Congratulations !
You have been awarded points.
Thank you for !
- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Crime
- Published: 10/21/2014
The D'Ville is in the Deatails
Born 1965, M, from Te Awamutu, New ZealandTHE D’VILLE IS IN THE DETAILS
Sitting in the chair in the middle of the room Madam D’Ville smiled at what she had accomplished. The chair was the last one and had, until recently been part of a pair and the room that she and it now occupied was empty. Not just spacious, but completely empty having been made so by D’Ville and her group of ‘friends’ not half an hour ago. It had been a remarkably simple task to achieve and looking back on the past weeks events leading up to this point caused her a slight twinge of guilt. But this came from another hidden part of her personality and was not the part that now sat in the chair with one leg over the arm and a very expensive glass of very expensive wine in her hand. The skirt she wore had fallen away exposing a leg that was sexy in its chunkiness and sported a tattoo that ran from her thigh to her ankle that she could never, for the life of her, remember getting. To be fair a lot had happened over the past ten years – and not necessarily to her. Sometimes it seemed that the tattoo changed with each adventure she had been involved in and looking at it now she could see that there appeared to be the number 911 delicately etched by her knee. She smiled as she closed her eyes, and tilting her head back a little she tapped out a slow rhythm on the glass with exquisitely manicured nails - and remembered..
One week ago Mr Martin Grimes left his Mayfair apartment to go to work as he had done every weekday for the past year. Mr. Grimes was a trader by profession and a very good one at that. Recently he had earned himself a promotion within the firm of Smith and Smithton by securing a deal worth over seven million pounds. He had treated himself to a nice little present by way of a reward for all the hours he had not spent at home with his girlfriend, not that she minded too much as it gave her the opportunity to wander downstairs to the apartment below and to her neighbor Jill. These trips only usually happened when Jill went out which allowed her to sit with, and eventually on Jill’s husband for a while. The present he had bought would not behave in the same way as his girlfriend and, with the right amount of care would be a lot more responsive and make much better noises. The Porsche 911 sat outside Martins apartment building and shone like a beacon of prosperity letting everyone who walked past know that its owner was a man of style, panache and wealth. Until recently that is. For on this day, one week ago Martin Grimes found that his beloved new acquisition was in fact missing. Stolen would be a better word. The police had been informed, naturally and had in return informed him that there was very little they could do as most of the cars of this type were stolen to order and would now, probably be on its way to some other country or in several easy to sell parts. This day for Martin had been a long and sad one until on his return from work he found his nice new shiny Porsche 911 parked outside his home with a note tucked into the windscreen wiper blade.
It read:
To the owner of the Porsche:
I am sorry for the inconvenience I have caused you today. This morning at around 1.30am I was passing your car after having been out to dinner with my wife, (who was heavily pregnant at the time), when she felt the first pains of labor. I am an ex criminal and stealing cars was my choice of profession when I was younger, a mistake I have paid for with five years of my life behind bars. I panicked and took the only choice I had available to me at that hour in the morning, which was to take the car that we were standing next to and drive my wife to the hospital. Unfortunately this happened to be your car. At 8.45 this morning my wife gave birth to our son and both Mother and child are doing fine. I am returning your car now with my profound apologies. I have filled the car up with a full tank of premium gas and have had the car valeted. Please accept also two tickets to the West End show ‘Cats’ as a small token of my thanks. I will not be leaving my name, as I am a known criminal and do not want my actions to take me away from my new family, as this most certainly would do.
Thank you again.
A Friend
After reading the note Martin went back inside his apartment to show the tickets and the letter to his girlfriend who had been asleep on the sofa after a hard day with her friends hard husband. The police were contacted and the search for the missing car called off and all were happy. On the night of the show Madam D’Ville had entered Martins apartment aided by a small group of chaps who were happy to do her bidding on the very sensible grounds that she paid rather a lot for their services. Ms D’Ville not only had access to Martins home but also to important information, namely that of where he was and how long he would be away from the apartment. The instructions given to her little band of merry men was to strip the place bare, even down to the very expensive carpets.
