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He was like a panther, lithe, slick and dark, and he had away of slinking into the room , straddling the chair with his muscular arms crossed over the back that looked hungry. His clothes - a body hugging black singlet and soft shorts - just made him seem more animalistic, more feral. Or perhaps it was the intense stare, like you were lunch.I began explaining to the lounging black teen how the house worked, that he'd have the chance to 'reform'. He seemed dismissive, rocking back and forth on the chair just enough to strain the metal and loosen the back. As well as slowly breaking the chair, his arms stretched out and back as he rocked, making his chest thrust up and giving me a glimpse of his hairy armpit, glistening from exertion. It was all deliberate and manipulative - slowly breaking me by catching me out, as surely as he was slowly breaking the chair. He had trouble written all over him. I checked myself and called his bluff - I stared him straight in the eyes and in a. Comelunchtime I took my place at my favourite table outside the cafe on thevillage square, as I always did. Having risen late I'd missed bothHelmut and Gerda at breakfast, which may have been just as well as I wasa bit under the weather and didn't feel much like indulging in smalltalk. I was still feeling a little rough now, so I was glad for thesoothing effect of Franz's coffee. The poetry book with the red coverwas out on the table and clearly visible to anyone watching. This timethat agreed signal brought Mark Benton to the table behind mine withinfive minutes. It was a fortnight since I'd seen him last, under verydifferent circumstances."Glad you're not trying to give me a heart attack this time," Iwhispered, though thanks to my sore throat it was as much a croak as awhisper."I've already apologised for that," he whispered back. "I know Ishouldn't have surprised you, but I had no opportunity to warn youbeforehand."Too bloody right he shouldn't have. When I heard footsteps.
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