The Sacrificial Man Read Online Free PDF Page A

being played. When your power is limited, strategy is everything. I’ve been waiting for a long time for this to be at an end, but it can only finish when I’ve been sentenced. I just have to see through nineteen days and all of this will be over. But she is late, damn her.
     
Finally, a car. A car for a woman who doesn’t care about such things, a run-around in dull green with a dent in the wing. She drives too close to my MG Midget. If she hits it, I’ll sue.
Of course, that’s a lie. There’s more at stake here than scratched paintwork. As she steps out of the car I’m reassured; she matches her motor. I’d expected more presence from someone who holds my future in her hands, but it’s a relief that she will be easy to manage. She’s so average: brown hair, pale skin, a worn winter coat flapping over a navy suit with a white shirt. Predictable. Smith would have liked her simplicity. He was straightforward in his tastes, in all but his choice of me.
She looks up to where I’m standing at the window and I smile.
I open the door and watch her reaction. I see my beauty is a surprise. I’m tall and blonde, and I often use this to my advantage. Had she been a man I would’ve chosen a skirt, but instead I wear trousers, my hair is pulled into a ponytail, sequined Moroccan slippers on my feet, my face subtly made up. We shake hands, hers is slightly damp. Her nametag matches the name on the letter, Cate Austin. I find abbreviated names so trite.
I lead her to the back of the house. It was once two rooms but I had it knocked through, choosing space. I’ve created a large kitchen and eating area with a pale leather sofa against the far wall. The floor is slate, and her low heels click as she walks. I direct her to an old pine table, the bench alongside. Fiery snapdragons dominate the table, yellow-red petals like sunset.
“Pretty flowers,” she says. “And what a lovely vase.” One hand reaches out to touch the handcrafted swirls of white and blue glass in a delicate funnel, beautiful and fragile. “Thank you. It was very expensive.” She pulls her hand away but I lift it myself, holding it up so she can see the fine glass, the deep sea blue running throught it. “It’s my favourite possession,” I tell her, “If it broke I know I’d never be able to replace it.” Carefully, I place it back on the table positioned in front of glass doors, through which the daylight can be seen dying. It’s a small garden full of terracotta pots and a wooden bench, on top of which the black cat grooms himself, oblivious to the weather. It’s cold outside, bitter chill, but the cat won’t come in. He’s suspicious of strangers. Feeling himself observed he stops, paw still raised, and glances up, before dismissively returning to his ablutions.
Cate Austin is pulling a jotter from her bag. “Is it yours?” she asks, indicating the cat.
“By default. He belongs to a neighbour but she’s often away, so he comes here for company. Would you like some tea?”
“Coffee, please. Black, one sugar.”
“I don’t have coffee. Been having a lot of headaches recently, so I’ve given it up. Gunpowder tea is the closest I’ve got.”
“Thanks.” I see her glance at the novel on the table, The Collector by John Fowles. I move the book away. “Do you read, Miss Austin?”
“Not much. No time.” Everybody’s excuse. But we all have the same amount of time, don’t we? The only difference is how we use it. “I suppose you must do a lot of reading in your job?”
“It’s one of the perks. Reading is classed as work in academia.”
“How have the college taken your conviction?”
“University,” I correct. “It’s affiliated now.” I fill the kettle, flick the switch hard. “I’ve been suspended from any contact with students. The authorities have allowed me to keep my office, and have agreed I may mark essays, but that’s all. If I get a community penalty, they’ll consider reinstating me. That’s as far as they