The last time anyone saw Francois, snow lay in thick layers over the statues in the garden.  Lonely stone figures stood silent in their eternal poses, unaware of the cold and weak winter sun that glistened on their marbled limbs. The garden that had afew months earlier bloomed with the warm pallet of pure Summer colour now lay a forgotten memory under an unforgiving white blanket of ice.  

Winter gave way to spring, and the statues awoke from their slumber, a light mossy hew appearing on their shoulders and smooth cheeks. Francois’ mail had piled up on the doormat making a paper pyramid of junk mail and the occasional bill. He had never been one to spend much time in the affairs of the modern world. Utilities were paid in cash, food was bought as needed, and the rent was paid via a cheque to the emphaseamic landlord sent from a Paris postmark on the same day every month.

The Jewish sisters in the apartment upstairs had been mildly interested in the young student, and had traded pleasantries on the curving staircase. They had tried to glean information from him as to his circumstances, but he had been polite and nothing else. Over strong coffee on the balcony they had observed him standing motionless in the garden with an intense look on his face, their small thin lips sipping in unison from perfect china cups.

Francois cared nothing for his neighbours. The apartment was only a place to lay his head, and he secretly despised the way they placed pots of geraniums on small balconies, and painted the shutters in bright Mediterranean colours. The sun was permanently shut out from his windows, as he carried on his own secret plans.

One hot and hazy Tuesday during the last few weeks of Summer, Francois had emerged briefly from his apartment and collected a parcel from the landlord. He had been greeted on the stairs by one of the Sisters, and had brushed aside her pleasantries.

“Nice to see you Francois – we don’t see you much in the garden these days”

Eleanor, he thought, the younger of the two upstairs. Nothing to do but notice me in the garden.

“No, I have been busy. “he replied.

She continued,” Well, if you would like to join us for a cup of tea one afternoon, you are always welcome my dear.” Her arthritis was bad, so she leaned heavily on the banister her veined hands gripping the polished rail. Francois smiled but it felt alien on his lips, and said he would perhaps pop up in the week, hiding the fact he hated the very sight of her.

He watched her turn and pick her way back to her apartment in slow and painful steps. She wouldn’t be able to run if she had to he thought. They were all arthritic wastes of space, all of them.

Upstairs in their bright and sunny apartment, the sisters chatted over more coffee in china cups, and tended to their window plants. Francois could hear them creaking across the floorboards, their faint voices drifting through the walls.

He had only a week left now, and most of the preparations were in place. The instructions had come through, and he had checked his plans against those of the others making sure he hadn’t missed anything, or left anything to chance.

In his dark apartment, his computer was covered in printed emails and letters that he burned in the fireplace each night. His mobile phone rang briefly and he kept the conversation to the point. The number was deleted after the call. No traceability, but he had to blend in with his current surroundings, and it was hard not to draw attention to himself. The women upstairs might be a problem, so he decided to take up their invitation to tea.

After Francois had showered and put fresh clothes on, he lightly tapped the door to the apartment upstairs. It was immediately opened by Eleanor, her swollen fingers held her reading glasses in her knarled hand.

“How lovely you came up Francois”, she said ushering him to share a chair with a large ginger Tom.  The cat objected to being moved as Francois heaved it onto his lap, its tail momentarily brushing his chin in a mark of protest.

“Nice apartment you have, remarked Francois. Have you lived here long?

“For the last twenty- years.”  replied Eleanor her hands slowly pouring tea into the legendary china cups. Her sister Agatha watched Francois from her chair, and he was aware she was staring.

“Do you like it here?” He asked Agatha

“It is very well” said Agatha without taking her eyes off Francois.

He suddenly felt naked as if Agatha could see into his soul, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The cat dug its claws momentarily into his knee.

“You are a student, yes?” asked Agatha.

Francois nodded, and felt he was about to be interrogated.

“What course are you studying?” She enquired.

Francoise smiled a thin smile, “Politics.” He said.

“Hmm.” replied Agatha and pushed her small glasses back up on her nose. She rose up out of the chair and stood looking out at the late summer sunshine. The net curtain cast shadows on her face that danced across her grey hair.

“I never cared much for politics, she said. Politics start wars”. She watched a plane in the perfect blue sky, white trails breaking up like cotton wool.

She continued without looking at Francois, “I survived the Holocaust you know.”

Francoise waited for her to continue, the cat now asleep was purring on his lap. Agatha turned to look directly at Francoise, her walking stick raised slightly at him.

“Don’t become too involved in the workings of those in power my boy, she said. It never brings any good. “

Francoise smiled again, and said “I am more interested in the workings and structure of Governments, I would not be attracted to the more extreme facets of those in power,” He lied perfectly.

Eleanor had returned with the tea, and shakily poured milk into the cups. Francois asked for no sugar, and he sat between the two old ladies playing his part perfectly.

