by Angela Wright
She checks the address on the crumpled piece of paper. So this is where he lives.
She gazes up at the house, lit only by the street light, which casts dark shadows on the elegant façade. No lights on in the windows, so nobody home yet.
Quite a sizeable place, so obviously he’s not short of a bob or two. Or he’s got a very big mortgage. His mortgage isn’t her problem. Nor is his wife, or his three kids. Or his career or his reputation. He has got to pay for his indiscretion, for his pleasure.
A car draws up into the drive, and soon a light comes on in the hall, then a downstairs room. Her research has discovered that his family are away, but are back tomorrow. He will be alone tonight. Prime time for a spot of blackmail. Smiling to herself, she knocks on the door.