Killing Eve: Resurrection (11)

The eleventh instalment of a new Killing Eve story, published exclusively on Substack

   

         For a second no one reacts. Then Niko recoils. 'What the fuck? What the fuck?'

            'Oh, hey,' Villanelle says.

            His eyes widen. 'Is this... her?'

            'Yes, Niko, it's me.' Villanelle looks at Eve. 'Why's he here?'

            'Why am I here? I'm her fucking husband.' Niko shuffles backwards from the bed with the duvet wrapped round him, his gaze fixed on Villanelle's naked body. 'Why are you here?'

            'I came with Balice. You know Balice? She's sulking right now because I killed her annoying friend, but she'll get over it.' Villanelle stretches out luxuriantly on the bed. 'I've stopped shaving my armpits. What do you think? Sexy?'

            'Oxana, please,' Eve says faintly. 'What's going on?'

            'I need to talk to you, pupsik. Can he make us tea or something?' Villanelle flips over onto her front. 'Perhaps bring some biscuits?'

            Niko's face is bloodless. He reaches down, one hand holding the duvet around his waist, and lifts a heavy Maglite torch from the floor. 'Listen to me, you fucking lunatic. If you don't get out right now...'

Villanelle watches, expressionless, then reaches back and slaps her left buttock, leaving a smear of blood. She examines the broken mosquito on her finger. 'Have you got any bite cream, Babe?'

            'I said out. Now.' He hefts the Maglite. 'She's not your fucking babe.'

            'Oh, but she is, Niko. She absolutely is.'

            He lunges at her, and from behind him, Eve grabs at the torch. Niko wrenches it away, and with a despairing roar, smashes it into the mirror over the bed. Splinters of glass cascade over Villanelle.

            'Stop it,' Eve screams. 'Stop it.'

            Niko stands there, panting. Villenelle, glittering with mirror fragments, lies Sphinx-like on the bed.

            'Downstairs, Niko. Go.'

            His face pale, Niko stalks out. Seconds later, there's the sound of a slamming door. As Villanelle shakes broken glass from her hair, Eve falls to her knees beside her. 'Sweetheart, are you all right?'

           She reaches for the bedside lamp, switches it on, and winces. Villanelle's shoulders and back are flecked with tiny cuts. Glass splinters and beads of blood glint like jewels. Wordlessly, Eve draws her to her feet, leads her to the bathroom, and sits her under the shower. With infinite care, she runs warm water over Villanelle's face and body, combs the glass from her hair, and tweezes the splinters from her skin. By the time she's finished, her own hair and nightdress are soaked. Folding her arms around Villanelle's shoulders, she lays her cheek against her neck. They stay like this, motionless, as the shower head drips, and then Villanelle seems to gasp, to catch her breath, and Eve feels the suddenly vulnerable body beneath her shuddering with tears.

            'Angel, I'm here,' she whispers. 'I'm here.'

            'I thought... I thought I'd lost you. It's been so-'

            'Listen to me. Are you listening?'

            Villanelle nods, sniffs, and smears snot and tears across her cheek with the back of her hand.

            'That night in Petersburg.'

            'Mmm.'

            'Six of them showed up, all armed, and if you'd been there they'd have killed you. As it was, they had me out of there in seconds. They took my phone, wouldn't even let me pack a bag. We flew out of Pulkovo that night, and when we got to Heathrow there were people waiting to arrest me.'

            Eve peels off her wet nightdress. Wraps herself in a towel and hands one to Villanelle.

            'They kept me in a custody suite at the airport for two days. I'm wasn't scared, because I wasn't anything. I was a blank. Time had stopped - no night, no day - and our life together was just a dream.'

            Villanelle wipes her eyes and blows her nose on the towel, then dumps it in the shower. For several seconds she stares at the tiled wall. When she turns back to Eve her eyes are hard and flat. 'Get dressed. We're getting out of here.'

            'Babe, let me finish.'

            'You've finished.'

            'Angel, listen. I'm in the custody suite, OK, and this woman shows up. Typical MI6. Thin, superior, reminds me of every school bully I've ever known. Calls herself Maria,  says there'll be a trial, and that I'll be found guilty of assisting a foreign intelligence service and sent to prison. Fourteen years, she reckons.'

            'And you believed her?'

            Eve shrugs. 'She asks if I remember her from the Service. I say I don't, but she says she remembers me. And wants to help.'

            'Bullshit. You're talking about the same person who bought me here. Her name's Balice, not Maria. She approached me in St Petersburg. The whole thing's a set-up.'

            Eve takes a dressing gown from the back of the bathroom door, slips her arms into the sleeves, and fastens the sash. 'I ask how she can help, and she's like: suppose, just suppose, your Russia jaunt with Villanelle was reframed as a deep-cover operation against the Twelve? That might put a different complexion on things. We'd need to show results - quantifiable, high-value intel - and we'd need an intensive debrief, but-' She's silenced by the sound of the front door opening and closing.

'Is that crazy bitch still here?' Niko's voice, rough and exhausted.

            'She's just going.'

            'We're just going.' Villanelle grabs Eve by the wrist. 'We need to get dressed.'

            'You do. I'm not coming.'

            'Eve, please. Don't do this.'

            'I mean it.' She follows Villanelle into the bedroom. 'I can't. They'll catch us, they'll send me to prison, and they'll... they'll probably kill you.'

            'No fucking chance,' Villanelle starts to scramble into her underwear, gets her toe caught in her pants, and sits down abruptly on the bed. 'You still love me. I know you do.'

            Eve says nothing. Her face is very pale.       

            'So come.' Villanelle pulls on her jeans. 'We got away before, we'll do it again. You can't stay here with... with him.'

            'I have to.' Eve's voice is flat, drained of expression. 'Everything has to go back to how it was before. That's what she said. And Niko and I have to... make a go of it. That's the deal.'

            'Fuck the deal. And fuck you if you take it.'

            A series of creaks announces that Niko is climbing the stairs. Villanelle and Eve stare at each other. Each seems about to speak. Then Villanelle swings a leg over the window sill, and is gone.

The story continues…