Killing Eve: Resurrection (21)

The twenty-first instalment of a new Killing Eve story, published exclusively on Substack

            On the drive back to the hotel, Villanelle sits with Balice. The car windows are open, and the warm air smells of pine resin, and the sea.

            'Tell me,' Balice murmurs.

            'Everything went as planned. No surprises.'

            'No staff in that part of the house, I assume.'

            'Just Myrtha, who I managed to avoid.'

            'She's still in there? With Ron's... body?'

            'I guess so.'

            Balice nods.' She won't call the police or anyone else. She'll be freaking out because he's dead, and she'll think Sylvie killed him, which makes her, Myrtha, responsible. She'll probably be super-relieved when our team arrives.'

            'When's that happening?'

            'Any minute. They'll bag up Ron's body, take Myrtha to a safe house, wipe the CCTV, generally sanitise the place.'

            'I'm impressed that MI6 has clean-up teams. I thought the official line was that you don't kill people.'

            'We don't. We take a very dim view of that sort of thing.'

            'But you're quite happy to have me do it?'

            'We're prepared to outsource, yes.'

            'What's the difference?'

            'The difference is that you're not... one of us.'

            'So?'

            'So it doesn't count.'

            'What doesn't count?'

            'Don't be obtuse, sweetie. People like you, Russians and so on, don't share our... values.' She takes Villanelle's hand and strokes it gently with her thumb.

            'Are you saying I have no morals, Balice?'

            'Well, you don't, babe, do you? I'm not saying I don't find that quite sexy, but-'

            Villanelle leans back in her seat and closes her eyes. 'Let's go for a swim when we get back? That sea's like sapphire.'

          Balice's hand-stroking thing. It's a tell. A thing she does when she's lying to me. She did it in the nightclub in Petersburg, and she's doing it now. What's she up to? She thinks that she and her people are going to be interrogating Myrtha in an MI6 safe house tomorrow, but that's not going to happen, because Johnny and I got to Myrtha first. It'll be interesting to see Balice's reaction when she finds out that Myrtha's gone. Will she say anything? She's a perverse creature, and I can tell from her shallow breath and racing pulse that she's excited to be close to me so soon after I've killed Ron, but something tells me that sweetness will serve my purposes better than cruelty right now.

            I can't let my guard down. There's so much I still have to find out. Why are Balice and Johnny both so keen to talk to Myrtha? Why did Ron Tiberius really have to die? I don't believe Balice's story about him blackmailing British politicians; everything else she said to me that evening was a lie, after all. The pieces of the puzzle are assembled; I just have to put them together. I'm so nearly there. So close to figuring it all out.

            Meanwhile Balice is still holding my hand, still stroking it with her thumb. My new diamond bracelet is catching the light. It's so pretty. I whisper that I was wearing it when I killed Tiberius, and she's thrilled. It seems the moment to remind her that I need a swimsuit. She could pick one out for me at the hotel shop. Something simple. Emilio Pucci, that sort of thing.

            Balice and Villanelle swim for an hour, and are reclining in deckchairs on the hotel beach when Johnny appears. He tips his Panama hat politely to Balice and turns to Villanelle. 'Is it it a bad moment to ask for that chess game you promised me?'

            Villanelle blinks sleepily. 'Sure.' She inclines her head towards Balice.

            'Mm. Go.'

            They establish themselves at a table on the terrace, where a chess set, a board, and two Negroni cocktails are waiting. The sky is a soft shell-pink now, and the sea molten silver. Villanelle pulls a cashmere sweater belonging to Balice over her Pucci swimsuit, and for several minutes they play in silence. Johnny opens by offering a pawn sacrifice, which Villanelle accepts. She plays with dash and flair, but she's no match for Johnny, and quickly finds herself on the defensive as he takes control of the board.

            'You left Myrtha at the safe house?' Villanelle asks.

            'Yes. With a couple of our people to watch her.'

            'What's the Twelve's interest in Myrtha?'

            Johnny takes a pawn. 'We need to find out what she knows.'

            'That's a bit vague.'

            Johnny shrugs.

            'Balice's people seem to want her quite badly.'

            'I'm sure they do. I don't suppose she said why?'

            'No, and I didn't press the point.' Villanelle moves a knight out of danger. 'I was quite surprised that her people use... people like me. That they have a dedicated department for that.'

