Rowena didn't swear. She never had done and thought those women who did lacked the intelligence and vocabulary to communicate properly.
But today!
To call it a bad hair day was an understatement. It seemed everything had gone wrong, which was why she had stayed late at the office to try and put things right; why she was driving home in the dark, her wipers struggling to clear the torrential downpour flooding the windscreen. Maybe just this once, she thought, it might be a relief to let rip with a good old fashioned expletive.
She certainly needed to explode when, a mile from her apartment, the engine died. At first it was shock, then anger, then depression as she steered to a stop by a thankfully clear kerb. Briefly burying her head in her hands she decided enough was enough. She just wanted to get home and close the world out. She'd deal with whatever ailed the car in the morning. Scrabbling in the glove pocket she found piece of paper and scrawled on it "Broken - Bust - Kaput - Don't Work" and stuck it in the windscreen.
Climbing out she locked the car before, briefcase on her head in a futile attempt keep her hair dry, she set off along the road. The chill wind snatched at her skirt and struck with chill fingers through her panty hose.
This was the seedy, run-down part of town leading to the more salubrious Clanaton area where she had lived in solitary comfort since her divorce. The council was supposedly about to launch a regeneration plan for it. And not before time, she thought tramping wearily into the driving rain. Every second street light seemed to be broken, the small shops either boarded up or closed and shuttered. Not a soul in sight except a hooded figure sheltering in an open doorway up ahead.
Suddenly apprehensive Rowena looked to avoid him. Maybe she should cross to the opposite pavement - but there wasn't one. Bishop's Park stretched a tentacle of trees and bushes down the other side of the road, a bulwark separating this neighbourhood from up-market Dunkesmead. She trudged on.
Just before she reached the doorway the figure left its shelter and walked slowly up the road ahead of her. A hundred yards and it stopped, turned and waited for her. Thinking it might be wise to go back she glanced behind her - two more hooded figures were leaving the open doorway and starting after her. Too late, she was sandwiched between the one in front and the two behind.
Uncertain, she approached the single man - perhaps, after all, he wasn't waiting to stop her. But as she got close he raised a hand and said, 'Wrong way, bitch. We've organized the fucking party for you back there.'
Thankful that she was wearing low heeled driving shoes and not her stilettos, Rowena ignored the intermittent traffic and impulsively darted across the road toward the park, frantically searching for a gap in the bushes. As she saw one and burst through to the grass beyond she heard a squeal of brakes and an angry horn behind her. They were after her!
Fifty, sixty yards and she reached a path. The going was easier, but she was only a little way along when the thud of feet behind said they were gaining. Panic forced her to run faster. It was no use, a hand clutched the back of her coat. Slipping on the wet surface she fell in a heap, her pursuer on top of her.
'Over here, guys,' he shouted. With a struggle Rowena rolled over and kneed him in the stomach, making him gasp.
'You'll pay for that, bitch. After we've done fucking you, we'll pass you on to a few of our friends so's they can have their fun. You'll not find them as gentle as us.'
She yelped as he twisted her arm behind her back.
'Excuse me, can I be of any assistance?'
An oldish man with an erect military bearing standing some ten yards further up the path. Leaning on a walking stick he surveyed the scene with an air of disapproval.
Where had he appeared from? The three attackers looked at each other then back at him.
'Piss off!' One of them said.
'Help! Help me, please. They're going to rape me,' Rowena pleaded.
Brandishing a flick knife one of the attackers moved menacingly toward the man. In response he lifted his stick and pointed it at the hoodlum's chest. The thug grabbed the end and pulled; seemingly there was no resistance and he stumbled back a pace holding what could now be seen was only the sheath of a thin, rapier-like sword-stick.
Regaining his balance, the thug rushed forward and recklessly attempted to stab the man, who neatly skewered the wrist holding the knife. The attacker shrieked and dropped his weapon.
'Anyone else want to try?' The man calmly said staring at the three miscreants. 'I used to be an expert with this.'
No one answered. He shrugged, 'Let her go.'
Slowly, watchfully the hoodlums drew back.
'Pick up the knife, my dear. Don't hesitate to use it on any of them if they try to hold you.'
Hastily grabbing the knife and her briefcase from the grass and Rowena moved to stand behind the man.
'Good night, gentlemen. And don't try to follow us.' Catching Rowena's elbow her rescuer cautiously led her along the path. Truculently the three would-be rapists watched them go.
Round a slight bend and the thugs were out of sight. The man stopped, turned to Rowena and asked, 'How are you feeling?'
'A bit shaky, but otherwise all right.'
'I can't see any injuries, except to your clothes. They're in a real mess.'
Feverishly Rowena inspected what she could see of her coat. It was covered in mud and dirt and one arm was ripped - also she could feel her tights were in shreds and water from a puddle seemed to have soaked her skirt and briefs.
'Could be worse I suppose. Thankfully they're only working ones, not my best.'
'You don't seem bad in yourself. Maybe a little shocked and disoriented right now - as one would expect in the circumstances. But it will hit you soon. Might I suggest you come back to my place and rest until you feel better. It's just the other side of the park.'
'Thank you. I would like to sit down for a moment.'
One hand on her elbow he drew her down the path to the Dunkesmead side of the park and out across a brightly lit road lined on its far side with a terrace of large Edwardian residences.
