Maggie walked out the front door and stood on the landing. The wind froze her face. She looked first at the trees on the estate that were losing their last leaves and then at the hazy sky. The beige hat hid her blue eyes yet contrasted nicely with her black hair that rested gently against her camel coat.
"Let me take you somewhere, ma'am," came the driver's voice.
"Yes, Andrew, you will take me to Cannon Street and pick me up in exactly one and a half hours."
"Yes, ma'am," said Andrew and opened the back door of the white Bentley.
Maggie turned left onto Walbrook Street and arrived at Annette Villnoy's fashion house. After waiting five minutes, Annette appeared exuberant in a crimson chiffon dress, accentuating her ample cleavage.
"Good evening Mrs. O'Donnell; you honor us with your presence," she said with a broad smile.
For about half an hour, Maggie watched as Annette showed them the creations of her house. Muslins, lace, taffetas, straps, drapes, and frocks all paraded before her. Maggie took off her silk glove from one hand and showed off a tight black open-backed taffeta dress.
"Yes, I'll take them," she said, confirming Annette's look. "Let me give you an advance payment."
"Certainly, please step into my office."
Maggie took a few steps forward and stood. Annette sat down at her desk and immediately pulled out a pad. "What address should we send it to?"
Without moving, even slightly, like a tiger preparing to attack its prey, Maggie watched every move Annette made. After some minutes, she asked with a low voice, "Don't you remember me?"
Annette looked at her. "We met at the club. Do we know each other from somewhere else?" she hesitantly said.
Maggie took a few steps forward and turned her back, looking towards a painting by Miró on the right wall. She gently opened her bag and pulled out a revolver and a silencer.
She turned sharply to Annette. "Yes. Hotel Mirage. Mean anything to you?" she said, and her facial muscles tightened.
She raised her hand and pointed at Annette. "Five years you had me under your service. You called me Margot and told your customers I was the little French girl from Marseilles."
Annette froze; she could only move her eyes, one looking at the phone, one at the door, and one at the muffler.
"You were blonde; I didn't recognize you. How did you find me?"
"Fifteen days ago at the Lords Club, I recognized your voice. I turned and saw you with that little girl who accompanied you. In her face, I suddenly saw myself. Then we were introduced, but I had already recognized you, Annette Ferguson."
"It's been so many years, and you've already made your life. Do you want to ruin it?"
Maggie moved to Annette's right side and put the gun to her temple.
"Please don't," Annette said breathlessly.
Maggie tensed all over, she became solid, and all her energy gathered in her finger. She squeezed the trigger, and Annette fell face down on the desk while a small pool of dark blood began to form under her head. Scattered splatters of blood stained the left wall as well.
Maggie looked around the room searchingly. She removed her handkerchief, cleaned the gun thoroughly, and pressed it against Annette's right hand, emphasizing the index fingerprint on the trigger. Then he let the gun drop to the floor, following the direction of the dead woman's hand.
Exiting the office, he smiled at the secretary and said, "Mrs. Annette said not to be disturbed for at least half an hour."
She stepped into the street, fixed her hair, and breathed deeply, enjoying the cool winter. Andrew was there and carried her back to the mansion she shared with her two children and her husband, Lord O'Donnell, the government's Minister of Labour.
The next day at breakfast, as he read the papers, the Lord said aloud, "Annette Villnois has committed suicide. You remember her; we met her at the club."
"Yesterday, I was at her fashion house. What a pity," said Maggie with a slight sadness.
"I wonder if they'll send me my order?" she said without waiting for an answer and took a sip of her French coffee.
About the Creator
Maria Calafati
I'm a writer, a journalist, a traveler. I was born and live in Athens, Greece; I love cinema, history, photography, the colors of nature, and the scent of books.
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