a deal with the B and B across from the castle. It’s quaint, but only serves breakfast and Sunday roast. You got your car here?”

“No, I walked. I just live on the hill south of the castle off Welsh Street, the road which borders the Castle Dell.” She still hesitated.

“Look, my car is in the lot. Why don’t I run you up to your place and pick you up at around 7:30? That’ll give us both time to change into something other than jeans and a T-shirt. What do you say?” He flipped through his phone. “I can make a reservation at the Riverside Wine Bar. For one or two people?”

She breathed in, exhaled and nodded. “Two, please.”

***

Julie stepped out of the shower, refreshed and tingling. Other than with a few mates she’d met at her gym classes, she hadn’t gone out on a date for six months. She clicked on Rag‘n’Bone Man’s “Perfume” from her Spotify playlist and proceeded to get ready.

Eschewing her usual light citrusy Jo Malone scent, she spritzed Dima’s favorite, Dior’s sexy Pure Poison, on her collarbone, in the crook of her elbows and behind her knees and ears, letting some of the spray fall on her hair.

Rummaging through her clothes, she grabbed a lacy, black knit bodycon dress, pulled it on and admired her silhouette. Nope. Far too forward and too London.

After trying on several other outfits, she opted for a floral skater, one she’d bought at Ted Baker for a silly flower-themed hen party last year.

As she buckled the dress’s skinny belt around her slim waist, a sharp yearning for friends and her old life engulfed her. Did they miss her as she missed them? Did they ever wonder about her? Or were they too lost in London’s rush to care? She hugged herself, trying to squeeze all the pain into a small ball deep inside her.

***

A frisson of delight rippled down her skin when she opened the door. Gareth appeared decked out in a blue-and-white checked shirt, khaki chinos, navy blazer and chocolate-brown leather loafers. His widened eyes and huge grin told her that she’d made an impression on him.

As they drove through the arch of the crenelated tower of the medieval town gate on High Street, Julie counted her breaths in an effort to calm the quickened pulsing of her heart. Excitement like this wasn’t supposed to happen when you’re still in mourning.

When they swung into Middle Street, Julie sensed a certain nervousness about Gareth, too, and wondered if he was also feeling the buzz? Or maybe he was stressed by the haphazard parking of cars on this narrow single-lane street?

“It’s tricky getting to the restaurant all the way by car,” she said. “We’re better off using the Castle Dell car park. Besides, it’s only a short walk down to the Old Wye Bridge.”

Gareth relaxed. “My car seems to spend more time in that lot than on the road. Good thing parking is free there.”

As they sauntered toward the river, Gareth suddenly grasped Julie’s arm and guided her through a gate leading to another restaurant.

She tried to back away. “No. This is the wrong place!”

His grip on her arm tightened; his voice was low. “Be quiet and keep walking.” He swung open the door and pushed her and himself inside.

“What are you doing?” She shook her arm from his grasp.

He held a finger to his lips. “Wait.”

The heady aroma of Italian herbs and garlic wafted around Julie, whetting her appetite and her fear. She hunched in the corner, her heart pounding while cold perspiration dripped down her neck. A young couple came through the open doorway and walked past them. Gareth peered out the window. “Okay, we can go now.”

“What was that all about?”

“Sorry. Some nasty people I met along the way I’d rather not encounter again.”

Julie rubbed her arm.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I? Shit! I did. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll survive.” He had seemed like such a nice guy. Now she wasn’t so sure. “Who were they?”

“Two English guys who tried to run me off the road in Snowdonia. I encountered them in a pub where they were harassing a young lady. I bought her a beer and told them to piss off. I didn’t think I’d ever see them again, but there they were poking around that building yard. Satisfied?” He glanced at his Apple Watch. “Hey! We’ve got a reservation for quarter to eight. You lead the way.”

Julie strode down the street without glancing back. She was already berating herself for crumpling in fear. Where were those lightning reflexes she had cultivated for the past six months at the mixed martial arts gym? Why had she let him take command of her, when she had worked so hard to empower herself?

He let her take off by herself, only walking beside her when they reached the bridge. They stood together, but not touching, to admire the limestone cliffs and the Regency cast-iron bridge.

Across the river perched the Gloucestershire village of Tutshill, where J. K. Rowling had lived from the age of nine to 18. Tutshill was also the location of the school where Julie would begin her teaching career on Monday.

