Olivia replaced the receiver into its cradle with a clatter. “That’s the third time that man has rung. He gives me the creeps.”
            “You don’t need to answer it. Let it go to voice-mail, for God’s sake.” Hugh frowned. “You’re such an idiot,” he added.
            Olivia didn’t comment. She was used to her husband calling her names. Most times she managed to ignore it. Other times it made her feel helpless and humiliated.
            “Perhaps we should get a silent number?” she ventured.
“Who is this person that keeps ringing?”
“I don’t know. It’s someone trying to sell me roofing tiles.”
“What’s so difficult in telling him to piss off, woman? Next time hand the phone to me.” Olivia wisely kept quiet.
An hour later, brief-case in hand, he said, “I’ll be late for dinner tonight – business meeting at the club.” He gave Olivia a peck on the cheek.

She walked with him to the front door and dutifully waved goodbye as he stepped into the gleaming Daimler driven by Martin, their chauffeur.

Olivia wandered back inside. So, yet another day in this mausoleum. Nothing to do except decide what to cook for a meal that evening and wait for Hugh to come home. She poured another cup of coffee and allowed herself to wallow in her misery.

Hugh had been kind when they had first married, but over the years he’d changed. From a vibrant thirty-year-old woman with a well paid job as an administrator ten years ago, she had become the invisible person she was today thanks to Hugh and his obsessive need for control.

He had never hit her; she had to give him that. His was a gradual erosion of her will-power, a possessive control involving everything she did from where she went, what she wore, her choice of friends, even what she ate.

Now the only time she ventured out was to the local shopping centre and even then she hurried home in case Hugh had rung the house phone looking for her.

 “You come from nothing,” he was fond of telling her. “No brains and no money and I’m giving you a life of privilege. You’ll never have to worry about anything again and don’t you ever forget it. Even if I die, you will be well taken care of.”

Hugh arrived home just after nine o’clock that night and she was determined that he should listen.  “That man has phoned a dozen times today,” she began.
            “What man?”
            “The one I told you about. Trying to sell roof tiles.”
            Hugh walked into the lounge and stopped at the cocktail cabinet. “I told you to let it go to voice-mail.” He poured a shot of whisky into a short glass and took a large swallow.
            Olivia hovered in front of him. “I know you did but ….”
            “You’re being stupid, Olivia. The last thing I need after an exacting day is to listen to your idiotic ramblings about some ridiculous phone calls.”
            Olivia squeezed her hands together. “He said he didn’t like me being rude to him and … and he was going to get me.”
            “Get you?” Hugh roared with laughter. “Do you know how crazy that sounds?”
            “He frightened me, Hugh.” Olivia’s tone was subdued now and she bent her head to hide her embarrassment.
            “Forget it. Come over here to your old man and start acting like a loving wife,” he demanded, patting his crotch suggestively.

The shrill ringing of the phone made them both jump. Hugh grabbed the extension at his elbow. “Yeah? Hello?”
There was silence and then Hugh let fly with expletives that made Olivia blush with shame. Slamming the receiver down, he immediately jabbed his fingers at the keypad. “The bastard. Number withheld.”
            “What shall we do?”
            “Nothing tonight,” he said, placing the receiver along side the hand set. “Tomorrow your job will be to arrange our silent number. We should have done it years ago to stop any nuisance calls.” He lifted his drink and finished it in one gulp. “Now, where were we …?

Olivia replaced the receiver. Hugh’s personal assistant was the last person on her list that she had to inform of their new number. She had let her mother know and a few of Hugh’s relatives plus his best mate, Peter Gilbert. Peter was a Chief Inspector with the Thames Valley Police and of all of Hugh’s friends, Olivia liked him the most.

            She screwed up the list, tossing it into the waste paper bin. To the outside world Hugh was a charming, sociable man who was extremely well liked. It was only here, in the confines of their home that he showed his true colours – that of a cruel, abusive man. She knew she should leave him and had thought of it many times but he seemed to have a sixth sense even as she gathered her courage to tell him.
            “Don’t even think about leaving me, Olivia,” he would shout. “I will find you, wherever you go and I will make your life hell.” I am already living in purgatory, she thought.

