Joe Milton, photographer by profession, immediately recognised Professor Reginald Weer’s gleaming Jaguar-F. He felt jittery as he headed towards the tearoom to meet his ex-professor and his wife. He had graduated from Stirling University a year before, but no steady job was in sight yet. So, despite resenting Weer’s despicable request, he had accepted to do it, but only for the money, mind you. With the hefty sum that Weer had promised him upon completion of the task, he would settle the considerable debt with his outraged landlord. Weer looked like a fully-fledged aristocrat in his tweed shooting-coat and matching trousers. He was hissing at his wife over a small coffee table, his eyes glaring and contemptuous. The young woman had a doleful expression, and when she raised her watery eyes to look at her husband in the face, Joe’s heart missed a beat. She was the freckled version of Botticelli’s Venus. Joe swallowe...
My thoughts and stories