A quite clearing of the throat interrupted this contemplation of her actions.
‘If you would be excusing us miss we will take the chair that you are sitting on, being as how it is the last thing to go’Madam D’Ville looked up into the broad, worried looking face of the man known to all as ‘Big Dave’ who wrung his hands anxiously.‘Of course David, please do’ she said standing up. Having placed her wine glass on the mantle of the fireplace she stood for a moment whilst Dave removed the last items from the room and took one last look around. Madam D'Ville giggled slightly at the sight that would meet the owner of the apartment on his return whilst she backed out of the room, carefully closing the door behind her. With equal care she wiped the door handle of any fingerprints that she may have left behind. ‘How many times could she pull this trick off?’ she thought to herself. She knew this was arrogance speaking and scolded herself for it. A voice inside her head whispered
‘Arrogance leads to sloppiness, and sloppiness leads to mistakes. Mistakes will get you caught’
The voice belonged to another part of her that watched from somewhere within. Madam D’Ville smiled:
‘Never going to happen’ was her reply and closing the door she said out loud.
'Ladies and Gentlemen - Ms D’Ville has left the building'.
So here in the middle of London’s West End quietly stands an apartment which is home to Mr. Martin Grimes and his girlfriend. It was also once home to all sorts of other things.
Things of expensive electrical nature.
Things of an artistic and musical nature.
Games to be played with friends on-line with the aid of a very expensive computer.
Games to be played in the bedroom with the aid of some very expensive toys.
Overpriced wines stored in an underused kitchen that housed ‘smart’ appliances that probably had a higher IQ than their owners.
But now it stands stark and bare.
Stripped of all it once housed.
Naked, sad and alone.
All except for one lone wine glass - with a nice shiny thumbprint.
The D'Ville is in the Deatails(Iain Cambridge)
THE D’VILLE IS IN THE DETAILS
Sitting in the chair in the middle of the room Madam D’Ville smiled at what she had accomplished. The chair was the last one and had, until recently been part of a pair and the room that she and it now occupied was empty. Not just spacious, but completely empty having been made so by D’Ville and her group of ‘friends’ not half an hour ago. It had been a remarkably simple task to achieve and looking back on the past weeks events leading up to this point caused her a slight twinge of guilt. But this came from another hidden part of her personality and was not the part that now sat in the chair with one leg over the arm and a very expensive glass of very expensive wine in her hand. The skirt she wore had fallen away exposing a leg that was sexy in its chunkiness and sported a tattoo that ran from her thigh to her ankle that she could never, for the life of her, remember getting. To be fair a lot had happened over the past ten years – and not necessarily to her. Sometimes it seemed that the tattoo changed with each adventure she had been involved in and looking at it now she could see that there appeared to be the number 911 delicately etched by her knee. She smiled as she closed her eyes, and tilting her head back a little she tapped out a slow rhythm on the glass with exquisitely manicured nails - and remembered..
One week ago Mr Martin Grimes left his Mayfair apartment to go to work as he had done every weekday for the past year. Mr. Grimes was a trader by profession and a very good one at that. Recently he had earned himself a promotion within the firm of Smith and Smithton by securing a deal worth over seven million pounds. He had treated himself to a nice little present by way of a reward for all the hours he had not spent at home with his girlfriend, not that she minded too much as it gave her the opportunity to wander downstairs to the apartment below and to her neighbor Jill. These trips only usually happened when Jill went out which allowed her to sit with, and eventually on Jill’s husband for a while. The present he had bought would not behave in the same way as his girlfriend and, with the right amount of care would be a lot more responsive and make much better noises. The Porsche 911 sat outside Martins apartment building and shone like a beacon of prosperity letting everyone who walked past know that its owner was a man of style, panache and wealth. Until recently that is. For on this day, one week ago Martin Grimes found that his beloved new acquisition was in fact missing. Stolen would be a better word. The police had been informed, naturally and had in return informed him that there was very little they could do as most of the cars of this type were stolen to order and would now, probably be on its way to some other country or in several easy to sell parts. This day for Martin had been a long and sad one until on his return from work he found his nice new shiny Porsche 911 parked outside his home with a note tucked into the windscreen wiper blade.