The apartment was crammed with plants and old photographs, and lace tablecloths adorned small side tables. The windows were bright and clean, and pots of geraniums in full bloom brightened the small plain balcony. Francois was charming and chatted for over an hour before he said he had to leave to finish an assignment. Eleanor and Agatha shook his hand and he patted the cat once more. As he left he wished them a pleasant evening, and wondered if they knew it would all be gone in a few days.

That night, back in his dark and plain apartment Francois checked his mental notes from the day. The sisters didn’t seem to be much of a threat, but on checking with his superiors, it was decided they had to go. The older sister Agatha was too much of a threat, as she had seemed too keen on what he was doing on a day to day basis.

It was decided that a gas explosion when he was out would be the best way to get rid of them. No one would suspect anything . It was just two old women with arthritis that left the gas on. Francois smiled to himself and whistled. His emails were deleted. The day was drawing near and nothing could go wrong.

The next morning, Francois awoke to the sound of birdsong louder than normal. He had overslept and the shadows were high on the wall. “Shit.” he muttered to himself and placed his feet on the wooden floor. Leaning his head to one side, he listened for the sound of voices from upstairs, and couldn’t hear anything.

Dressing quickly, he opened his door and stood in the hallway for a moment before climbing the stairs to the sisters apartment. The other residents were out at work, or shopping, so he knew the apartment block would be relatively quiet. Knocking the door, he waited a moment to make sure they were out, then descended the stairs and let himself quickly back into his apartment. He checked the garden below and above, and with a smooth flex of his muscles, he grabbed the rails of their small balcony and climbed up onto their level. They had left the French window open, so access was easy. Climbing through the billowing net curtains, he saw the ginger tom in the same chair. It raised its head to look at him, and then curled back up.

He took a moment to look around the apartment, the old photos stared accusingly at him, so he decided to head straight for the kitchen.

The old gas boiler had streaks of rust on it and a faded safety sticker. No one would suspect. The landlord cared more about daytime shows than his tenants, it was all too easy. Francois located the gas valve and turned it on slowly. It hissed and the acrid smell of gas assaulted his nostrils and quickly filled the small kitchen. He coughed once, and headed back to the balcony. With an agile swing, he was back on his balcony. No one had seen him, he was sure.

As the seconds ticked away, he was aware the apartment upstairs was now a time bomb, so he grabbed his rucksack and left the building.

Afew hours later, he returned to the apartment block. The building was not a blown pile of ashes, but a bright French dwelling. Francois swore under his breath and ran into the wide entrance. The landlord wheezed past him.

“You know the old ladies upstairs left the gas on?” He said with no air in his lungs, making him sound like a Gangster from a movie. “They were very lucky, if they had turned a light on, Kaboom!” He motioned with his fat hands a fan of destruction.

Francois frowned, and went up to his apartment. He listened for noises upstairs, and he could hear raised voices. Agatha’s voice was drowning out the pleading Eleanor. He strained to hear what was being said, but it was all too muffled. He sat at his computer and typed an email. He sat looking out of the window waiting for a reply. An hour passed.

The sun moved around the darkened  room and traced golden shards where it hadn’t been blotted out by the shutters. Francoise was  suddenly startled by a soft knock at the door.

It was Agatha. In the twilight of the hallway she looked like a black silhouette apart from her eyes, that danced with bright menace, like a cat that had finally caught a devious mouse. “Can I come in?” she asked in the dark

Francois hesitated, and decided it was better if she came in. He wanted to hear what she had to say.

Agatha stared out of the crack in the shutters and waited for Francois to close the door.

“I knew it was you that turned the gas on.” she said not turning round.

Francois stood motionless in the middle of the room.  Her voice seemed to cut him to the core, and he found he couldn’t answer.

“I thought at first you had worked out who I was.” continued Agatha. She leaned heavily on her stick and continued to look through the gap in the shutters.

Francois looked at his computer screen, but it had gone into saver mode, so the screen was blank.

“You don’t need to be worried that I will meddle in your affairs, said Agatha. I have my own troubles. I live a quiet life now here in France, as I would not be welcome in the new democratic and racially tolerant Germany. I believe the trail looking for me went cold in 1952. I am not Jewish, although everyone believes my Sister and I are. And that is the way I want it to stay. I won’t call the police and tell them to take your computer. I believe you are planning something with others. Am I right?”

Francois couldn’t speak. His eyes darted to his computer.

“I will give you until the winter to move, said Agatha coldly. If you are not gone by then, she smiled a thin cold smile, you will see what it is like to cross my path.”

Francois did move on, and as the snow fell on the statues and the mail piled up on his door mat, the sister’s watched on their small TV with the rest of France the day the terrorists blew the county apart.