On the Chepstow side, a tree-lined groomed path ran along the river where several boats were moored.

The wine bar’s willow trees shaded a row of picnic tables, each mounted with an umbrella. Set back from the tables was a white stuccoed, two-storey building housing the restaurant.

Inside was an eclectic mix of red and white walls, curtains and floral wallpaper. Dark wood tables and chairs filled the restaurant seating area, while the bar boasted leather settees and barrel chairs.

“It’s kind of warm and homely, wouldn’t you say?”

Gareth turned to Julie and grinned. “Did you say homely or homey?”

Julie was irritated by Gareth’s attempt to correct her English.

“Okay. It seems, uh, funky. Like a place for real fusion cooking.”

“Well, it’s British meets Spanish. I hope you’ll like it.”

“I can already taste the garlic and chorizo. Of course, I’ll like it.”

Julie noticed Gareth’s raised eyebrow to the waiter as they were escorted to a romantic table for two with a view of the river. “Did you especially arrange for this table?”

He winked and began perusing the wine list. “Hmm, only one California wine and it’s sweet. Would you like to choose the wine? I’m having the steak.”

“I want the prawns. How about we get a bottle of Prosecco?”

“Prosecco? There’s champagne on the list. Why don’t we go all out and order a bottle?”

“You sure?”

“Of course. I think I saw a Bollinger on the list.”

As they leisurely sipped and chewed their way through the feast, conviviality replaced the evening’s earlier tension. Gareth gave up trying to tease Julie into talking more about herself and regaled her with tales of his travels. His story about using his iPhone GPS for hiking and nearly getting lost in a bog outside of Tregaron made her clutch the table to keep from laughing hysterically.

“There was no cell coverage. Just me, the rain and the sheep,” he deadpanned. “I was soaked to the bone, squelching in shoes that were getting sucked downward with every step I took. Eventually, I heard a whistle and madly whistled back. Next thing I knew, a black-and-white collie was herding me and the sheep to greener pastures. The farmer took me to his home.”

Gareth locked eyes with Julie before continuing his saga, “Then, over tea and Welsh cakes, I got the third degree about my family origins. Only after he and his wife were satisfied they’d wrung every bit of family history from me and fed me dinner, did he drive me back to my car….I haven’t shared that episode on Facebook yet.”

They both broke out laughing.

“So what do you do when you’re not tilting at white dragons or getting lost in a bog?” Julie asked.

Gareth raised questioning eyebrows before grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I work at Facebook.”

Her voice tart, she said, “At least you don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

“That was a low blow.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be—”

“Catty?”

Julie’s face grew hot. She sat up straight, arms crossed in front of her chest and glared.

Gareth licked his lower lip and closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were wide and glistening. “Look, I know Facebook has gotten a bad rap lately. I’m not saying it doesn’t deserve it. But I wasn’t part of the Cambridge Analytica fiasco, fake news or Russian hacking.”

Julie flinched at the word Russian.

“I work in the user experience area. You know—live videos, emoticons, birthdays, fun backgrounds for posts—things like that.”

Gareth searched her eyes. “You’re not on Facebook, are you?”

She shook her head. “No. As a teacher, I…I…don’t want my students stalking me.”

Gareth tucked his chin into his hand and rocked his body slightly. “I figured as much.” He picked up the second bottle of champagne and gestured toward Julie’s glass. “Shall we finish it?”

Julie dropped her arms and dipped her chin to indicate yes.

He apportioned the remains between the two glasses and lifted his up to her. She took a sip, and he did the same. They each took another sip in silence, his eyes penetrating into the depths of her soul. Then he leaned over and reached out his hand to her. She clasped his.

The waiter interrupted their mute colloquy to offer them dessert. Neither was interested. Neither wanted to break the spell.

Once the waiter had left to tally up the bill, Gareth asked, “Care for a stroll by the river?”

“I think I’d better get back home.”

***

At the door to her semi-detached house in The Mount gated community, Julie surprised herself by asking Gareth in for coffee. They never got to the coffee. Gareth’s kisses softened Julie’s stiffened lips, and his caresses were like warm water lapping over and into every crevice of her body. Like everything he’d done that day, he did with care, sensing when to relinquish to her the lead in their lovemaking. They fell asleep locked in each other’s arms.

