A SMILE LIKE A LOADED GUN.

“Oh believe me, I’ve seen more than enough of Heathrow for a lifetime,” she laughs lightly. “Oh yes, it feels perfect I just can’t wait to see what it’ll look like when it’s finished,” she adds. She wonders if she’ll ever actually get to live in it, maybe when she retires. 

Again her attention pans back over to Algie. He seemed to play backseat driver to almost every conversation he participated in. Though in his passive commentary he was always keen on talking about his wife, something Georgie could definitely use.

She nods attentively as it sounds like he’s about to enter a long winded explanation about his family lineage. Sure it probably would be boring as shit but you could never go wrong with more information. Before he can even start, Violet spares the both of them from the impromptu history channel special.”Oh,” Georgie says not quite knowing what else to say. “That’s nice, I wish I would’ve grown up here, I’m originally from Maryland but moved to Virginia for work. Mostly I’ve just stuck to the east coast,”

“It’s such a nice feeling,” Violet replied. “You’re in good hands with Algie, even if I am biased.” She nodded towards her husband, who straightened when she praised him. “He had complete carte blanche on our home.” She had been far too busy making the money that bought the house and bankrolled the renovation.

“Both our homes are Grade II listed,” Algie explained. “The real beauty of a renovated a period home is that you get all the modern conveniences and the excitement of something new while also preserving the unmatched feeling of a historic space.” His enthusiasm was palpable. “It’ll be well worth the wait, I can promise that.”

“That sounds like a compliment I don’t deserve,” Patrick replies, and though there’s a sly smile with the delivery, he means it. He stopped reading the cards in the comment box several years ago; he can guess what they all say, by now. He tries, of course, on his better days, but he’ll never be anybody’s favorite priest. At best, he’s simply their only option.

“But if it helps,” he continues through puffs of smoke, "I think that’s the reason most people go to church. At least you’re not alone.” He drops what’s left of the cigarette onto the grass and stamps it out with his foot before turning an inquisitive eye back to Violet.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned…,” he recites with a chuckle. “It hasn’t changed much. We can try it out, if you’d like.”

“This must be a thankless job a lot of the time,” Violet observed, with a smile. She wondered if the Floreses bothered to compensate him for his trouble. “It takes a special kind of person to do what you do day in and day out.” Her tone implied that she meant his priestly duties, although she was really thinking of the contraband passing through his church. “You deserve compliments for that at the very least.”

Riv takes her hands out of the pockets of her long black coat as she’s ushered into Jones Supply Co. by the woman at the door– she prefers to keep her hands free for this sort of thing, just in case. She represses a sigh as the woman mentions that traffic is holding up the hand-off, and not for the first time. But there’s nothing to be done about it, so she peers around the room curiously. She’s never picked up anything here before. “Ah– yes, I would like a drink,” Riv replies in a thickly-accented English, before dropping into an empty chair and settling back and stretching her legs out in front of her. The woman had said to make herself comfortable, after all. It couldn’t hurt, for ten minutes. “Too many people in one city, this is what happens with the roads. What do they think will happen? Everyone always late.” 

A pleasant smile settles on Georgie’s features. Violet Featherstonhaugh. She’d seen pictures; grainy CCTV shots, through telephoto lenses— all paled in comparison to her actual beauty. Now she fully understood how Jack had taken to his target so quickly. “Violet,” she says politely.

As Georgie looked between the two of them it was evident Jack was right, she had him whipped. Though Georgina was in no position to comment, to her left she saw love and to her right she saw tolerance. She momentarily felt bad for Algie, but the conversation was almost instantly flipped back to her.

“I’ve been back and forth between Virginia and London for work— for about the past year. It seems smart to have a permanent base here rather than living out of hotels. And you? How long have you two lived here?” 

“I can imagine that living out of your suitcase must get tiring. And you’ve chosen a lovely place to put down roots, of course,” Violet remarked, politely. 

“Can’t stand hotels,” Algie added, emphatically. “Violet here’s always traveling, aren’t you? Jetting off to Beijing or Rome or Los Angeles or who knows where. I don’t know how anyone does it.” Violet took a sip of her water with a wry smile.

“Yes, I think I was trying to find the park maybe,” Nellie trailed off, twisting a lock of golden hair around her finger. Really she hadn’t put all that much thought into where she was going, she’d just started to walk. “Is your office around here? Why’d you pick this place?” She wasn’t sure if she’d get a straight answer, but it didn’t hurt to ask. Violet didn’t seem as quick to lie to her. “No, not Filipp today, I think he had to do something else for daddy, it was someone else, who probably won’t be sticking around much longer.” Eleanor knew the consequences for someone losing track of her, but didn’t care all that much. She liked Filipp, which is why she never really tried to lose him.

“Yes, just there,” Violet turned to gesture a few buildings back, near where she had found Nellie. “A bit beige and boring, isn’t it??” She raised an eyebrow conspiratorially. “That’s just why I chose it. Perfectly inconspicuous. No one pays attention to places like this.” Especially when they were occupied by office supply companies. It was all a study in camouflage. That, and the space had been cheap back when Violet had bought it. When the two women neared where her Tesla was parked, she unlocked the doors. “I’ve got a charging cord there,” she told Nellie as they were seated. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat before I drop you off?”

He should be more careful about who he blasphemes in front of. He quietly makes a mental note of this, as he continues to smoke his cigarette, though he’s bound to forget it when the time comes. Whatever the priestly equivalent of bedside manner is, Patrick possesses none of it. Mark that down as one of his many shortcomings.

“Of course we do,” Patrick replies breezily as he exhales smoke. He tries his best to avoid blowing it in her face. “Even the Pope confesses twice a week. Though I couldn’t even try to guess what he needs to seek penance for,” he adds thoughtfully. 

Impure thoughts, most likely.

“Do you?”

“I was raised by lukewarm Anglicans,” she shrugged. “The possibility never occurred to me.” The notion of choosing penance was rather absurd to her. “But popping into services here...” She lowered her voice, softened her expression to sell the forthcoming lie. “I don’t know how to describe it. It’s as though I’m being reminded to do better. Makes me want to crack open a theology book,” Violet mused, chuckling. “I don’t think I’d even know where to start with confession.” That was true, in a sense. Her crimes were many and guilt was a foreign emotion.