CW: There's a slight reference to a past sexual assault in here (no description tho dw) also so sorry he's just horrible
This is a textbook example of sabotaging a reputation, Henry thought, reading the subtitles on a silent Prime Minister's Questions from a bar in the House of Lords. Rather than informing the Commons about a new high speed rail proposal, Eloise was being interrogated on whether she believed food allergies were a result of vaccine poisoning and her affair with Javier Castella. Journalists could truly destroy one's career!
Luckily, Henry had intervened before Robyn could significantly damage his own.
One particularly gobby Labour MP stood up in fury. 'I've got an email here from a constituent whose son died of a peanut allergy, several years before Covid existed. Is the right honourable member going to resign for her comments?'
'No, I won't - I find this suggestion from my right honourable friend outrageous! Plenty of doctors agree with what I'm saying. And it's not just Covid. I don't put any of that poison in my bloodstream, and that's that,' Eloise interrupted. Henry felt a sneaking admiration, despite his scepticism about her medical ideas. Good for her! The Labour MPs in the chamber shouted, outraged and stunned.
''And that's that?' Are you serious?'
'Britain rightly had one of the most successful vaccine programmes in the world, doesn't her stance undermine that, Prime Minister?' one Tory MP who was far too wet for Henry's liking said. Why was he sticking the boot in?
'Not at all. She's a Transport Minister, not a Health Minister, her opinions are her own business,' the Prime Minister said. But Henry knew Eloise would no doubt be resigning at some point today. A shame, but sometimes cells had to be sacrificed to keep any organism healthy, and the Conservative Party was no exception.
Besides, she'd be back, he thought with a smile - unlike Robyn.
Henry leaned back on his expensive leather seat and poured a glass from the subsidised bottle of champagne a waiter had just brought him. He wouldn't have time to deal with Robyn properly before going to Spain, but the journalist was at least unable to do any more damage. Robyn deserved a real punishment for such effrontery.
He thought of Belmonte's costume, hanging up in pride of place by the bottom of the stairs to his cellar; he'd pack it tonight. There were others in his circles who would enjoy such delicacies. Perhaps he could assemble a real audience if he handled the matter with discretion. He'd have to remember to leave enough food in the cellar until his return to the UK.
He took out Robyn's phone from his pocket. He had unlocked it using an app on his own, which was useful for replying to their contacts.
'Hello, Robyn, hope you're feeling better, any more gossip - anything on Dixon?' the Mirror editor had written, setting Henry's teeth on edge.
'Nothing on Dixon yet, the slippery character avoided me the whole evening,' Henry replied. There was also a message from Robyn's mum.
'Hi darling, are you OK? Are you coming to Nanna's birthday tomorrow?'
'I don't think so. I've not been feeling well, I did a test and it said I had Covid,' Henry replied. He had installed a location disguising app when he took it from Robyn, but he would have to dispose of it sooner or later, probably in the Thames overlooking the Houses of Parliament. It was a pity he had missed the Cotswold Foxhounds' last outing of the season, or he'd have got one of the terrier men to throw it into the woods for him on the day.
Then, he turned Robyn's phone off and checked his own, careful not to have them on at the same time despite their substantial security features.
'Hello, Henry! Looking forward to welcoming you and the Club to Spain - you have the use of my private airfield! Tell me, is Eloise coming?' Javier had written.
'At the moment, I assume so, I've not heard anything different,' Henry texted back.
'I don't want to risk being seen with her at the moment, given the situation. Perhaps you could gently dissuade her from going?' Javier replied.
'I'll see what I can do, but I might not be able to,' Henry replied. There was an important Commons vote coming up about tax evasion - a vote which could affect him. Eloise could always be relied on to vote the right way when she actually went to the debates, rather than sweet talking the captains of industry, meeting important party donors at lunches in the City and after dinner events. Her credentials weren't in doubt. But Henry had to make sure she was motivated to attend. He wouldn't do that by talking her into a hasty cancellation of her well-deserved holiday.
After all, he knew how he would react.
'Thank you, sir!' Javier replied, and this honorific from the famous Spaniard gladdened Henry's heart. From this quarter at least, he received the respect his title and birth entitled him to, even if others behaved with less deference.
'How goes the hunt for the wayward bull?' Henry wrote in his next WhatsApp.
'I've located Pepelito, although getting him back is proving a challenge. But nothing I cannot handle.' Henry brought the glass of champagne to his lips as he forwarded the matador's message to the Taurine Club group chat. They'd soon get to have a real celebration. The electrifying dance between man and beast would reach its stunning finale. He'd make sure he got the best seat, right in the front row.
There'd be no escape this time.
'You're here for two weeks, right? I'll have him back before the end of your trip. I'll finally be able to put on the show we all deserve.'
