Killing Eve: Resurrection (17)

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

That night, the group stays in a hotel in the village of Poisy, a couple of kilometres from the Pavillon du Rossignol. Villanelle goes to her room immediately after dinner and sleeps alone. Towards midnight there's a soft knock at her door, but she takes no notice.

       At breakfast Balice makes a point of ignoring her, so Villanelle joins Ingo and Teazel, who are murmuring conspiratorially over their coffee and croissants.

            'What do you think?' Ingo asks Villanelle. 'Have Dan and Lorelei done the deed?'

            'Had sex, you mean?'

            'I do mean.' Ingo sips his espresso. 'Because our star lecturer is looking a bit hunted this morning. And she looks positively sated.'

            'Darling,' Teazel murmurs. 'I'm not sure that Goz...'

            'Of course she does.' He replaces his cup in its saucer. 'What do you both think of Dan, honestly? Fuck, marry or kill?'

            Teazel applies a transparently thin curl of butter to her croissant. 'Personally, I have no wish to do any of those things to him.'

            'Goz?'

            'Kill, definitely. If Lorelei doesn't do it first.'

            'I think we're all slightly jumping to conclusions about poor Lorelei.' Teazel peers around her. 'I wonder if there's more of this delicious apricot jam? Would you ask the young man, Ingo?'

            'Albert?'

The day's destination is the Chanel Perfumery and flower farm outside Grasse. It rains on the journey and as they step from the cars, their feet crunching on the gravel drive, the air is charged with a warm confusion of scents. A guide shows them round the chateau and the perfume distillery before distributing rain boots and leaving the group free to roam the estate. Villanelle, who hasn't exchanged a word with anyone since leaving the hotel at Poisy, finds a secluded bench and gazes out over the wet fields of rose and jasmine. Somewhere a lark is singing, its long, twittering call muted by the vapourous air.

            'Isn't this heaven?' Balice asks, taking her place beside Villanelle.

            'It was.'

            'Oh please. Don't be boring. We went to bed together. The world didn't end.'

            Villanelle stares straight ahead, expressionless.

            'I quite enjoyed it actually; you do have a way with you. I felt like a gazelle being devoured by a cheetah.' She takes her phone from a pocket, and keys in a code. 'Is that what she liked? All that tooth and claw?'

            'Leave me alone.'

            'Oh stop being such a baby. She's gone. Life goes on. And if you're in the slightest doubt about that...' She turns her phone towards Villanelle.

           I nearly vomit. The two of them gazing from the screen. Eve and Niko. She coy, he disgustingly smug. Pink hearts popping in the air around them. I get as far as the words 'renew their vows,' pull Balice's phone from her hand, and hurl it into a field of roses, narrowly missing Lorna Stalleybrass, who stares at me open-mouthed. Balice is furious, needless to say, and stamps off in her Chanel boots to try and find her MI6-issue device, which takes quite a few minutes, and involves much swearing and forceful shoving aside of rose-bushes. William and Lorna are enthralled spectators of this performance, which culminates with the discovery of the phone in a muddy puddle. Balice shakes it, jabs it with a finger, and shoves it into a pocket. Then she marches towards me, draws back her arm, and gives me the hardest slap on the face she can manage. As I stand there, water dripping from my stinging cheek, I notice that the scene has been witnessed not only by the Stalleybrasses, but by Johnny, Pippa and two of our hosts from Chanel. I only vaguely register this, because I've just realised something which makes my heart leap, and, if I'm right, turns my entire situation on its head.

Balice grovels to Pippa and the Chanel women (though what on earth she's saying I can't imagine, they must think she's deranged), and it seems the right moment to assume a shocked expression and allow a few tears to run down my cheeks. Lorna hurries over, spaniel-like as ever, and is quickly followed by Teazel, who murmurs soothing nothings as I bravely dab at my eyes with a tissue. We move, en masse, to the chateau entrance. Balice hurries inside and a couple of minutes later returns from the gift counter with a generously sized bottle of Chanel No 5 scent, which she presses on me with a warm hug, a kiss, and a heartfelt apology for letting 'the stress she's been under at work' get the better of her. I accept her offering with exemplary grace and poise, but my satisfaction is nothing compared to the excitement which has been steadily rising inside me. Because I'm pretty sure that Balice has fatally fucked up. She's been outmanoevred by my brilliant, beautiful Eve.

The story continues…