            'I know, it's all very Second Directorate. But that's the new reality.' He moves his bishop. 'Check. And I think checkmate.'

            'Ouch.' Villanelle lays her king on its side. 'I didn't see that coming.'

            'You should have sacrificed your knight.'

            She frowns. 'Say that again.'

            He repeats his words, and Villanelle gazes intently at the board. The marauding white bishop. Her own black king, toppled and defeated. Understanding blooms like an unfurling rose inside her.

            'I saw what I wanted to see,' she says, very quietly. 'But everything was the other way round.'

            'The looking-glass world,' Johnny says.

            She nods. 'Tiberius knew Balice.'

            'Of course he did.' Johnny gives her the faintest of smiles. 'Can you see the whole chess-board now? Right way round?'

            'I can,' she says wonderingly. 'And the queen's pinned.'

            'She is. Well played, Villanelle.'

            At dinner, the group sits at a large outside table, where we watch the sunset. It's the last night of the tour; tomorrow it's back to London. Everyone agrees that it's been marvellous, and how lucky we've been to have had such perfect weather. Glasses are raised to Dan for his enlightening lectures, and to Pippa for being our good shepherdess. To Lorna's mortification, William then launches into a loud, rambling story about visiting Antibes as a child 'when the Riviera really was the Riviera, before the Mafia, the Arabs, the Chinese and worst of all the bloody Russians took over', and earns himself some interested looks from neighbouring tables. Teazel reminisces, quite charmingly, about her TV days while Lorelei, presumably having exhausted Dan's erotic possibilities, has turned her attention to Ingo, whom I think she will find a harder nut to crack. Johnny, while attentive to the conversation around him, and contributing to it at judicious intervals, is watching Balice, who's on her fourth glass of Meursault Premier Cru. 'They can't fucking find Myrtha,' she hisses, laying her hand on my thigh and digging her fingernails into my skin. 'Later,' I whisper and she glowers at me, but I'm enjoying the sunset and the wine and the Gamberoni Carpaccio far too much to care.

          Balice sits on Villanelle's bed and kicks off her shoes. 'Am I going to get that sweater back at some point?' she asks.

            'I'm not sure,' Villanelle says, glancing at herself in a mirror. 'I really like it.'

            Balice looks at her testily. 'You heard what I said about Myrtha. She's gone. Our people can't find her anywhere.'

            'I heard.'

            'So what the fuck? You said you were with her. You said you talked to her.'

            'I did.'

            'So where the fuck is she?'

            'I don't know. Truly. Why do you want her so badly?'

            'She's a loose end, and loose ends irritate me.'

            'You'll see her again.'

            'You seem very sure.' She stands, and walks over to Villanelle. Stands behind her with her cheek on Villanelle's shoulder, and her arms around her. 'Look at that sky. Blue velvet.'

            Villanelle smiles.

            'Can I stay with you tonight?'

            Villanelle closes her eyes. Breathes in Balice's scent, the smell of her hair, the wine on her breath. Feels the soft pressure of Balice's body against her back.

            'No.'

            'Babe...'

            'You're not going to want to when you’ve heard what I have to say.'

            'What do you mean?'

            'I have Myrtha.'

            'You what?' Balice unclasps her arms and takes a step back. 'I thought you said you didn't know-'

            'I lied. I have her. And I know why you want her.'

            'What are you talking about?'

            Villanelle turns to face her. 'Ron Tiberius wasn't blackmailing anyone. He was your agent.'

            Balice, her face suddenly pale, meets Villanelle's gaze. She stands there in silence, her breathing regular but audible.

            'You kept the law off his back so that he could pursue his teenage girl habit, and he reported back to you about his celebrity friends. You were the blackmailer, Balice, not Ron Tiberius. But you did what you always do. You squeezed too hard. And he wanted out.'

            'You're making this up.'

            'Maybe I am. In which case you've lost Myrtha, who can't wait to tell the world's press that everything Ron Tiberius did, he did with the knowledge of MI6. And she will certainly name you as his handler.'

            Balice walks out onto the balcony, and stands there in silence, looking out over the darkening sea. 'You've really got her.'

            'I really have.'

            Balice turns to face Villanelle. 'What do you want?'

            'A deal. I'll give you Myrtha. And this sweater, if you insist, although it looks better on me.'

            'And in exchange?'

            'I want Eve.'

The story continues…

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