Chameleon by Ken McClure Page A

look up at it. He was curious. No one had ever worked late there before. His natural caution made him consider all possible implications.
    As he watched, a young woman appeared at the window. She was laughing and, as she reached up to the cord for the blinds, a man came up behind her and slid his arm round her waist. The man in the shadows watched as the man in the window slid his hands up on to the woman's breasts and buried his face against the side of her neck. 'Fool!' he hissed, his eyes burning with anger as he watched the woman laugh again and reach up her hand to stroke her companion's hair. 'Can't you see she's trying to trap you?'
    The venetian blinds snapped shut and the two figures were eclipsed leaving the man at the corner of the lane still staring up at the window. He swallowed twice and regained his composure. There was work to be done. He descended the basement steps and opened the door extra quietly. He did not want to give the couple across the street any occasion to look out of the window, not that that was likely he conceded. That poor fool would have other things on his mind. But, as ever, caution was of the essence.
    He closed the door silently and pulled the curtains across the window before switching on the light. A spider scuttled up the lifeline of its web having been exposed against the whitewash of the walls but the man ignored it. He opened the door of a small metal cupboard and examined what was inside. Excellent, he thought, it was all going well. When the time came for a change he would be ready and it could begin all over again.
    He closed the door of the cupboard and went through to the kitchen to switch on a small metal-shaded lamp that sat in the middle of the kitchen table. A dull, purple glow came from the lamp at first but it grew brighter as the minutes passed. The man returned from the bedroom wearing white overalls and a full plastic face visor. He checked that his gloves were fitting properly, that the cuffs of his overalls overlapped them and the tunic was fastened up to his neck. There were to be no more slip ups. After more checking and preening he seemed satisfied with the state of his protection and got to work.
    Two hours passed before he decided that he had done enough for one evening. He switched off the lamp and removed his visor. The cold air of the basement felt damp against the thin film of sweat on his forehead and made him shiver slightly as he got to his feet and started clearing up. With everything safely away inside the metal cupboard he sighed in satisfaction and looked at his watch. A last check on the thermometer protruding from the top of the cupboard and there was no more to be done this evening.
    As he switched off the room light before opening the outside door he became aware of voices in the street above and stopped in the darkness behind the door to listen. A man and a woman were talking but he could not make out what was being said. As the minutes passed he became more and more impatient. Standing motionless was making him acutely aware of the cold and damp. Very slowly he turned the Yale lock on the back of the door, keeping his full weight against it in case it should move against the jamb and make a noise. With painful slowness he inched the door open until he could hear what was being said.
    As he listened, he came to realise that the voices belonged to the man and woman he had seen in the window across the street. Their illicit liaison in the office was over and they were now leaving. Where had they done it in the office? Across a desk? Writhing on the floor like animals? Against a wall perhaps with the bitch egging him on. There was no limit to the ingenuity of the sluts. That was why he himself had to be equally devious if he were to redress the balance.
    The woman was insisting that there was no need for the man to run her home. He was late already and that would only cause more trouble at home. She was quite happy to get the bus; the stop was only