Sash

Eight Months Later. It was late afternoon on a drizzly Autumn day. A train had left the City on a western line and was heading towards the mountain residential suburbs. And travelling on it in an almost empty carriage was Rosemary Ritter. Rosemary was a retired teacher in her mid late fifties. A trim figured, athletic woman with an oval face, a sharp chin, framed by straight, black hair. She was generally regarded by those who knew her as a pleasant person. She had spent most of the day in the City, much of the later part at a small, discreet place that carried some select ladies wear in the inner suburbs. ...