Oxford Fall

In this passage, Kate encounters both victim and murderer, but is too engrossed in choosing a new notebook and pen to notice.

Tourists, festooned with cameras, intent on capturing a famous Oxford view, trod all over Kate’s feet. Teenagers shouted in her ears and thumped into her with backpacks.  Behind her, a frustrated motorist blared his horn at a cluster of cyclists.  An aggressive young woman in combat boots strode between her and the plate glass window.  ‘Sorry,’ said Kate, ear-rings jangling as she moved. A couple of middle-aged men in tweed jackets and black gowns, deep in conversation, threaded their way expertly past, avoiding the throng of noisy Italian teenagers.  Diesel fumes hung in blue clouds over them all.

‘Sorry,’ said Kate again, as yet another passer-by stepped on her foot.

‘My fault,’ came the unexpected reply.

Kate looked up from the window, where she was inspecting an unusually beautiful matt black fountain pen with a gold wraparound nib.  For a moment she was distracted from the display by the man who had paused next to her and seemed concerned about the condition of her foot.  ‘Greek god’ was the phrase that dropped into her mind when she looked at him.  Really, he was extraordinarily good-looking.  A long, thin face with high cheekbones and black eyebrows.  Slate-blue shirt, darker green tie, grey linen jacket.  He would look just right sitting on her velvet sofa, but at such short notice she could invent no excuse to transport him there.