Corinne Meghan
Mitglied
The Gastro was shut. It was already spring on the Common. Madeleine, the French waitress, rummaged in her bag to get her keys out. She opened the door and put her bag behind the counter.
They sold oysters in the Gastro, and little jam jars from Bon Maman. Apricot and strawberry. The only decent café noir in town.
She had taken a liking to the young plancheur, who was hard of hearing. She had managed to take a shower with Burberry blossom, which was a Christmas present from her friend Charlotte, a drop-dead blonde. Madeleine looked rather splendid in her black attire too, though.
Needless to say, Allan, the plancheur was always late. It didn’t matter, though, as there were only three guests in the café. Adam, the local playboy, with his wife, Cath.
Adam was an English writer, who fancied women who had more money than himself. Cath believed him to be a supportive husband – although he wasn’t.
They ordered two café noir with orange juice and croissants.
The only other guest was a lonesome French gent. He had brought his dalmation puppy in with him. The puppy was called ‘Barkey’. It was white with black dotts. His wristwatch had just struck nine o’clock when they heard someone shout from outside: ‘Murder!’.
They dashed to the door. Robert opened it. He was the first to see the contorted body lye on the pavement just opposite the Gastro, by Clapham picture house. ‘Call the police’ he shouted. However, they were late. Somebody had already alerted the police, as they could hear the sirens, and could see the police-car pull into Venn Street.
They sold oysters in the Gastro, and little jam jars from Bon Maman. Apricot and strawberry. The only decent café noir in town.
She had taken a liking to the young plancheur, who was hard of hearing. She had managed to take a shower with Burberry blossom, which was a Christmas present from her friend Charlotte, a drop-dead blonde. Madeleine looked rather splendid in her black attire too, though.
Needless to say, Allan, the plancheur was always late. It didn’t matter, though, as there were only three guests in the café. Adam, the local playboy, with his wife, Cath.
Adam was an English writer, who fancied women who had more money than himself. Cath believed him to be a supportive husband – although he wasn’t.
They ordered two café noir with orange juice and croissants.
The only other guest was a lonesome French gent. He had brought his dalmation puppy in with him. The puppy was called ‘Barkey’. It was white with black dotts. His wristwatch had just struck nine o’clock when they heard someone shout from outside: ‘Murder!’.
They dashed to the door. Robert opened it. He was the first to see the contorted body lye on the pavement just opposite the Gastro, by Clapham picture house. ‘Call the police’ he shouted. However, they were late. Somebody had already alerted the police, as they could hear the sirens, and could see the police-car pull into Venn Street.
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