Hand of Fate


The door bell went just as I was fastening my coat. I was not in the best of moods as I was already running late and this added to my irritation.
‘Wait! Damn you!’ I yelled down the hallway.
I scanned the living room floor where my papers had been scattered from the drunken night before. I scooped them up quickly and rammed them into my briefcase. The door bell rang again just as I was taking one last check on my appearance in the hall mirror.
‘All right! Just a minute!’ I fumed, adding another layer of pink lipstick, then back-combing my fringe with my fingertips.
I grabbed my scarf from the hallstand then went for the door, half hoping that whoever it was had gone. However, I could see a dark silhouette through the glass as I yanked open the white double-glazed door.
‘Yes?’ I screeched releasing more frustration than I’d planned to. ‘What do you want?’
On the step stood a small hunched figure dressed in black. I was almost taken aback for a moment when I saw that it was a gypsy. This was a very high-class neighbourhood.
‘What the hell do you want?’ I managed to say in my outrage.
The old woman stood there, it seemed like an age, her yellowing eyes burning into mine, her pitiful wizened face making me feel almost sorry for her – but not quite. She opened her mouth, giving me a wide toothless grin.
‘You got a kind face lady. Cross me palm wiv silver an’ I’ll tell yer fortune.’
‘Really!’ I snapped. ‘I’m haven’t got time for this. Can’t you see I’m in a hurry?’
I slammed the door and made for my car; the red MG gleaming on the drive way. I brushed past the gypsy and hoped that would be an end to the delay. I had more important things on my mind. This morning there would be an opportunity to secure my succession to the board, if the meeting went to plan.
The gypsy grabbed my arm on the way past, she didn’t seem threatening but she was much stronger than I expected and I stopped in my tracks staring at the hand that had dared to touch me. It was dirty and unkempt in contrast to my soft moisturised fingers and immaculately painted, manicured nails.
‘Well what a downright liberty!’
The gypsy’s hand fell away almost immediately sensing my anger.
I gave her one of my haughty stares, then regaining a little more composure I marched onwards, towards my beautiful awaiting car.
‘Ah yes,’ said the gypsy in a high pitched voice, ‘you work in a very tall building, yer does – with a dark man. A bit special to ya, is he?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
The yellow eyes in the shrivelled face pierced into me. ‘You ‘eard me, dearie.’
I could feel my cheeks heating up slightly.
‘What nonsense are you talking about? Everybody works in a tall building around here. And half the men I work with are dark. If you’re trying to get money out of me….’
‘Ah yes it’s all there. Wealth an’ ‘appiness too, if ya get away with it, dearie,’ the gypsy said slowly, with more force than menace.
My heart began to hammer slightly. ‘Ok I’ll give you a fiver. It’s all I’ve got and you’d better be quick.’
Shaking her head, the old woman tutted. ‘Oh no, kind lady, that won’t do at all.’
‘How much then?’ I said barely disguising my fury.
The gypsy stood still, her head nodding rhythmically in thought. ‘It depends …’
‘On what?’
‘On you dearie. Now that I’ve seen.’
‘Seen what?’ I said, my voice now shaking.
‘What you and the dark man are planning to do.’
I swallowed hard. My thoughts becoming all of a jumble. ‘You don’t know anything,’ I stammered. No-one could see into the future, least of all this vagabond. Still my heart was hammering in my chest.
‘Wanna be rich don’t ya, dearie? I think ya might just get away with it too.’ Her voice was sickly like syrup.
Now I was horrified, her words were beginning to get too close to the bone. I began to wonder what she knew about me and Steve? Or if Steve himself might have something to do with this? I took a deep breath to try and calm my thoughts.
‘I think you’d better come inside,’ I said reluctantly.
The gypsy followed me in, like a faithful puppy. ‘Goin’ to kill ‘im, aren’t ya? And make it look like a robbery?’
Now she was really hitting the mark, and the old crone knew it. My voice became high-pitched. Still, I tried to sound surprised.
‘Who, for God’s sake?’
‘Oh you know who, dearie. But I’ll tell you if you like.’ She smiled, a gloating smile.
I stared at her, speech beyond me. She was onto us, there was no doubt about it.
