A Suitable Vengeance

“Men are all the same.” Her voice was husky, with a regional accent she seemed to be trying to shed. She padded on bare feet to the centre of the room and continued to speak as if she and Deborah had known each other for years. “Drink it up. I go through at least five a day. It’ll make you feel a new woman, I swear it. And Christ knows, these days I need to feel like new after every—” She stopped herself and laughed, showing teeth that were extraordinarily white and even. “You know what I mean.”


It was hard to avoid knowing exactly what the woman did mean. In a black satin negligee with voluminous folds and flounces, she was a walking advertisement for her calling in life.

Deborah held up the glass which had been pressed upon her. “What is this?”

A buzzer sounded, indicating the presence of someone on the street below. The woman walked to the wall and pressed the reciprocal bell for entry.

“This place is as busy as Victoria Station.”

She nodded to the drink, removed a card from the pocket of her dressing gown and handed it to Deborah. “Nothing but juices and vitamins, that. A few veggies thrown in. A little pick-me-up. I’ve written it all down for you. Hope you don’t mind the liberty but from the sound of today, you’ll be needing a lot of it. Drink it. Go on.” She waited until Deborah had raised the glass to her lips before sauntering to her photographs. “Very nice. This your stuff?”

“Yes.” Deborah read the list of ingredients on the card. Nothing more harmful than cabbage, which she’d always loathed. She placed the glass on the work top and smoothed her fingers across the cloth that was wrapped round her palm. She lifted her hand to her tangled mess of hair. “I must look a sight.”

The woman smiled. “I’m a wreck myself until after nightfall. I never bother much in the light of day. What’s the point, I say. Anyway, you’re a perfect vision as far as I’m concerned. How d’you like the drink?”

“It’s not quite like anything I’ve ever tasted.”

“Special, isn’t it? I ought to bottle the stuff.”

“Yes. Well, it’s good. Very good. Thank you. I’m terribly sorry about the row.”

“It was a great one. I couldn’t help overhearing most of it—walls being what they are—and for a bit I thought it might come to blows. I’m just next door.” She cocked her thumb to the left. “Tina Cogin.”

“Deborah Cotter. I moved in last night.”

“Is that what all the thumping and pounding was about?” Tina grinned. “And to think I was imagining some competition. Well, none of that talk. You don’t look the type to be on the game, do you?”

Deborah felt herself colouring. Thank you hardly seemed an appropriate response.

Apparently finding reply unnecessary, Tina busied herself looking at her reflection in the glass that covered one of Deborah’s photographs. She rearranged her hair, examined her teeth, and ran a long fingernail between the front two. “I’m a ruin. Makeup just can’t do it all, can it? Ten years ago, a bit of blusher was all it took. And now? Hours in front of a mirror and I still look like hell when I’m done.”

A knock sounded on the door. Sidney, Deborah decided. She wondered what Simon’s sister would say about this unexpected visitor to her flat who was currently studying the photograph of Lynley as if she were considering him a source of future income.

“Would you like to stay for tea?” Deborah asked her.

Tina swung from the picture. One eyebrow lifted. “Tea?” She said the word as if the substance had not passed her lips for the better part of her adult life. “Sweet of you, Deb, but no. Three in this kind of situation is a bit of a crowd. Take it from me. I’ve tried it.”

“Three?” Deborah stammered. “It’s a woman.”

“Oh, no!” Tina laughed. “I was talking of the table, love. It’s a bit small, you see, and I’m all elbows and thumbs when it comes to tea. You just finish that drink and return the glass later. Right?”

“Yes. Thank you. All right.”

“And we’ll have a nice little chat when you do.”

With a wave of her hand, Tina opened the door, swept past Sidney St. James with an electric smile, and disappeared down the hall.





CHAPTER 3