Three days earlier.

Returning from a site visit, Roxanne threw her bag on the desk, pissed off. "I'm fed up with his childishness! How selfish! He's a good guy! And he's no exception!" He had chosen the moment to call her. He knew it well, however, that she would not be available before the end of the afternoon.

At breakfast she had told him of her apprehensions for the day that was coming and of which she expected nothing good, but of course, he had better picked up the news vomited by his damn radio than those of his wife. . "Could you come in, I have a problem!" And that's basically what he had told her. No but ! He hadn't found anything better.

She had seen red, and had had only one explanation for his behavior: another whim or one of those moments of blues he was more and more accustomed to. "Are you bleeding out and you're going to break down in the next quarter of an hour?" she told him nastily. "Well no! Of course", and he had mumbled words that she hadn't listened to.

The "obviously" had been too much. She had concluded the interview by angrily telling him that he was either calling the fire department, the SAMU or the Funeral Service, or he was waiting for her to come home. But for now, he had to leave her alone!

Then, as if relieved to have been able to do her scene, she added: "I'll be home around five o'clock". But of course to have the last word and probably make her feel a little more guilty, he had hung up on a little: "See you later", pronounced like a dying man. What a bastard!

She wanted to cry, and then she reasoned with herself. His work worries were making life difficult for his personal life, and it couldn't last. Of course, his job was necessary. It was what allowed them to live decently and not suffer too harshly from Lawrence's half-time work, but she felt that this situation was leading them into a wall.

And this appointment that was looming on the horizon of his day was very likely not to turn out to his advantage. However, the signing of this contract would suit a not so brilliant monthly turnover. She therefore put her nose back in two or three trifles which allowed her to spend the rest of the morning without too much pain. Bradley, his partner, would only be there in the afternoon, and in the end that was just as well.

Even though he was a very nice boy, she had no desire to pour out on his shoulder. Too proud, Roxanne. He still had one last card to play in this dragging game with an undecided seller, coupled with the profile of an authentic pig.

This vicious old man with a cunning eye and a sickening smile, had the unique quality of being the proud owner of a sixties shack, ugly and badly done, but surrounded by two thousand meters of beautiful building land. and who now was in the middle of town.

For two weeks she had undertaken a "conquest and persuasion" operation to get him to sell his property to the agency. She had quickly noticed that this old badger was salivating just by seeing her pass her gate.

He was obsequious and she was suspicious of him. Just in case, she kept a pepper spray in her pocket, in case the guy thought he was a predator. To his credit, the man had never had a bad move. So she had done her best to overcome her disgust. No doubt she was a bit mannered or paranoid…

This was her fifth visit and it was the last of the lasts. With Bradley, they planned to get rid of the shack and subdivide the land by building pretty little pavilions with a tiny garden that would delight young penniless couples. She was going to propose to the guy to keep the usufruct of his hovel, so everyone would benefit from it. Despite this strategic sacrifice, it remained a lucrative business.

One of the kind to fix the balance sheet for you. It remained to be hoped that the big deal was not just a mirage, which in his profession happened more often than not. Had her work of persuasion paid off and was she going to make the man bend? That was the whole question.

Since their last meeting, his instinct had told him that the case was lame. From his tone, she sensed something was wrong. The bugger was even less clear than usual. From there, her confidence had taken a hit, and doubt had set in without her being able to do anything about it.

And now Lawrence, his Lawrence, was getting into it too, definitely ruining this day for him. Guess he really had nothing else to do. It was up to her to fight like a hyena, while he remained very comfortably installed at home, leaving his work table only to make himself a tea, or bite into a little butter. She felt really jealous of him, even though she knew very well that she was wrong, and that it was stupid and mean to think like that. For nothing in the world would she have liked to stay at home, waiting for customers to show up. Precisely what he had to endure every day.

While for almost fifteen years he had been a recognized and appreciated press illustrator, this recognition was now only reflected by orders in dribs and drabs, paid half as much as before and with deadlines for delivery of increasingly shorter.

Daily phone calls had become weekly, and when he had an illustration on the way, then she felt like she was married to a baker. He would go to bed in the middle of the night, exhausted and start snoring within a minute. It had been going on for months without her being able to do anything about it, and to see her artist's face lengthen and his character sour, there was really nothing to envy.

It was after noon when his alter ego poked his head through his office door.

“Hello my Roxanne! Nothing in particular? I just came from the prefecture, he said, collapsing in the armchair in front of her. Seeing that she said nothing, his eyebrows became questioning.

"Are you okay? A problem? Are you sulking?

“Idiot! But no, everything is going like clockwork, of course!

“To others… Come on, tell me! Nose in her binder, she took a moment to answer him.

"No, it's not okay… Nothing's okay. And I'm very upset.

" The job ?