‘Oh it’s all right, dearie,’ the gypsy continued grinning. ‘You don’t ‘ave to say anything. Anyways I’ve seen now. An’ Rosie Boswell ain’t never wrong.’
I gritted my teeth. I came to what seemed the only possible solution.
‘So how much do you want?’
‘Oh no my lovely,’ the old woman said aghast. ‘I can’t take money. What I wants is silver. We gypsies can do anything wiv silver. Melt it down yer see.’ She fingered a silver charm around her neck. ‘An’ make trinkets.’
Then she opened up the large shopping bag she had been carrying over her arm.
‘Pop in all yer silver, dearie – ornaments, jewellery, anything ya got. There’s a good girl.’
Almost without thinking, I did as she said. I even gave her the silver letter opener and charm bracelet that Steve had bought me for my birthday. He was going to go ballistic about this when I told him. But we were in trouble, big trouble.
When I finally arrived at work, fifteen minutes late, I was in a terrible state. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, I couldn’t think straight. I was desperate to see Steve, to talk to him, but to my despair, he was no-where to be found. I was on the periphery of hysteria.
Eventually the telephone rang on my desk, I jumped out of my skin. But it was Steve. I was so relieved.
‘Thank God!’ I almost screamed into the receiver. ‘I have to talk to you urgently.’
‘No.’ Steve interrupted firmly, ‘Not on the telephone.’
I sensed immediately that he too knew something was wrong.
‘Get yourself over to my place quick as you can.’
‘Steve, we’ve got a problem.’
‘I know honey, just get here quickly. Tell Rosemary you’re going on an urgent errand for me, okay? Please Christie?’
‘Okay give me ten minutes’, I said. My heart was pounding as I slowly replaced the receiver, trying to make everything look as normal as possible.
I arrived at Steve’s luxury detached house in Fulchester and banged on the door. It opened so suddenly that I almost fell through.
‘Christie! Thank God!’ Steve said in a panic. ‘I don’t know what to do. I…it’s dad, he’s in the lounge.’
He grabbed my arm and pulled me down the hallway. I followed him willingly, he was clearly very upset.
‘Something terrible has happened.’
I know, I wanted to tell him. I reached for the doorway and froze. Mr Horrocks was lying face down on the carpet with a knife between his shoulder-blades, a bright wet patch of blood starting to sink into the plush carpet.
Tears welled up in my eyes and I turned to Steve sobbing.
‘Wh…what’s happened? Surely you haven’t killed him? What
about the plan? How are we ever going to get away with it now?’
Steve looked at me as if I’d gone mad.
‘We?’ he asked coldly. ‘We aren’t going to get away with anything.’ Then he paused. ‘But I will. As for the plan, it’s gone perfectly.’
He let me digest his words of betrayal. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. I stared at him with horror.
‘You see I didn’t kill him, you did!’
‘What?’ My head was beginning to spin. He wouldn’t do this to me? Not my Steve, my beloved Steve. My heart sank deeper into despair.
‘Yes, you killed him,’ Steve said pushing me coldly away.
‘He was going to fire you. He found out about us - about our sordid little affair. You argued, then you became quite hysterical – rather threatening. He tried to phone the police and you went for him, with the letter opener you picked up off the bureau.’
Steve pointed to his father’s corpse.
‘Death was instantaneous.’
‘No-one will believe you!’ I gasped. ‘I could never…..I mean murder? No-one would believe that I could do anything so bad.’
‘But the letter opener has your fingerprints all over it!’ Steve said smugly.
The letter opener? I stared at the corpse. My vision was blurred but when it focused I recognised the silver murder weapon. ‘That’s the one I gave the gypsy…’
At that moment a voice behind me said; ‘Allo dearie. Cross me palm wiv silver and I’ll tell ya yer fortune.’
I couldn’t believe it, the gypsy was here. I turned slowly, as if compelled. I really didn’t want to know who was behind. As I turned, I faced a beautiful young woman with long silky hair and tanned smooth skin.
‘You never met my wife, Sophie did you Christie?’ Steve said with a grin of satisfaction across his face.
‘ Before we married she was a make-up artist, you know.’
And in her hands Steve’s wife was holding up a thin latex mask, that was all dried and wrinkled, like wizened skin. I watched hopelessly as she carefully placed it on the open fire.