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Wednesday, February 06, 2013

SS-1, Chapter-4


The following morning, the lady woke up. The lawyer had left, for his morning walk.
 After a strong dose of caffeine and popping yet another aspirin, she turned her attention to his closet. The previous night’s coat having been identified, was given a quick yet thorough search. This going down in vain, she turned to the drawers, then  the night stand, the book shelf… her initial caution being abandoned, things were now flung helter skelter, the room in a mess.
The crucial piece of evidence remained elusive.
I’m being silly and paranoid!
Half relieved, half tired she sat down by the study.
 The neat velvet packaging was unmistakable. The blue box, the golden embossed logo, unmistakable…
Half an hour later, she was still sitting at the table, twirling it with her fingers.
Hell was beginning to take a human form.
Presently the doorbell rang, only to be replaced by the clattering of metal on tiled floor. The stones rolled out, and the intricately set pattern in pieces, what was left of the necklace lay limply by the wayside.
The lawyer stared aghast at his wife, their gaze met for a brief moment, her’s red with fury, his steeped in sorrow.
‘My dearest, for all the years of love, for all the battles we fought, and for all that’s to come in life, I love you!...’
 He held the note in his hand, she stared at it.
The sorrow in his eyes was unmistakable. The more he stood their looking into her eyes, the more it pained her… shamed her.
Her judgment had been hasty, without even a hearing. The prejudices of a feminine mind had cost her her better judgment.
Unable to deal with the riot within, she collapsed into his arms, a wave of relief washing over her, the serenity restored over her countenance.
As they stood there, at one with each other, at one with the blue skies, and the white mountains, time stood still in the valley.
As he eased his wife into the chair, he inwardly thanked the years he’d spent mastering his craft, after all, a lawyer had to hold a degree in trickery. The same facts can be made to look a little different in different light.
I love you… my dear Ms. X
So read the rest of the torn note that he’d retrieved, to show his wife, from the ruins of the jewellery box. But this part she’d never read. He crumpled it further in his pocket. The thought of the attractive brunette, an old client, relegated for now, into the archives of the brain.
And whilst the lady rested, the crumpled bit joined the fuel in the fireplace.
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