The Valentine’s Day Plot

      Of course it had to be a bouquet of flowers for St Valentine’s Day. I chose them carefully, one by one, in the florist. Not less than 50p a bloom. She had always liked pink so those were the ones I selected. ‘Would you like them gift-wrapped, Sir?’ the girl in the shop asked, simpering, but I shook my head. That aspect of things I would deal with myself.

      When I had finished with them I must admit they looked good. I tied an enormous bow of red satin ribbon round the bottom and stood back to admire the finished article. There was no way of seeing the little glass bottle deep amongst the glossy leaves until the bouquet was unwrapped. The bottle said Dior. I tied it in with thread to make sure it was secure; I didn’t want it breaking and spoiling my surprise.

      I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist opening it and smelling it to make sure. And that, I confidently expected, would be the last inquisitive thing the lady ever did. It had after all been her nosiness which led to her finding out about me and to her lucrative career, at my expense, in blackmail. It’s strange how some women take to that particular hobby.

      I knew delivering the flowers would be a problem and I still hadn’t decided at breakfast exactly how to do it. Obviously I couldn’t do it myself. One sight of me and she would suspect something.

      Carefully I loaded the flowers into my car, propping them on the seat beside me and drove to The Avenue, which was just two streets away from her place. Then, pulling in to the side of the road, I sat and thought.

      It was so easy of course, in the end. Two little boys came down the road, neat in identical grey shorts and blazer.

      ‘Hey fellas!’ I wound down the window. They stopped and looked at me suspiciously. I winked. ‘Want to earn yourselves a pound on the way to school?’ They looked at each other and hesitated. ‘Each,’ I added; that’s inflation for you! ‘Listen; it’s not difficult.’ I beckoned them close and lowered my voice conspiratorially. ‘It’s St Valentine’s Day, right?’ One of them smirked, and the other raised an eyebrow with horribly adult cynicism. I ignored it. ‘I want you to take these flowers round the corner and give them to a lady. That’s all. No problem?’

      No problem. They took the flowers, listened politely to my instructions and to my threats of what would happen if they dumped the flowers and ran, and exchanged giggling glances when I gave them the address. Then they pocketed their money.

      I sat back and watched them round the corner. They were just about young enough, I reckoned, to do as I asked with no lip. When they were out of sight I drove as fast as I could go to the office.

      It was a pretty ordinary sort of day really, considering. I wondered when I would hear what had happened. I doubted if it would be on the evening news. It depended when that stuffy husband of hers came home and found her. I caught myself smiling quietly. After what she had done to me, the blackmailing interfering beautiful bitch, she deserved everything she was going to get. I glanced at my watch. Perhaps it was already over.

      There was a lot of work to get through that day, so I ordered a sandwich lunch. When the phone rang I had just reached for my can of beer.

      The strange thing was I didn’t recognize her voice at first. Then she said, ‘Thank you for the flowers, David.’ Then I knew. She went on, sarcastically I thought, ‘It was such a touching thought. Really the last thing I expected from you. You obviously chose them with such care.’

      ‘What flowers?’ The sweat stood out on my forehead suddenly. I had nearly been caught out and said, ‘I’m glad you like them’, or something equally fatuous.

      ‘Oh come now,’ her voice purred slightly. ‘You don’t have to pretend with me, David. Only you would send such a perfect bouquet. Your taste was always impeccable.

      I stuttered slightly before regaining my cool. ‘I’m glad someone still sends you flowers, love. Not me though, I’m afraid. Didn’t they send a note with them or something?’

      ‘No; no note.’ She paused. ‘It was so sweet, too, to put a bottle of scent in, David. You shouldn’t have. Really. And Dior as well. You know, that’s been my favourite perfume since we first met all those years ago.’

      My hand was shaking a little as it held the receiver. ‘Have you sniffed it to make sure?’ I tried to laugh. ‘You can’t always believe the label, you know.’

      ‘Oh indeed you can’t, David.’ She chuckled, and I could feel the small hairs on the back of my neck standing up at the sound. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t get the chance to smell your little gift, my dear. You see I’m afraid I dropped it. By mistake of course; out of the kitchen window actually. You’d never believe how concentrated they make perfume nowadays, David. It must have cost you a fortune. Do you know, it burned a hole right through the concrete. Imagine what it might have done to my poor nose.’

      ‘Imagine!’ I agreed sourly. The cunning female had seen through everything.

      ‘What made you think it was from me, my love?’ I asked casually. ‘You know I can’t afford to spend that kind of money on you. Not any more. You’ve milked me dry.’

      She laughed, a beautiful tinkling sound, as though she were really happy. ‘You had a spot of bad luck there, David. You see one of the little boys you bribed was my son. He’d been spending the night with a friend in The Avenue. You never met him before, did you? It just happens that they’re both very keen on cars. You see you’re the only person we know, dear, with a Bentley Continental with your initials on the number plate. Really, you should have come by taxi!’

      I reached for my beer and