'I'm sure that won't disappoint.' Henry looked up from WhatsApp. Someone had got bored, and rather than select committee meetings on BBC Parliament, the television was now showing the news.
'Good afternoon, welcome to the three o'clock news with me, Paul Bournville. Our top story this hour - police in both the UK and Spain have stated at a press conference that they believe the murders of Caroline McKenzie and Aidan Donnelly are connected, and have warned that a serial killer is responsible for the deaths of as many as five victims over an 11-year period. We take you live to the conference now.' Only five? Henry thought, wondering who they'd unearthed. Who were these keystone cops?
He'd had many more than that.
'We are doing everything we can to catch this suspect,' said a policewoman with short, dyed blonde hair, round glasses and, no doubt, a heavy northern accent. Not exactly Sherlock Holmes. Almost certainly a lesbian, she had that look about her. Who put her in charge of anything?
What suspect, anyway?
They hadn't arrested anyone.
'This is an extremely dangerous man; if you have any information or see something suspicious, even if you don't think it's important, please contact police immediately. We believe this perpetrator is an extremely dangerous man who should not be approached under any circumstances.' Heather had repeated herself many times, and seemed anxious; hardly what Henry called a communications professional. The investigation would run far more smoothly with a man in charge, but not even the police were immune from wokery.
Then the Spanish policewoman appeared on the screen via Zoom. Her background was the Policia Nacional logo. She had long untidy black hair, a bit awkward like that girl at that party at Balliol College. Tegan. He'd had a jolly good time with her, they all had; sometimes he still liked to think about her over a glass of wine. She'd rung the police afterwards, naturally, but they had seen sense. Unlike Tegan - who let her into Oxford? - the well brought up Old Etonians had brilliant prospects, and all went on to excellent careers.
And why not? It was only a bit of fun.
Regarding her ghastly ex husband, he'd killed 2 birds with one stone. Who would ever believe a woman unbalanced enough to stab someone 76 times?
'Thank you, Heather,' the subtitles said. Rita Silvera reiterated how keen she was to catch the killer. How sorry she was for previous police failings and how she was doing everything she could. She wasn't going to let anyone down. How nice of her.
Rita cleared her throat as she spoke in instantly translated Spanish. 'We have found many similarities between the cases. We believe the killer is travelling regularly between the UK, Spain, and probably other countries. Ourselves and our British colleagues are doing everything we can to catch this killer. The public should be vigilant but should not be alarmed and should go about their business as usual.'
Where did he know that name?
'Those involved in protests or discussions on animal welfare and similar topics should take care, as the killer has deliberately targeted these groups, he has a grudge against such people,' Rita said, trying to look authoritative, and Henry was sure she wouldn't be attacked with sniffy comments in the Guardian. Police officers telling people to be careful what they wrote about politics only set the civil liberties lobby off when the Tories were responsible.
'If you've got any information, no matter how trivial it seems or how long ago, please tell us. Please do not worry about getting in trouble if you speak to us. Our priority is finding him before he kills again,' Rita implored, looking worn out. She reminded Henry of a bull whose strength was fading and needed a few darts to liven it up again.
'Any questions?' Heather said to the journalists seated in front of her. As thrilling as it would be to have his questions answered on air, Henry resisted the temptation. Rather than flamboyantly taunting the media, he would retain an aura of mystique.
Ah yes.
Rita Silvera was Javier's sister-in-law.
She had helped Pepelito escape. There was even a rumour she'd hidden him in her house. The latest video he'd seen showed the bull walking down the road with his doting rescuers, eating out of Rita's hand like a spoiled pet rather than a ferocious fighting machine to be dominated and conquered with a sword. Never mind Henry being extremely dangerous; she was a dangerous animal rights extremist herself.
Henry imagined sitting in the stands, watching Pepelito meeting his fate. The president of the bullring - a role Henry himself wished to attain - waving his red handkerchief, signifying the double-spiked, heavier black banderillas that meant disgrace and dishonour, a fitting punishment for a timid bull too spineless to charge. Then, a satisfyingly well-placed thrust with a sword, before Pepelito was dragged unceremoniously away to the boos of the crowd.
Rita would be watching too, in tears. Maybe she'd even jump in and try to save that pathetic creature as it tried to look up, bleeding, with a sad, doleful expression like the unworthy coward it was, rather than the fearsome Iberian warrior he expected and tradition demanded. And, after her four-legged friend, she'd be next.
He imagined her howls of devastation and terror, relishing how much the thought excited him.
Would Rita yell insults like Aidan had, or was she more of a screamer?
One way or another, he'd find out.
AN: OK if any of this is too much let me know.
I wish I was making the stuff up about calling bulls 'cowardly' and giving them extra punishment for not wanting to attack etc - I'm not. It's beyond cruel but it's real unfortunately :( and should be stopped regardless of what arguments aficionados and bullfighters say to justify any of it.