Cold Blood by Alex Shaw

out so he decided to walk. He picked up the laptop bag and locked his office.

 
    SEVEN
     
    Podilsky School International
     
    “I’m going to do it.” Arnaud drained his coffee and nodded.
    “You are a braver man than I.” Snow finished his slice of pizza. “Are you sure that you want to shit on your own doorstep so soon?”
    Snow and Arnaud were sitting in the small staff room of Podilsky School. It was lunchtime and Arnaud had not been able to get Larissa out of his head. Michael bit into a cheese roll. “Why not try? All that can happen is she slaps you.”
    “Who’s been slapping who?” It was Vanessa Taylor, a Canadian pre-school teacher, who had heard the end of the sentence as she opened the door.
    “Just a silly-billy in my year three class. I made them sit in the corner,” replied Michael.
    “Best thing for them. They should kiss and make up,” replied Vanessa as she grabbed a biscuit and left the room.
    “There you are, just kiss her,” advised Michael.
    Arnaud stood. “I will.”
    “Go on then,” Snow pushed.
    “OK.” He wiped his lips, popped a mint into his mouth and left the room. He walked out through the reception, along the corridor and past the main entrance. The greasy smell of the institute’s café on his left and their abominations hit him as he passed. He turned the corner and saw three doors straight ahead and a staircase on his right. The writing on the doors was in Cyrillic but there was a small emblem of a watch on the first. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. It didn’t open. He knocked again and it was opened by a fat peroxide blonde woman. Speaking Russian, which he didn’t understand, he guessed she had asked him to sit, before she shut the door and returned to the fax machine which was disgorging a multi-page fax.
    Arnaud looked on wondering what the hell to do next. The blonde woman, who was clearly the receptionist, shouted into the back room and a man in a tie and shirt sleeves appeared and looked at the fax. He shouted at the woman and disappeared back into his office without even acknowledging Arnaud. The receptionist tried to fold the fax, which was still falling from the machine on a continuous roll of paper. Arnaud still had no idea what to do. He did not speak the language so could not ask for Larissa and did not know what to say to the receptionist. He’d started to rise to leave when the outer door opened and in stepped Larissa. She was wearing a burgundy skirt which hugged her hips and a matching jacket which accentuated her bust. She glanced at Arnaud, puzzled, then the receptionist ran to her and pointed at the fax. Arnaud still did not understand a word but knew that he had obviously come at the wrong time. Larissa took the fax and scanned the pages. Her face looked serious. Arnaud stood to make his escape.
    “Can I help you?” Larissa asked in accented English.
    Arnaud stuttered, “I… er… I… wondered if you…”
    Larissa looked back at the fax then mouthed something, “… depuis de ton …” Her brow wrinkled as she tried to make sense of the words.
    Arnaud’s ears pricked up, he had heard French. “ Vous parlez Français ?” he questioned.
    Larissa raised her eyes for a moment, not comprehending, then she spoke again in English. “The fax is in French but we do not understand.”
    A huge smile appeared on his face. “Let me help you.” Arnaud took the fax and read it out loud. Both Larissa and the receptionist stood wide eyed. The back room door opened again. The man looked at the stranger reading his fax. “ Bonjour .” Arnaud smiled.
    “ Bonjour ,” replied the man uncertainly. He turned to Larissa and spoke before retreating back into the room.
    “Can you translate into English for me? It is very important, from our new supplier in Switzerland.” Larissa looked directly into his eyes.
    Arnaud’s heart started to pound in his chest. “Yes, I can do that, but I do charge.”
    “What is the cost?” Larissa