Number 74

     
     
     
I arrived at the door only to be met by this 51 year old prep, I could smell Jo Malone on her, if I had to guess from the notes I think it was lime, basil and mandarin, not a single line was found on her blouse or her flared trousers, her green eyes darted up and down and I knew by then she probably hadn't been touched for years, I was the animal stood on the doorstep of an immaculate townhouse, she brushed her hand gently across my leather shoulder as I entered.      
     
     
     
I gazed at photographs sitting perfectly      
in their silver framed pedestals, her husband      
standing proud all suited shaking hands with      
some other man, I guess he wasn't shaking his hands in other places he should make time for, he looked typically English having a handkerchief tucked neatly into his blazer pocket.      
     
     
     
She asked if I would like a coffee and I said yes please, after a morning rush of bullying my way through morning workers trying to get to an address you're delighted to be offered the good stuff, I used the bathroom then saw her bedroom door wide open I went in to look at her view which was barred by a set of fire exit stairs, it wasn't much for what they might have paid for, she came upstairs with the coffees saying it's not much of a view is it?      
     
     
     
I said sadly not really with some empathy      
thinking it could be a portrait of her home life, knowing the possibility of making my way down that set of stairs if she's deep in her indulgences and not calculated her husbands estimated time arrival home from work, but this was work, that's the risk you took and husbands always enjoyed pointing their fingers at third parties like they're dealing with a business transaction gone wrong, we are simply mirrors holding up where they are going wrong in immaculate houses holding tiles colder than death.