Third piece from Book - Sunday
Despite the tranquillity of a Sunday afternoon in the rural southern French town and its sleepy anticipation of another scorching summer, Geoffrey Woodrush could feel electricity in the air. He sensed his prey.
He meandered through quiet streets of dwellings roofed with red and russet tiles, some with fresh ivory rendering, others showing an aged charm. Most had shutters of dark wood or faded blues and greens to keep the heat out once the summer was under way and laying heavy like a blanket. Woodrush looked perfectly at home. Although an obvious stranger, he was dressed as a hiker and passed by without a second glance. He had the all-weather jacket, boots, rucksack, beanie hat and, although unseasonal, gaiters. He’d done his research and learned that the nearby Parc Naturel attracted tourist fun-walkers and serious hikers alike. Always one to be completely professional he had adopted the latter persona. His entire garb was in shades of beige, khaki and stone and in a certain light he disappeared altogether. For good measure he spoke, in the main, to anyone he met in fluent Finnish, and, as intended, no-one he met understood a word. The locals would smile and nod and wish him a good holiday. He’d smile broadly back, nod along and say “This town is the arse-hole of the devil” in Finnish, and everyone would be happy. Woodrush was very happy, he’d found what he was looking for. Dixon could only tell him that this town featured in Clark’s plans, and Woodrush reflected how ridiculous it was that Dixon should have this information, but was nevertheless thankful for those that slipped up by either bragging or entrusting one too many side-kicks. And gradually a cottage had been identified, with not too much effort, a little broken French and English and no bloodshed. Small towns liked to talk, and their market places were the trading floors of produce and gossip. There was a cottage, often empty, he was told; not many holiday lets, he was advised; maybe they would sell, he was assured. Tonight it would be then. He spent a relaxing day, walking, enjoying the views and the weather, waiting for the day to pass naturally. His one concern was the small scab on his left thumb, indicating a miscalculation during his work. |