Sometime after midnight, she shifted onto her other side. But when her arm stretched back to touch him, her hand landed on an empty duvet. Had it all been a dream? She lay there alone, listening for his movements, too afraid to open her eyes to emptiness, too crushed that he hadn’t wanted to stay the night with her. As she began to doze off, Gareth slid back into bed. He buried his head in her hair and nibbled her ear, cooing, “Your perfume is driving me wild.”

The next morning over a breakfast of poached eggs on toast with tomatoes and mushrooms, Julie asked Gareth, “Where were you last night?”

He sucked in his lips and, with narrowed eyes, considered her and his words. Then, tapping the table, he said, “Sorry. I didn’t want to worry you. I heard strange noises around your house and went to investigate. I didn’t find anything, though. I guess those two guys spooked me last night….You want to go to Tintern with me today?”

Julie considered. Today was Wednesday. Her lesson plans were completed; she’d still have plenty of time to prepare her classroom for Monday. Besides, she couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again. “I’ve got a gym class at eleven. Maybe we could go after lunch?”

“There’s that coffee-and-sandwich place, Coffee Something? We could meet there for lunch, say one o’clock?”

***

The sun shone. A few cottony clouds, buoyed by a light breeze, drifted in the azure-blue sky. Julie left her car at the house and walked into town. Her phone pinged as she approached the Town Gate. She stopped to read the text: a message from Sir William Barr, code name B. Dima used to say, “B for bastard.” Dima had warned her never to trust Sir William, who, on more than one occasion, had tried to grope her.

Yet Sir William had just assumed management of her relocation here. Bolo 2 men black ford fiesta hatchback. Be on the lookout for two men. The two men Gareth had seen? Julie glanced around, inhaled and let her breath out slowly, then walked through the arched gate.

Set into the hillside sloping northeast toward the Wye River and the train station, Beaufort Square was the last remnant of the large central town square dating from medieval times. On the higher west side was Bank Street, while the town’s retail High Street ran along its east side. The square featured the Chepstow Cenotaph war memorial, benches and a series of several stone staircases leading down to High Street.

Coffee #1 was situated at the corner of High Street opposite Beaufort Square in an attractive white, two-storey building.

As she waited for the light to turn green, she glimpsed Gareth bounding down the stairs from the square toward her and waved. He arrived at the intersection just as the light turned green for her. Thwarted, he threw up his hands. Julie motioned she would cross over and wait for him at the corner, then blithely stepped into the intersection.

Out of the blue, a black hatchback barreled from the hidden side road at the bottom of the hill and accelerated up Beaufort Square Street. Gareth called out to Julie. Then, darting between moving cars, he sprinted toward her. She was halfway across before she realized the speeding car was aimed straight at her. Gareth leapt and snatched her out of the car’s track, flipping her on top of him onto the asphalt. Meanwhile, the car squealed around the curve and continued away from the square.

“Fuck! What was that?” Gareth extracted himself from under Julie. Still panting from the close call, he hoisted her up.

Several teens sitting at one of the outdoor tables, came over to help. “Are you and the wife okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

With his arm around her waist, Gareth guided Julie to one of the outdoor tables and sat her down. He knelt beside her and hugged her until she stopped trembling. One of the teens went into the shop and came out with two glasses of water.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, mate. We’re off now. You need anything else?”

Julie shook her head and mumbled, “No.”

“I think we’re all right, but thanks again, you guys.” Gareth settled on a chair next to her. “Do you want me to take you inside while I run and get the car? I can take you home.”

“No. I’m fine. How are you?”

He shrugged. “Good.”

“Then let’s go to Tintern. We can eat there.” She paused. “Were those the two from last night trying to run you down?”

Gareth blew out a long breath. “Julie, whoever was in that car was gunning for you.”

“But I don’t understand.”

Shaking his head, he said, “Neither do I, Julie. Neither do I.”

***

Their Tintern Abbey outing proved to be nigh perfect.

Set among the pine-covered hills of the Wye Valley and manicured lawns dotted by yellow daisies, the ruins of Tintern Abbey rose in all their magical mystical majesty.

After enjoying soup and sandwiches at the White Monk, they entered the abbey. They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the remains of the abbey and admiring the full and partial stone walls, monumental pillars, graceful arches and the intricate framework of gothic windows of the abbey church.

Feeling playful, Julie tickled Gareth as he crouched and lay down on the grass, in his attempt to capture every angle in his photos. He countered by insisting she pose against the dramatic backdrops among the ruins. She consented only if he promised not to post any photos of her on Facebook.

