||[Aug. 15th, 2015|07:15 pm]
On a train towards Barnes, Mortlake, North Sheen, Richmond. Three across the aisle, thirties-young: a couple and one another woman.|
"Has she told you about her first job in London? Did she ever tell you about that? Do you want to, shall I tell her?"
"She was paid, right, by this rich guy, this, was he Russian?"
"Anyway, he was rich. And what [
name] was paid to do, was be his wife's best friend. Her best friend in London. And this went on for, what, a year at least? Eighteen months?"
"Really? Just to be her friend? I mean like, I don't wanna, but, how much?"
He starts talking again, but now his partner speaks up, sharply, with the careful emphasis of someone who wants a point understood.
"He paid me to keep tabs on her. I reported back on her. That's what he paid me for ."
There's a pause, and then her boyfriend says:
"You never told me that... No.... you never told me that."