THE ENCOUNTER

 THE ENCOUNTER

By Bob French

Without looking back, Jilly screamed, then stomped from the flat, slamming the door behind her, and hurried down the stairs to the front door of the building.  She had shared the flat with Justine for over two years and thought they had a good thing going until she’d come home early last evening suffering from a headache, only to find the toe-rag giving Pauline, of all people, a good rogering in their bed! 

She knew Justine was a bit of a flirt, but Pauline.  From the History Research Team! As she wrenched open the front door, she screamed out at the top of her voice for all to hear. “Pauline!  Good God, you must be desperate! I hope she gives you the pox.” Then as calmly as possible, she walked out into the cool evening.

          That was five years ago, and Jilly had moved on, putting her encounters with the opposite sex behind her. In fact, she made a point of avoiding them at all costs.

She had gained a first in Maths and had been snapped up by Tanner, Wilkinson and Tanner, a Business Accountancy Consultancy based in the suburbs of Colchester.  The hours were very agreeable and so were the perks; two months holiday a year, a travel card and a very handsome allowance for accommodation, which she spent on an extremely comfortable flat at the top of one of the high-rise buildings overlooking Colchester Golf Club in Braiswick. The thing that persuaded her to take the job was that the staff were all female and Tanner, Wilkinson and Tanner were not only females but laid-back and part of a successful team, which made the decision easy.

It was around three on Thursday afternoon in the first week of March when Martha Tanner, the owner of the company called her in to her office.

“Jilly.  I have a special job for you. Heatherspoons has a problem with trying to balance their books before the end of the tax year.  Can you be a dear and call them up and make an appointment to visit them and sort out their problem? Monday or Tuesday would be good, as I need you on Wednesday.”

One of the things Jully really enjoyed was the tradition that on Friday night, everyone headed for The Pink Lady wine bar for a few hours to let their hair down, and get the silly things off their chest and then push off for a relaxing weekend.

Everyone was thoroughly enjoying themselves when Frances Tanner eased herself in next to Jilly.

“Glad I got you Jilly.  Martha told me that she’s asked you to pop over to Heatherspoons.”

“Yes, Tuesday at ten.  Anything I should look out for?”

“Have you been there before?”

Jully noticed that the tone in her voice change slightly.  “No.  First time off the leash, so to speak.”

“Mmmm.  The company is over near Hythe, on the river Colne. They are a strange bunch, so please be careful.”

Jilly saw the concern in Frances’s eyes and wanted to ask her what she meant, but she had patted her on the shoulder and vanished into the crowd. 

Before Jilly could go after her, Mandy, her team leader staggered across to her and put her arms around her.

“Come on lovey, it’s your round.”

An hour later, the team started to drift off for the weekend.  Jilly said farewell to Harry, the barman, then left to get into her car.  It was only a ten-minute drive and at this time of night, the roads would be deserted, she thought.

She turned onto the main road and started down it, all the time thinking of what Frances had said to her. She went over the warning again and again in her mind until suddenly there was a scream, then a bump, and Jilly realised that she was pulling the car over to the curb.

When she got out and looked back, there laying on the road was a woman.

“Oh my God!  Are you alright?  I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you. Are you OK?

The woman looked dazed and her leg seemed a little crooked. She sat there for a minute, then started to cry. “I think I’ve broken my leg.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve just called for an ambulance.  Just lay back and relax.  It won’t be long.”

Once the ambulance had left, the police officer took down her details and said that they would be in touch.  Jilly sat in her car.  She felt afraid.  She had heard of people being involved in a traffic accident and being sued by the injured party for thousands of pounds.

Saturday morning, Jilly called her local garage and had it dropped off to repair the dent.  This meant that she had to hire a car. This proved to be a problem as the only available cars left were old and worn out to say the least.  

It was raining on Tuesday morning as Jilly drove across town towards Hythe.  Just as she ventured out into the country, the car started to splutter, lurch, then stop.  She looked around, but all she could see was countryside.  Not wanting to be late, she got out of the car and popped up her umbrella, and started walking.

After about ten minutes, she heard the sound of a car approaching from behind.  Before she could move over to the grass verge, it stopped.

“Excuse me, Miss.  Do you want a lift?”

Jilly looked at the man, taking in the details; late forties, with a kind face. Bright blue eyes, smartly dressed in a dark grey suit and a red scarf.  Very trendy.  Just then the wind picked up and nearly tore the umbrella from her hand.  The thought of chasing down the country road forced her to make a decision.

“Thank you, yes please. I’m trying to get to Hythe.”

“That’s fine.  I can drop you off.  It’s on my way.”

Once inside the warm and comfortable BMV,  Jilly relaxed. “Jilly Watson.” As she held out her hand.

The man glanced at her, then took her hand. Horthorn Wentworth.  You from around these parts?”

“No, I live in the north of Colchester.  They chatted for a short while then he pulled the car over to the curb.  She looked around at the one street town.

Jilly was confused.  Is this Hythe?”

Horthorn Wentworth nodded, then pointed to the faded roadside sign which told anyone who wanted to know, that this was the village of Hythe.

Jilly smiled at him.  Thank you so much Horthorn, I really appreciate you helping me.  She extended her hand, which he took, and gently kissed it.

Jilly, a little surprised, smiled at him, then climbed out of the car and made her way into the village.

Once she had met the team from Weatherspoons, she called the garage; gave them the location of the dead car, and asked that they deliver a working car, made in the last fifty years, to Weatherspoons before three in the afternoon.

As she sat in her Jamie’s and bunny rabbit slippers, watching the TV that night, the news came on.  She suddenly jumped forward spilling her popcorn all over Muffin, her cat.  The face of Horthorn Wentworth had appeared on the screen.  She listed to the newscaster explained that this man had been on the run for the last six months and is known to come from the Colchester area. The public are strongly advised not be approach him at any cost.  He is a very violent man and is wanted for the murder of three women.

That night Jilly did not sleep well, and in the morning, she reported what had happened to the police.  Whilst on the phone, the police officer informed her that the lady she had run over last week would like to get in contact. 

“You have her details I trust, Miss Watson.”

Jilly sat back in her chair and closed her eyes.  ‘I’m going to be sued for thousands of pounds just because I wasn’t concentrating on the road. After some soul-searching and a stiff cup of coffee, she called the lady.

“Hello. It’s Jilly Watson, the idiot who ran you over last week.  Look I am so sorry but…”

“Jilly, my dear.”  Jilly couldn’t understand the upbeat tone of the woman. I just wanted to thank you.”

Jilly spoke slowly to her.  “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.  I ran you over and put you in hospital, and you are about to sue me, aren’t you?”

“Good heavens no.  Whilst I was in hospital, they gave me a thorough check-over and found that I had the start of breast cancer.  They made an appointment for me straight away, and it looks like because it was caught early, there is no real threat.  You see.  If you hadn’t run me over, I would have carried on living my life, only to find in a year or so’s time that my cancer had become incurable, so thank you Jilly, and no, I will not be suing you. Thanks for calling. 

Copyright Bob French