How could Helen say no to such a proposition? She was recently divorced and very lonely. For now, she had no work or social life to drown herself in.
“I would love to, Soula,” she smiled. “Efharisto. Is that right?”
“Perfect! And thank you,” Soula smiled. Her huge nose bulged under the force of her smile, yet she looked debonair and lovely.
For a change, the London night was serene with no threat of rain or earthquakes looming. In fact, it resembled a Parisian evening with a mild, temperate breeze breathing through Stoke Newington. It was Helen’s idea to have dinner at her favorite restaurant, although she told Soula that it was just a nice place she picked from a list Claire made. Since Helen got divorced, she had not allowed herself to eat there anymore. It was the painful reminder of where her now ex-husband had proposed to her, and where they had celebrated subsequent anniversaries together.
Helen was on her way to the Royale Masters Hotel to meet her friends. She took the taxi to Albion Road and walked from there. It was only three or four blocks to Knight’s Lance Tavern from the hotel, so Helen found it so convenient she almost thought it an uncanny coincidence. It was just before 9 pm when she entered the cushy hotel lobby where a single receptionist smiled from behind the long marble and silver desk.
“Good evening, Madam,” the lady smiled.
“Good evening. I am just waiting for two of your guests, Fidikos,” Helen informed her. “Could you call up to let them know I am here, please?”
“Certainly, Madam. Just a moment,” the receptionist said. “Please, feel free to help yourself to some tea or coffee over by the lounge area.”
“Thank you so much,” Helen smiled and headed to the lounge to wait on one of the lavish couches.
Before long Soula found her.
“You look stunning, Helen. Have you waited long?” she asked. Helen noticed that Soula was alone, and what was more shocking, dressed in something other than black for a change.
“Thanks, Soula. You look fantastic yourself, and in red no less!” Helen raved as they kissed cheeks. “Where is your hubby?”
“Oh, he asked me to apologize to you, but I think he has food poisoning or something. He has been throwing up since 2 pm this afternoon, and I must confess, I am getting worried,” she explained.
Helen was sympathetic, but she was a little relieved that she did not have to feel like a third wheel at the restaurant where she used to go with her husband. Having Soula’s husband in her company did make her wonder if the staff who knew her so well would see her alone in the company of a couple.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, love. I hope he will be alright. Did you have a doctor check on him?” she asked Soula.
“No, we decided to see how he feels in the morning,” the Greek millionaires replied. “Now are you ready or shall we just have tea and biscuits in the hotel lounge?”
Helen laughed, “No, absolutely not. I intend to get hammered tonight.”
“That is what I want to hear!” Soula cheered, and she pulled Helen clumsily against her.
“Just another block?” Soula moaned. “You do know I am wearing Prada, right?”
“Have some adventure, foreigner!” Helen giggled. “When last did you not drive somewhere?”
“Uh, never,” Soula gawked at her, occasionally wincing from the sting of her uncomfortable heels. “God, you are killing me with your adventures.”
The two of them strolled along the short, well-lit streets toward the inviting restaurant. It was a pleasant atmosphere all round, with the sidewalks full of couples just walking under the night sky and groups of students out to one of the clubs in the area.
Because of the streets being alive with the delicious smell of food and crowds drinking and having a good time, Helen and Soula did not notice the men following them on foot.
“They are going to the Knight’s Lance,” the one man reported on a device hidden under his cuff links.
“Keep a close eye and maintain your distance,” the voice on their ear pieces commanded. “Don’t take them until the streets are emptier. There are too many witnesses in the vicinity. Do you understand?”
“Roger that,” the stalker said, nodding to his colleague.
“I suppose we are not going to acquaint ourselves with them after all,” the other man said. “Pity. I was looking forward to smelling that witch’s perfume.”
“All in good time,” his partner smiled. “I’ll buy you a pirogue dish that will blow your mind.”
From their table on the cobbled sidewalk, the two men could see the red and green Knight’s Lance sign board under which the two women had entered. As the night drew on, they grew weary of waiting, but their mission could not be deserted at any cost.
Eventually, at 1 am, their patience paid off. Helen Barry and Soula Fidikos exited the tavern, properly intoxicated judging by their loud laughing and slightly impaired gaits. Most of the smaller establishments had closed by now, including the various shops that stayed open later for tourists and sightseers. Just like the streets died down into a lonely stretch with half a dozen souls traversing it at any point, the heavens dampened the stars and the crescent moon.
Clouds were gathering to usher in the wee morning hours. Below the darkening sky, the voices of the two intoxicated women reverberated against the walls of the flanking buildings of the small street they navigated to get back to Soula’s hotel. Soula kicked off her red heels, and Helen carried them as her friend walked on her silk stockings. Half a block behind them, two dark male shadows melted in and out of the shade in between street lamps, appearing and vanishing as they stole along the pavement.
“Stop! Stop!” Soula shouted suddenly.
“What’s wrong?” Helen frowned as her friend cowered toward a dark patch under the tree in front of the St. Mary’s Charity Center. “Soula?”
Helen could hear Soula puke her guts out in the dark patch.
“Oh,” she said, waiting patiently with Soula’s shoes in her hand. “Oh, that. Okay, well, I’ll just wait over here.” Helen felt the wind grow stronger, whipping her dark blond hair with its cold hand. “Soula, hurry up.” But she did not hear Soula anymore. Helen got a chill at the lonesome hiss of the leaves blown along the yard. Then she heard the Greek woman throw up again.
“Um, Soula, do you want me to hold back your hair?”
Chapter 14
Soula and Helen continued to the hotel, having no idea that they were being followed. Helen supported her ill friend by holding her up under her right arm.
“Are you alright, Soula? Your husband is going to be so upset with me for getting you so sick,” Helen mumbled as the sound of their feet clacked through the barren street two blocks from the front door of the Royale Masters Hotel.
Soula was coherent, to her companion’s relief, but she sounded like a patient waking up from a horrendous surgery. “No, he will not. He often sees me like this,” she told Helen, leaning heavily on the much thinner professor’s arm. “Besides, since I puked under that tree I have been feeling much better.”
“Really? That is good to know. I thought you were going to collapse at my feet a block back,” Helen admitted.
They staggered over the next street, ignoring a few passers-by laughing and pointing. “Oh, sod off! You’ve all looked like this! Wait till you hit your 30s. Gits,” Helen cussed them out, but her friend just groaned under the burden of another threatening outburst.
Soula muttered something, as she had been doing on and off. But this time, she looked at Helen with more urgency.
“Almost there, love,” Helen reassured. “To tell you the truth, I am going to have a bit of a purge too before I head home tonight.”