This is the twenty-seventh part of a fiction serial, in 855 words.

By the time I drove along the lane at the back, to get to Anton’s motorhome, Marta had cleared away the crockery and cutlery, the bag of uneaten food, and any other sign that Anton might not have been alone. She helped with his legs as I got him into the back, then covered him with the old duvet I kept there. Then we drove off, keeping to the traffic regulations for the three hour journey back to my house.

Marta was excited and impressed by the size of the property, and the spacious house. I left her looking around inside while I drove to the workshops at the back. Using a wheeled trolley, I took Anton into the back of the smaller one, locking him securely inside a windowless metal storage container. I estimated he would be asleep for at least nine more hours, so I would see to him in the morning. I wanted him to be thirsty enough to drink some water.

Up in the house, I showed Marta to a guest room, and she seemed surprised. “That’s okay, Ricky. I sleep with you, keep you warm sweetie”. I hadn’t bargained for that, and had to tell her that wasn’t part of the deal. She just grinned. “I wait, no problem. You will soon want my company”. She had no idea how wrong she was. After sleeping for just five hours, I went over to the workshop. Freeing the still unconscious Anton from the tape bindings, I placed a large bottle of water next to him, and locked the container again, leaving the interior light on.

Chatting to Marta over a rudimentary breakfast, it seemed to me that she had some expectation from living here that exceeded my offer of her being the housekeeper. I had to tread carefully, so as not to give her the wrong idea, but to leave her willing to stay on. I told her that she would just have to do some light housework and cooking, and she would be well paid, living as if family. She smiled as she accepted my offer. “Ricky, I will do as you say, but when you want more, you only have to ask. Her high opinion of herself as a prospective sexual partner confused me immensely, given the difference in our ages.

I told her to stay inside when I drove to the supermarket to stock up on food the next morning. I didn’t want anyone to know she was there of course. In the shop car park, I telephoned Mr Dean and advised him I was back, and he should cancel any arrangements regarding the care of the house. When I returned, Marta was already busy dusting and cleaning, though she was acting more like a housewife than a housekeeper. The provisions I had bought impressed her a great deal, and she droned on about all the delicious food she would be preparing over the coming winter. Leaving her to arrange things in the kitchen cupboards, I went across to the workshop to check on Anton.

As I had suspected, he had drunk a lot of the water. The half-empty bottle was on its side next to him, and he was once again deeply unconscious from the sedatives I had put in it. He had wet himself too, and I could see the stain across the front of his trousers. I placed a rough travel blanket over him, and took off his left shoe. Attaching a circular metal hoop tight around his ankle, I threaded a strong chain through that before securing the chain to a metal ring on the wall of the container using a stout padlock.

He was good for another twelve hours in that position.

True to her word, Marta was combining various ingedients into a delicious-smelling meal by late afternoon. She said we would be eating at six-thirty, and that we should have some white wine with the chicken dish she was preparing. As she left it cooking, she said she was going upstairs for a bath. “You could join me if you want, Ricky. The bath is big enough”. The strange leer that accompanied her invitation made her face contort in a very unpleasant fashion. I acted shy, and laughed it off.

She came back wearing the same dress she had worn to Anton’s place, with a great deal of make-up on her face. As she served the food, I poured the wine, and lit two candles that I had taken from the mantlepiece in father’s study. Marta seemed put out that we were eating in the kitchen. “You have such a grand dining room, Ricky. From now on, I think we should have dinner in there”. During the admittedly delicious meal, she chattered on about how we would deal with Anton, and what a great time we would have living in my big house, and spending my money. “I will need some new clothes, nice ones. You take me to the shops this week, yes?”

Fortunately, they were the last words she said that evening, as her head slumped forward, almost ending up in her dinner.