Sarah turned smiling from the shop window, satisfied with her reflection. The red Prada bag and matching shoes added the final touch to her designer clad figure, a bit of class with a blatant hint of tart. She paraded up Northumberland Street, preening at the admiring glances of the men and ignoring the jealous glares of the more dowdily dressed women. She revelled in the calculated looks of other designer clad bimbos who knew to a penny her perceived worth.
Up and down she paraded at a leisurely pace, dawdling in the boutiques, flicking through the dresses with feigned interest. She was not there to buy, but to see and more importantly to be seen and she was seen, and noted, by a well-dressed gent.
Peter Grimshaw was a connoisseur, an expert if you like, of well-heeled women. He too knew the value of all things designer; it paid him to, after all he earned his living from it. He was strolling down from the Haymarket when he spotted her; it was her red bag that drew his attention.
Women’s bags were his speciality, so much so that if asked he could reel off the weird and wonderful contents of most. He sighed, ah; such a wonderful and expensive creation would contain all that he needed. Discreetly he followed, keeping his distance, his eyes never leaving the desired object.
He loitered, he read a newspaper, he crossed to the opposite side of the street, but never once did his eyes leave Sarah and that wonderful red bag.
At first Sarah was unaware of him, but maybe he wasn’t as good at stalking as he though, maybe he was just careless, whatever, but suddenly she felt his presence.
She dawdled slowly down towards the Monument, taking her time, looking in the shop windows, until she spotted him. The crowd thickened and she slipped into Brunswick Place, a small lane that cut through and came out at Waterstones. But he slipped in after her and as she left the crowded street behind, she could hear his footsteps as they drew near. She frowned, but did not increase her pace.
Peter’s eyes gleamed, as he reached out, Stanley knife in hand to slash the straps of the bag, then he grunted, as he was felled from behind and cuffed as he lay there.
‘You took your time,’ Sarah said, as she delved into the red Prada bag and took out her warrant card.