“I want you to tell the police,” she insisted that evening as she and Hugh sat down for dinner. “This man is harassing me.”
            “He’s playing a game and you’re letting him get away with it,” Hugh replied, dismissively. “Report it to the telephone people, they should be able to do something but it’s hardly a police matter, my dear.”
            Olivia glared at her husband as he placed a large piece of steak in his mouth. “I suggest you use your mobile for the time being. This maniac will soon get sick of it,” Hugh added through his mouthful of food.

So that’s what Olivia did and even though the house phone rang occasionally over the next few days, she ignored it. Rarely were messages left so she could only assume that it was her ‘stalker’ ringing and she hoped he would soon get tired of not receiving a response.
            Friday was her birthday and she was forty years old. She waited for Hugh to comment on it that morning, but he left for work as usual not even bothering to kiss her goodbye.
            It was at lunch time that Hugh rang on her mobile. “Get your party dress out, my dear. I’m taking you to dinner to celebrate your birthday. I’ll meet you at Bruno’s at seven,” he said referring to one of Oxford’s top restaurants. “Get Martin to drive you in and by the way, I’ve asked Peter and Lauren Gilbert to join us.”
            “That will be lovely, Hugh. Thank you.”
 
The evening was a success until Hugh began to drink too much. Olivia tensed as she sipped her champagne and listened to Hugh monopolising the conversation, as usual. His face was flushed and he was slurring his words.
            “Mrs. Marden?”
            Olivia looked up as the waiter, with a beaming smile, produced a huge box of yellow roses and laid it in her lap. “This was left at reception for you.”
            Olivia grasped the box, her face lighting up with pleasure. “Oh Hugh, what an absolutely lovely surprise.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek.
            Hugh looked bewildered. “But … but I never …”
            His explanation was lost as Olivia screamed and leapt to her feet, the roses scattering across the table. “Oh God,” she cried as blood dripped from the box over her breasts and down the skirt of her dress. She screamed again when what looked like a human heart fell from the box into the centre of the table. Protruding from it was a kitchen knife.

“Let me get this straight. Because you were rude to a telephone salesman, he began to harass you and is now stalking you.”
            The four of them were sitting in the lounge at Marden House discussing the scene in the restaurant. After the incident, Lauren had rushed a sobbing Olivia to the ladies room where she had helped remove the blood-soaked dress, covering her with Olivia’s own coat. Peter had summonsed two uniform police officers, who had taken a statement and removed the offending heart and knife, plus the box containing the roses.
            At home Olivia quickly showered, and dressed in casual clothes joined the others downstairs. To her relief Hugh had sobered up significantly. He made them coffee and then sat next to Olivia on the settee.
            She repeated again for Peter’s benefit what had happened in the past few days.
            “How do we know this bloke sent the flowers and that … that thing?” Hugh asked.
            Peter held up a small white card. “Because of this. One of my men found it among the roses.” He read the words, ‘Next time it will be you.’
            Olivia shrank into the corner of the settee, her eyes huge as she studied the card. “He’s going to kill me.” The others could hear the panic rising in her voice.
            “Rubbish, Olivia. He’s just a nasty trouble-maker. Why would anyone want to kill you?” Hugh shrugged his shoulders.
            “He could be more than a trouble-maker,” Peter replied in his calm, quiet manner. “It would be wise to check your house security system. This man is stalking Olivia. How else would he know where she was tonight?”
            Hugh was silent.
            “I’ll organise for a tap on your phones, if you like, Hugh. We may find out something that way. I consider that Olivia’s life has been threatened by what happened tonight. I’ll arrange for a couple of my detectives to investigate this matter.”
Pursing his lips, Hugh reluctantly nodded his head in agreement.
“You might also want to consider hiring a bodyguard for Olivia for a few weeks.”
            “I really don’t go out much,” Olivia murmured, staring at her hands as if mesmerised.
            “Shut up! No one asked you. Let Peter and I deal with this,” Hugh snarled. Olivia saw the other two exchange knowing glances and she hung her head, the hot colour of her humiliation rising in her face.
            “Olivia doesn’t need a bodyguard,” Hugh continued, “but I will take up your offer regarding the phones. Besides, I’ve got a gun and if this man tries to break in here, I’ll shoot the bugger.”
            “A gun?” Peter looked startled. “Where do you keep it?”
            “It’s all right. I’ve got a licence for it. It’s a hand gun - had it for years and it’s well hidden.”
            Olivia shuddered. She knew where Hugh kept his gun and the ammunition. It was in a box on the top shelf of the cupboard under the stairs.
            With a promise that his officers would investigate matters in the morning, Peter and Lauren prepared to leave.
            “I’m terrified,” Olivia admitted in a low voice to Peter as they walked to the front door.
            “Try not to worry. We’ll sort this out.” He gave her a light kiss on the cheek.