Afterward, in spite of her protests, he bought Julie a silk scarf and earrings, and a tapestry and wool blanket for his mother in the abbey gift shop.

When they returned to her place, Julie flung open the door and announced, “We’re having Nigella’s ‘Curry in a Hurry’ and I’m cooking.”

Gareth swept her off her feet and carried her over the threshold, declaring, “I’m crazy about you, Julie.” Her feet grazed an envelope on the entryway stand, knocking it to the floor. Gareth put her down and picked up the letter before she could snatch it away. He read the name on the envelope, “Julie Ball,” then replaced the letter on the stand and shut the door. “Do you want me to chop? Or open a bottle of wine?” He nuzzled her neck and shoulders before heading to the kitchen.

That night in bed, the two sat propped against the pillows. Julie leaned against him, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I promised my mother I’d visit Raglan Castle. I was thinking I’d go up there tomorrow morning. That will be my last castle before going home.”

Julie tugged his arm closer around her. “When do you leave?”

“Saturday afternoon from Heathrow. I’d planned to drive to London from Raglan and spend the rest of the time there. I’m thinking I’d like to spend it with you instead. But it means my finding another place to stay in Chepstow.”

“Stay with me, Gareth.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes. Yes,” she said in a breathy voice. “I’ll fix up my classroom while you’re at Raglan. Then we can have the rest of the time together.”

“Julie?”

“Yes?”

“Will you be okay while I’m at Raglan? After what happened yesterday afternoon, I’m worried. I mean, what’s going on with you? You’re so secretive. You wouldn’t even tell me your last name.”

“You know it now. And nothing is up with me. I…I know it’ll all be over with us in a few days. That’s all.”

“Then let’s make the most of our time.” He drew her down under the duvet and buried his head in her hair. “What’s that perfume again?”

“Pure Poison.”

He jerked upright. “You’re kidding?”

She began to chuckle and hauled him down beside her. “No, I’ll show you the bottle in the morning.”

***

Gareth had already left by the time Julie had loaded her car with items for her classroom. She had everything but the heavy-duty knife she needed to trim her foam-core posters. She dashed back into the house and popped the knife into her purse.

Her phone pinged. Sir William had sent a series of three question marks. She had not yet answered yesterday’s text about the black car incident. She couldn’t get it out of her mind that there was something fishy about Sir William’s texting her right before the men had driven their car at her. A chill crept down her spine. What if the sounds Gareth had heard the other night were those men?

Gareth arrived soon after she returned from the school. She threw her arms around him and kissed him as soon as he dropped his bags at the entryway.

He cupped her face in his hands and gazed into the wells of her dark brown eyes before kissing her long and deep. “I feel like I’ve come home.”

She clung to him a moment more and murmured, “You have.” Afterward, she let him settle in the spare room upstairs while she made lunch.

While they finished their coffee at the kitchen table, Julie reassured Gareth once again that she’d neither seen nor heard anything untoward when she had gone to work at the school. “But I need to do some grocery shopping. I thought I’d wait to see what you wanted for dinner tonight first.”

“Good idea. Let’s make a list and get some wine, too. There’s a Norman church by that Tesco Superstore I wanted to take a peek at it. I thought I heard the bells ring yesterday morning.”

Julie’s jaw dropped, and her pulse quickened. She stammered, “S-s-saint Mary’s Priory?”

Gareth smacked his forehead, his face full of contrition. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest we go near Beaufort Square again.”

Julie swallowed before saying, “That’s okay. There’s more selection at Tesco anyway.” To make her point, she grabbed a pad and searched for a pen in her purse. Frustrated at not finding one, she disappeared for a few moments and came back with a pen, the one Dima had stored in the desk she had insisted on moving with her from London.

Eyes wide, Gareth stared at it. “Nice pen. May I see it?”

“It was given to me by a…dear friend. I don’t usually use it.”

He didn’t press any further.

With the list completed, Julie dropped the paper in her purse and headed out of the kitchen. A minute later, she stood at the door and called back to Gareth, “Shall we go now? We can use my car if you like?”

“Let’s take my rental.”

Julie clutched the car seat when Gareth turned down Beaufort and concentrated on navigating him into the Tesco car park. The plan was to leave the car there and make a dash over to see the church.