"Yes... well no. It's Lawrence above all... Which can be boring when he gets down to it. He always chooses the right moment. There, I had to come back urgently, when I I have this meeting with Blanchard and it's really out of my pocket. And he's calling me just because he's got the blues. You'll admit that… There was a blank.

"You know what I think...

"From Blanchard?

"No, not Blanchard!

"Please Bradley, this is really not the time. You're not going to get into it too…Bradley didn't add anything. He was looking at her, and in his eyes she could have read: "Save- you ! ". But Roxanne did not want to see anything and especially not to suffer the courtship of her partner, even if living with an artist on the edge of the abyss was in the process of draining her of all her energy. However the presence of her friend calmed down.

"He's not very well at the moment. Times are tough for artists. Not easy to live with. He's more and more of a badly polished werewolf who hardly ever comes out of his lair. She made a pause.

"Anyway, I could never abandon him. Impossible! Do you understand? They stood staring into each other's eyes for an eternity, before he broke the silence.

"Understand it, yes, accept it, there, not sure. Come on, forget what I told you and let's think about the point of this box, for God's sake! So, where are you with Blanchard?

“I have an appointment with him later, and I have the impression that he is having fun… He nodded but said nothing.

"You'll be mad at me if I don't bring you back his scalp...

" Don't talk nonsense. Nothing is ever acquired, even less in our job.

Sometimes everything goes like clockwork, and at the last moment, boom! The case passes us under the nose. His "paf" and his "pif" made her smile.

"If it's not this time, it will be another and that's all!

"Oh, Bradley… She refrained from going to snuggle up in his arms.

"And after the date, go straight home! I'll call you in the early evening. You'll tell me everything.

Sitting in her car, she stared in front of her without seeing anything. As she had unfortunately anticipated, the meeting had turned into a real and genuine fiasco. The first thing she had seen when she arrived was the sign of Sud-Immo, their main competitor, hanging on the fence of the old man's house. The big slap. The case was therefore settled. However, she had not wanted to accept defeat without a last last stand and had tried to argue, while debining the other agency.

But very quickly she had felt that the old donkey had stumbled, and that she would not achieve anything with him. The game was lost. It only remained for him to take his leave, drawing on his last resources to do so politely. Paradoxically, he had to expect to see her furious, and the calm of the young woman had made him lose his means to the point that he had started to stammer vague excuses while trying to justify himself.

He had squirmed like a rascal caught in the act. And that was even worse. Roxanne felt the rage wash over her like a tsunami. She was going to gouge out his eyes, stomp on his face, and strangle him with her guts. Instead, she had given him a nice smile, and with a small wave of her hand had turned on her heels, bravely.

The twenty meters to reach his car were a real ordeal. She had an ax stuck between her two shoulders. She walked like an automaton, then with all the difficulty in the world opened the door, collapsed on the seat and her head on the steering wheel, crying with rage.

She must have been sobbing for long minutes, prostrate on her steering wheel, because when she looked up and saw his ragged features in the rearview mirror, she felt sick. The makeup had flowed and her face was a Halloween mask.

After tearing herself away from the masochistic contemplation of this ravaged face, she blew her nose noisily and restored some order to this battlefield.

He must have been at least forty in the car, and she was sweating. She rolled down the window. A breath of warm air entered the passenger compartment and dried his cheeks. She took a deep breath and drove off.

His route crossed meadows and woods. It was the route she took every day and she loved this break which helped her chase away bad feelings and daily worries. Normally, and even more so in the middle of the afternoon, it didn't take him more than half an hour to drive home. Imagining that she must have had a terrible horoscope that day, she applied herself to respecting the speed limits. No need to add more, in the tiles. Especially since she had just lost two points, in quick succession, on her licence.

She parked the car in front of the garage door. But as soon as the ignition was cut, a hint of worry took over her and she ran towards the entrance.

“Hello… It’s me, darling!

She had adopted the most jovial tone she could dispose of for the occasion.

Her only response was the echo of her own voice. She wasn't surprised. At this time there was little chance that he was in the house.

"Anyone there?" she tried at random.

As expected, no response.

She then threw her jacket and her bag on one of the sofas in the living room. She swung her high heels away, and barefoot crossed the whole house to emerge into the garden at the bottom of which sat her husband's lair. It was a garden shed half hidden by the foliage. He had built it for himself away, quietly. As she walked among the clumps of asters and dahlias, Roxanne inhaled the sweet air.

She pushed open the glass door that opened onto one of the two rooms in the cabin.

Although she knew where he was, she couldn't help but ask:

" You are the ?

"Yes…Come in!" Her deep voice, coming from the adjacent room, the workshop in which he worked. Weaving between the stacks of magazines and books, she moved forward cautiously.

She had just enough time to glance at the work table before turning her head and falling backwards, falling stiff as a board on the old carpet of the office.

To be continued....