Several things about her neighbour irritated Alison Parsons. She'd lived next door to Simon Ford for ten years but had never managed to be on first name terms. She was also not one of the bevy of females who flocked to his house at weekends.
"I'm a good neighbour. He shouldn't be so hoity-toity," when he resisted the lures she cast in his direction. In her huff she never noticed the slighting glance he gave the cochineal frizz that she fancied gave her a youthful appearance and was suited to a weekend painter. Or that he wrinkled his nose in distaste at the 'Obsession' fragrance that wafted his way on the morning breeze.
When she related details of his great body and cobalt blue eyes to her friend, Susie, she laughed and said to 'stop drooling over him.' She bristled at the laughter and took a deep breath to control her annoyance. She plunged in again.
"Females orbit around him like swallows." She detested swallows. They messed up her eaves. "There's a new one every month. He needs to settle down with a good woman. A local politician needs a wife."
"Who did you have in mind?" said her friend. Alison had the feeling Susie was laughing up her sleeve at her. "He sounds like a wanker to me. You're a painter Why don't you ask him to pose for you? Fully clothed of course."
Once an idea was planted in her head Alison had to act. Rather like a dog worrying a bone. She knew Simon's habits intimately. By judicious timing (she wasted hours spying on his movements through her venetians) she contrived to be in the garden at the same time dressed in her too-youthful best and doused in Obsession.
He padded out in his paisley dressing gown and bare feet.
"Simon?" she said. Really it was quite easy to use his first name. Why hadn't she done so before.
"Yes?" His blue eyes had darkened and were like chips of blue metal and as uninviting. She was a little taken aback at his frostiness.
She decided to review the situation. A full-length study would require too long a sitting. She needed to break the ice by degrees.
"I would like to paint your portrait," she said with an ingratiating smile.
He didn't answer. She started prattling, anything to fill the silence.
"It wouldn't take long. Just a few hours."
"Not my scene, madam." He turned on his heel and stalked off.
An unbecoming geranium red spread across her bony chest and up her neck.
Later that afternoon Alison was planting marigolds in front of her camellias when she became aware that her name was the subject of a conversation between Simon and his latest. She paused in her digging and strained to hear.
"Can you believe it? That old snoop next door wanted to paint my portrait. She spends all her time watching my movements through the venetians. I thought fussy floral still-lifes would have been more her line."
Alison's vanity was crushed and she spent a depressing afternoon.
The next morning the postman was early and Alison made a point of avoiding Simon. There were the usual bills that she always had trouble paying and a letter for her neighbour. She was about to return it to his letterbox when she decided to keep it for a few days. "Let him stew," she muttered. "I'll never get anywhere with him anyway. Susie was right. He's a wanker."
She let the letter sit on her kitchen sideboard for several days. It had a typed address on the front and no return address on the back. Curiosity got the better of her and she decided to steam it open. He called me a snoop so that's what I'll be.
It was a typed letter and she took a second look when she saw the signature on the bottom. It was a name she recognised from the tabloids as Mr Big. Skimming the contents she realised it was a business deal and Simon stood to benefit. Corruption.
What a furore this would cause when it became known. Alison was still simmering from the rejection. He could have let her down more lightly. Was he worthy of her devotion? So many politicians were being exposed for corruption. It was almost a daily event. She settled herself on her couch and watched the TV. It was a British show about a man being blackmailed.
A commercial break came on and the thought entered her head that Simon had left himself open to blackmail. He certainly deserves it. But I'm not the sort of person to do that. Or am I? I could certainly do with the money.
She focused her thoughts on the show. The blackmailer got caught but he was careless. I wouldn't be so stupid. Just for the heck of it I'll work out a battle plan. By the next morning she decided to put it into action.
First she needed a private mailbox in another suburb under a fictitious name. Then she composed a letter threatening exposure if he failed to hand over ten thousand dollars. She spilled her perfume bottle on the envelope but put it in the sun to dry. Ten thousand dollars was a nice round sum that would get her out of her financial difficulties.
She mailed the letter in the other suburb. She didn't change her routine so as not to draw attention to herself. Twice a week she checked the private mailbox but there was no response. Three weeks passed. Simon took to waving to her when she was out in the garden and even came over when she was watering the marigolds. He sniffed audibly several times. Poor thing, she thought. He must have a cold.
"Alison, I haven't been neighbourly over the years and would like to make amends. Would you spend Saturday with me on a boat I've hired?"
She hesitated. Could he associate her with the letter. Certainly not. She'd been so careful.
"I'd love to Simon," she simpered.
The Saturday rain eased and when the sun came out the cicadas were shrilling in the bushes. Alison trotted down her path to meet Simon at the gate - a short drive to the harbour and she was on the boat Esmeralda, a cruiser with a cabin.
They sailed offshore and Simon threw over the anchor. Alison stretched herself blissfully on the deck beside Simon. But after an hour the rocking of the boat and the slapping of the water against the gull made her feel seasick.
"A cup of tea will fix that," said Simon. "Go down below. There's everything you need."
Alison teetered down the steps. "Simon, I can smell gas," she called out.
"You'll be right," he said. "Make the tea."
He stood on the edge of the boat poised ready to dive. He hesitated when he saw the dorsal fin circling the cruiser. He hesitated too long.
There was a loud explosion, a flash and a burst of flame soared into the air.
The wreckage of the boat settled on the gently rocking waves.
Later a small school of dolphins frolicked and leapt nearby in the afternoon sun.