A week later and Olivia began to relax a little and decided to drive to the local shops a few miles away.
True to his word, Peter had arranged for a tap on their phone but with no luck, the police having traced a number of calls to various pay phones in the area. The two detectives working on the case reported that it had been a pig’s heart hidden in the roses and that no prints had been found on the knife or the gift box.
           
They  had also enquired as to who had left the roses and discovered a young lad had been given five pounds by a man in the street to deliver them. He had been unable to provide a clear description except the man was tall with dark hair.

Much to Hugh’s annoyance the detectives had questioned him and Olivia at length but neither of them could throw any light on the possible identity of the stalker. However, in the past three days the phone had fallen silent and the investigation appeared to have stalled.

“Why won’t you believe me? I tell you it was deliberate. When I was driving home from the shopping centre, the stalker tried to run me off the road. You saw the dents in my car.”

When he got home that evening Hugh was in no mood for Olivia’s explanations. “Well, you weren’t injured.” He glared at her across the bedroom as he pulled off his jacket.
            “I could have been killed,” she shouted, aware she was losing control.
            Hugh’s tone was disparaging. “I’m not sure that all of this isn’t in your imagination, Olivia.”
            “Was the delivery of those roses in my imagination?” she raved. “Peter Gilbert seems worried enough. He thinks you should get someone to protect me.”
            “He doesn’t have to put up with your paranoid behaviour. You make me sick.” Hugh moved around the edge of the bed. “You’re only good for one thing,” he said, his face inches from hers.

Two evenings later Olivia waited in the lounge for Hugh. It had grown dark and as she walked to the window to draw the curtains, she saw a shadowy figure dart across the patio area. Her heart leapt into her throat. It was him. The stalker. She knew it was. Terrified, she turned off the lights and leaned against the lounge wall, her breath coming in short, painful pants.

Peering out she saw the dark form pushing against the window. He was coming to kill her.

Frantically she ran to the cupboard under the stairs and pulled a box from the top shelf. Grabbing the gun, she awkwardly inserted bullets into the chambers and holding it in front of her, raced along the passage to the kitchen. Lifting the phone receiver from the wall, she pressed Peter Gilbert’s direct line.
            “He’s here,” she breathed.
            “Olivia? Calm down. Where are you?” His voice was reassuring.
            “In the kitchen. I saw him. He’s trying to get in. Peter, I’m so afraid.”
            “Don’t hang up. I’ll dispatch a unit to your house. They’ll be there in a few minutes.”
            “Please hurry.” She heard him speaking on his house phone.
            “Are you there?” Peter was back on the line.
            “He’s walking past the window.” Her voice rose in panic. “The back door, I haven’t locked it. Oh, God, he’s opening it. He’s coming in.”
            “Olivia – wait.”
She fired shot after shot at the dark figure entering the room.
            There was an eerie silence and then she lifted the phone to her ear. “It’s Hugh. I’ve killed him, Peter.”

Olivia closed the front door and leaned against it with a sigh of relief. Hugh’s inquest was over. The verdict – accidental shooting.
            “What a clever little actress you are.” A tall man with dark hair stepped into the hallway and she ran towards him, flinging herself into his waiting arms.
            “Oh, my darling stalker,” she laughed as he hugged her close. “It’s over at last. Now it’s just you and me.”