As they walked back to Tesco, Gareth kept his arm around Julie’s shoulder, his eyes constantly scanning the walk and the parking lot. “Let’s do our shopping and get out of here.”

The corner of her right eye began to twitch. Julie surveyed the car park and moved her body closer to Gareth’s, but neither saw anyone suspicious either outside or inside the store.

Gareth flashed his wallet and insisted that Julie stock up with groceries for the rest of the week and the beginning of the school term. “Frankly, I don’t know why you Brits shop every day.”

“It’s called small fridges and freshness.”

Gareth, laden with three heavy bags, halted. Twisting around toward the store, he said in a low tense voice, “Julie, go back into the store. Once they’re gone, I’ll bring the car around to the entrance and pick you and the bags up there.”

The hair on her arms and the back of her neck prickled. A scruffy, dark-haired, bearded man was getting into a black Ford Fiesta hatchback about 15 feet away from Gareth’s car. She backed away, turned and, with one quick glance back, scrambled on shaky legs to the store entrance.

***

The tension of unspoken words reverberated throughout Julie’s house. After helping her put away the groceries, Gareth retreated into the living room and turned on the television. Julie sat at the kitchen table and fetched her phone from her purse. Sir William had texted her several times that agents had her under surveillance. In the meantime, she was to lie low.

Reality hit. She was putting Gareth’s life in danger. It was time to explain her situation to him. But something else was nagging her. Were the men in the car also tracking him? And why? Was the altercation they’d had in the pub with Gareth a coincidence or part of a larger plot?

Silence. Gareth had switched off the box and loomed in the kitchen doorway. Julie dropped her phone into her purse.

“Okay, Julie Ball, suppose you tell me what’s going on?”

A melancholic sigh slipped from Julie’s mouth, but she remained tongue-tied. Gareth seated himself opposite her. Propping an elbow on the table, he nested his chin in his palm, locked eyes with hers and waited.

“Six months ago, I lost someone very dear to me. I came here to forget.”

Gareth remained silent, willing her to continue with his steady gaze.

Her anger and frustration boiled over. “Why do you care? You’ll be gone soon and we’ll never see each other again.” Julie slapped the table and spluttered, “I feel like I’m stuck in a bloody interrogation room.”

Gareth sucked in his breath and pushed back his chair. “I feel like I’m attached to a walking bomb. You want me to leave?”

Julie reached out. “No! Please stay, Gareth.”

Planting his fingertips on the table, he leaned in to glower at her tear-streaked face. “Just a few seconds ago, you lash out at me. Now you want me to protect you? Surely you have other friends to hold your hand.”

Then his voice softened. “Julie?” He dropped down beside her and sheltered her in his arms. Lifting her up, he carried her up the stairs.

***

Julie woke to the sharp aroma of coffee curling up her nose. She could hear Gareth whistling in the kitchen. By the time she came down the stairs, the smell of fried bacon and eggs mingled with the coffee. He greeted her with a huge grin and a plate of bacon, eggs, sausages, tomatoes and mushrooms. He’d even filled the rack with toast.

After breakfast, Gareth went up to the spare bedroom to make phone calls and pack for tomorrow’s trip. In the meantime, Julie organized an eco-wash cycle for the clothes he’d be wearing home. In a little good-bye ritual of her own, she threw in his underwear and socks. Next, she hugged in succession his jeans, red T-shirt and navy hoodie before placing each into her washer/dryer.

A pall of sadness engulfed Julie and riveted her focus on the sudsy water submerging and agitating away the traces of their time together.

Raised voices outside and the slam of her neighbor’s front door broke the trance. She remembered Gareth had promised to set her phone and computer up on WhatsApp so they could stay in touch, and she needed to make adjustments to next week’s teaching plans. Squaring her shoulders, she headed to her office to boot up her computer.

Somehow her office looked amiss. The top page of the papers she’d neatly stacked on the left side of her computer was out of kilter. She also found the pages were out of order.

Her heart pounding, she punched the combination to unlock the desk drawer where Dima had kept his pen. The contents of the drawer appeared more jumbled than usual. She touched a hidden button and a secret compartment sprang up. The pen was still there. She breathed a sigh of relief and shut the drawer.

Taking big gulps of air and exhaling slowly, she plunked herself down on her desk chair and rotated around to do another scan of the office.