It read:
To the owner of the Porsche:
I am sorry for the inconvenience I have caused you today. This morning at around 1.30am I was passing your car after having been out to dinner with my wife, (who was heavily pregnant at the time), when she felt the first pains of labor. I am an ex criminal and stealing cars was my choice of profession when I was younger, a mistake I have paid for with five years of my life behind bars. I panicked and took the only choice I had available to me at that hour in the morning, which was to take the car that we were standing next to and drive my wife to the hospital. Unfortunately this happened to be your car. At 8.45 this morning my wife gave birth to our son and both Mother and child are doing fine. I am returning your car now with my profound apologies. I have filled the car up with a full tank of premium gas and have had the car valeted. Please accept also two tickets to the West End show ‘Cats’ as a small token of my thanks. I will not be leaving my name, as I am a known criminal and do not want my actions to take me away from my new family, as this most certainly would do.
Thank you again.
A Friend
After reading the note Martin went back inside his apartment to show the tickets and the letter to his girlfriend who had been asleep on the sofa after a hard day with her friends hard husband. The police were contacted and the search for the missing car called off and all were happy. On the night of the show Madam D’Ville had entered Martins apartment aided by a small group of chaps who were happy to do her bidding on the very sensible grounds that she paid rather a lot for their services. Ms D’Ville not only had access to Martins home but also to important information, namely that of where he was and how long he would be away from the apartment. The instructions given to her little band of merry men was to strip the place bare, even down to the very expensive carpets.
A quite clearing of the throat interrupted this contemplation of her actions.
‘If you would be excusing us miss we will take the chair that you are sitting on, being as how it is the last thing to go’Madam D’Ville looked up into the broad, worried looking face of the man known to all as ‘Big Dave’ who wrung his hands anxiously.‘Of course David, please do’ she said standing up. Having placed her wine glass on the mantle of the fireplace she stood for a moment whilst Dave removed the last items from the room and took one last look around. Madam D'Ville giggled slightly at the sight that would meet the owner of the apartment on his return whilst she backed out of the room, carefully closing the door behind her. With equal care she wiped the door handle of any fingerprints that she may have left behind. ‘How many times could she pull this trick off?’ she thought to herself. She knew this was arrogance speaking and scolded herself for it. A voice inside her head whispered
‘Arrogance leads to sloppiness, and sloppiness leads to mistakes. Mistakes will get you caught’
The voice belonged to another part of her that watched from somewhere within. Madam D’Ville smiled:
‘Never going to happen’ was her reply and closing the door she said out loud.
'Ladies and Gentlemen - Ms D’Ville has left the building'.
So here in the middle of London’s West End quietly stands an apartment which is home to Mr. Martin Grimes and his girlfriend. It was also once home to all sorts of other things.
Things of expensive electrical nature.
Things of an artistic and musical nature.
Games to be played with friends on-line with the aid of a very expensive computer.
Games to be played in the bedroom with the aid of some very expensive toys.
Overpriced wines stored in an underused kitchen that housed ‘smart’ appliances that probably had a higher IQ than their owners.
But now it stands stark and bare.
Stripped of all it once housed.
Naked, sad and alone.
All except for one lone wine glass - with a nice shiny thumbprint.
- Share this story on
- 7
Iain Cambridge
03/28/2019Someone recently emailed me to point out that I had, in fact spelt details wrong. It was a deliberate mistake, (honestly) as an act of irony for the story title. I do that sometimes. :)
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Gail
03/27/2019Yes very deep Aziz, Great work Iain. :-) love your stories.
Gail, alias Shay :-)
COMMENTS (4)