Chapter Eleven

Shaken from my near death experience and wondering who the pig’s trout this Peter James was I wondered through into my living room, fully expecting to see him seated in my favourite armchair – or my only armchair really, the sofa being for guests or (more usually) my general junk – and drinking my cheap whisky. But he wasn’t. Not drinking my whisky, or seated in my armchair, or taking a gander at my stuff. He wasn’t doing any of those things because he wasn’t in the room. Maybe he’s left I thought to myself hopefully. No, he’ll be in the bathroom peeing on the seat. (It might be apparent by now that I’m just a teensy weensy bit paranoid.) I went through to the bathroom, lifted my hand ready to knock on the door when I noticed that it was open. Ducking my head quickly inside and giving the room a quick roll over with my eyes I saw it was empty. Which just left the bedroom. A horrible image assaulted me. You know the beautiful image of the mysterious sexy woman waiting for you naked in your bed, well … okay I’ll stop there. I think you get the idea and it’s too ghastly to contemplate further. So it was with nervous trepidation that I opened the bedroom door and immediately closed my eyes. But since this was unhelpful, although a wholly sensible defensive measure, I opened them. And breathed a sigh of relief. The room was empty. More importantly, was the fact my bed was. Although I would have liked for it to have contained a mysterious and sexy naked woman.

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