The intercom crackled and a gruff baritone voice with an Estuary English accent announced, “B sent us.” She’d forgotten about Sir William’s agents, and now they were at her door. But how did they get through the gate?

She squinted into the one-way window they had installed in her door. Two dark-haired men, one with a beard, stood there: the men she and Gareth had eluded at the Tesco car park. She gasped, then remembered her mixed martial arts training: stay calm and move fast. She called out, “I’ll be there in a minute,” grabbed her purse and went back into the office.

Retrieving her pen, she dropped it into a pocket in her bag. When she looked up, Gareth, in jeans and a gray hoodie, was standing in the doorway. “What’s up?”

She seized his hand and dragged him toward the kitchen. “We’re going out the back door. I’ll tell you later.” She pointed to the band of hedges and trees surrounding the communal garden. “Are you game to tackle those boxwoods?”

Gareth shrugged. “For you, anything.”

Julie had already started to race toward the hedges. The two clambered over them, and she pointed toward the road. “Let’s head to town.”

At Welsh Street, Julie took the crosswalk over to the Dell Primary School. “They may have parked here.” She scanned the car park and spotted a black Ford Fiesta hatchback. “Gareth, is that the car?”

He compared the license plate to the one he had on his iPhone. “Yes.”

Julie fished the knife she’d tucked away earlier out of her purse and slashed the car’s tires, while Gareth gawked in disbelief. She retracted the blade and returned it to her bag. “That should do it. Shall we cut through the Dell?”

“Anything you say.”

As they strode down the trail to the castle, Julie’s words poured out in a fast staccato. “I should have told you sooner. My husband was an attaché to the Ukrainian ambassador in London, where we met. My father was counsellor for political affairs there before he retired. He and my mother returned home to Kiev. I fell in love and stayed. I don’t know all the details, but the UK secret service believed Dima was murdered and moved me here.”

She paused to collect her thoughts. “This morning, I discovered that my office had been rifled. Then those two guys showed up at my front door.” She halted and fixed Gareth with dark piercing eyes. “What do you know about these men? You said you met them in Harlech?”

He dropped his head, avoiding her gaze, and scuffed his right trainer on the beaten dirt path. A group of noisy kids crowded by on their way to the Dell playground. “Yuliya Baiul, let’s tour the castle for old times’ sake.” He beckoned to her with his outstretched hand.

At the sound of her name, she stopped cold.

“Come on. Your disappearance was public knowledge. Why are you surprised I know your name?”

“I…just hadn’t heard it said for a long time.” Julie placed her hand in his.

Once they were out of earshot, Gareth resumed his narrative. “MI6 was right to be concerned. The GRU thought Dmitry—your Dima— might be a useful idiot; instead he turned mole for MI6.” He squeezed Julie’s hand. “Of course, GRU has its own mole in MI6.”

Julie croaked, “Sir William?”

Ignoring her, Gareth continued, “A mole whose name is all over the last packet of information Dmitry received, and not just about operations in Crimea and Ukraine. There’s money laundering that not only implicates Mr. B, but also several UK financiers and high-ranking government officials. That’s why Mr. B got involved.” He swung around to face her and clasped both her hands. “I’m so sorry, Julie. They botched the job with Dmitry.”

She covered her face. “Those men?”

“Likely the ones who killed your Dima.”

Once inside the Gloriette, Gareth said, “Let’s go to that balcony where we first met. The tide’s in, so we’ll have the vista minus the mudflats. It’ll also be quiet there.”

Gareth’s suggestion spawned a sensation of spiders crawling over Julie’s back, yet she let him lead her up the stairs to the promontory.

Julie stood farther from the balcony’s low semicircular enclosure wall, but each stood in positions similar to those they were in when they had first met and admired the view. But when she turned her head to Gareth, his twinkly blue eyes had morphed into a steely glint. He carefully withdrew a clear plastic zip bag holding a bottle of Pure Poison perfume from his hoodie pouch. “In Raglan, I was given this, courtesy of the GRU, to be your good-bye gift. I won’t open the bag. The poison is real.”

The lump in Julie’s throat choked off any words she struggled to blurt out.

“Yuliya, Julie. I was given until today to get Dmitry’s camera pen from you. I’ve tried to fend off the goons, but if I don’t have that pen now, Mr. B’s agents will force it from you.”

Julie finally managed to swallow. “Is everything about you a lie? Are you even American?”

Gareth blew a long breath through his teeth. “I haven’t lied to you. My mother is American with Welsh roots. My father? You know of him. Konstantin Firtash is a crony of Viktor Yanukovych. Right now, Kostya’s in big trouble for fraud in Russia. A handler from the GRU approached me at Facebook and gave me an ultimatum: get Dmitry’s pen or else. Julie, Kostya is not a good man, but he’s my father. When I was small, he loved me. And I don’t want to see him murdered or frozen in Siberia.

“Look, I never wanted our relationship to end this way. I never wanted it to end at all. I meant it when I said I’m crazy about you. Truth be told, my heart’s desire would be to run away with you to some place in Canada, but even there, they would hunt us down.”

“Like you hunted me?”

“They knew you lived near a castle, but only recently did Mr. B learn which one. For Christ’s sake, just give me the pen. I promise to call off the dogs. You can go free, and I won’t end up like your Dima did.”

Julie plucked the pen from her purse and waved it around. “What if I throw it in the river?”

“Don’t be stupid, Julie. What would that accomplish?”

She knew he was right. The pen needed to be handed over to the Ukrainian ambassador or to a reliable authority in the British intelligence service. But still she prevaricated. “It would go out to sea and all the secrets with it. Surely, Russia doesn’t need a copy of the plans. And there’d be no compromising material for Sir William and the rest of his sort to worry about.”

Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs, and dark-haired, beardless face popped through the archway.

Her reflexes kicked in. She clutched the pen hard, like a knife. Wedging her thumb tightly against the pen’s top, she tucked her fist into her left armpit and spun to meet the man as he and Darkbeard piled out of the archway.

Beardless moved in to grab her throat, and she lashed out like a cat at his. She moved in closer and grabbed a wad of his shirt at the neckline, while jabbing and raking his face with the pen. She gave him a rapid knee to the groin and stabbed his cheeks again.

Gareth ripped the perfume bottle out of the bag. Darkbeard charged Gareth and was met by jet after jet of Pure Poison sprayed into his eyes and gaping mouth.

Gareth then turned to Julie’s opponent. “Move away, Julie!” he shouted and sprayed the other man’s bleeding face.

Coughing and sputtering from the spray laced with a chemical nerve agent, Darkbeard suddenly realized his fate. With a grunt, he lifted Gareth and flung him against the balcony’s low wall.

 “Gareth!” Julie screamed as she rushed toward Darkbeard. She stabbed him in the neck before landing a blow with her elbow into his left kidney.

With a raspy growl, Darkbeard shoved her aside and charged the stunned Gareth, who stumbled backward to the wall. Overshooting his mark, Darkbeard sent both himself and Gareth tumbling off the precipice.

Julie watched transfixed as Gareth plummeted into the murky depths of the Wye. With tears streaming down her face, she whispered, “Dasvidaniya, my darling Gareth.”

Then, a volley of piercing shrieks escaped from the ball of pain buried deep inside her belly.

---

THE END

MESDAMES ON THE MOVE

CONGRATULATIONS AND PUBLICATIONS

Congratulations to Mme Melissa Yi. Her Derringer-winning short story, “My Two Legs”, was a finalist for this year’s Macavity Award for BestMystery Short Story.

Her fantasy story, “Rapunzel in the Desert” will appear in the Year’s Best Canadian Fantasy and Science Fiction, edited by Stephen Kotowych. It will be available to book lovers everywhere December 5, 2023.

Mme Cat Mills’ latest film, Do You Hear What I Hear? premiered at Hot Docs this year as part of the Citizen Minutes cohort, celebrating average people trying to change their community for the good. Cat’s film focuses on noise pollution in Toronto and follows activist, Ingrid Buday as she fights to change Toronto’s outdated noise bylaws.

https://www.citizenminutes.ca/series-2/do-you-hear-what-i-hear

NEWS AND EVENTS

Mme Lisa De Nikolits’s, literary review zine, the Minerva Reader, features a review of M. H. Callway’s Snake Oil and Other Tales and Melissa Yi’s new book, Sugar and Vice.

https://theminervareader.com/library-2023

CRIME WRITERS OF CANADA’S BREWS AND CLUES

THIS MONTH’S STORY

Our story for November is by Mme Therese Greenwood. Her historical thriller, “The Iron Princess”, appeared in the Mesdames‘ fifth anthology, In the Spirit of 13.