<p><strong>2 May 2009</strong></p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&lsquo;Oh my goodness, look, there's a woman over at Sweeney's!'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&lsquo;It's probably his wife.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&lsquo;No, it isn't his wife.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&lsquo;How do you know?'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&lsquo;Well, his wife is middle-aged and has short dark hair and wears smart clothes, and this woman is young and has long auburn curls and is wearing jeans.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&lsquo;Maybe it's his daughter.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&lsquo;It isn't his daughter; he hasn't got a daughter. He has two sons, one who's twelve and the other who's sixteen. And I haven't seen either of the sons nor his wife for a week.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&lsquo;Really, how do you know so much about them? You shouldn't look, you know.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&lsquo;How can I not look? If they choose to live in a glass penthouse just across from our living-room window, what am I supposed to do? Look, Sweeney's hugging her!'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&lsquo;It must be his daughter by his first marriage.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&lsquo;Hmm, maybe. And Sweeney sent her off to university in the U.K. and she's back for the May Day weekend. That would explain why his wife and sons aren't there. They've gone off to the South of France because they don't get on with her. But why didn't she come at Christmas or Easter?'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&lsquo;We should get curtains. I know we said we'd wait till we've done all the conversion work and knocked down the kitchen wall and so on, but we need them now. Could you look into it today?'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&lsquo;THEY should get curtains.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&lsquo;Well, they don't seem to want to get curtains, so we should.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&lsquo;I suppose so.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p>

<p><strong>3 May, 2009</strong></p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>There's a man at Sweeney's today. Not the usual young Sunday cleaning man. I've never seen this guy before.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p><br />And he's not just a visitor. He was doing deals on his mobile on the terrace for most of the morning. Younger than Sweeney, perhaps in his mid-thirties. A lot less hairy: in fact, almost bald. I didn't see his chest: he was fully clothed. Sweeney usually does his mobile deals in his track suit bottoms. My friend Murielle reckons Sweeney is probably the owner of the whole apartment block, and manages his estate from home. I thought Sweeney's deals were done on the terrace because Mrs Sweeney didn't like him smoking in the house, but this new guy doesn't smoke. And the strange thing is, Sweeney was dusting his picture frames. Carefully, one by one. No sign of the Sunday cleaning man, Mrs Sweeney, or the kids. Just the new man doing deals on the phone on the terrace, the auburn-haired lady lounging around at the dining-room table, and Sweeney dusting the frames of the two neat rows of four black and white prints behind her. Hmm...</p> <p>&nbsp;</p>

<p><strong>6 May 2009</strong></p> <p><br />I'm on my lunch break. As I'm rummaging through my bag for my Tupperware, which clearly is not there, my mobile rings. It's my husband, who, unusally, is spending a few days at home.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Who's the woman at Sweeney's?'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Which woman?'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Exactly. The witch.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Witch?'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p><br />'Yes, with the long curly auburn hair.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'She's a witch?'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Well, I think so.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'She's the one who appeared a few days ago, remember? You thought she might be Sweeney's daughter from a first marriage. You said she was gorgeous.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'She might be gorgeous, but that hair is witch-like.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Is there anyone else there? Sweeney? Baldy? Shorty? The wife and kids? The Sunday cleaner man? The Tuesday late night cleaning lady?'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'No, she's alone. In her dressing gown. Having breakfast.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'At a quarter past one? Didn't you say we weren't supposed to look?'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Well, I can't help it, can I? I was just sitting down to have the delicious lentil salad you left in the Tupperware in the fridge for me, and she just happened to wander into Sweeney's dining-room...'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p>

<p><strong>8 May 2009</strong></p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>I guess we will never know the truth...</p>

<p><strong>21 May 2009</strong></p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>It's a public holiday in Belgium. Many people are 'bridging' tomorrow, and taking a long weekend. Having done a few phone deals in his dressing-gown on the terrace between 9 and 9.30, Sweeney went into his inner sanctorium, and re-emerged dressed in shorts. Yes, I know we got curtains in the living-room, but how can I help it if my curtainless kitchen window faces that way, and the working surface where I squeeze the breakfast oranges is just at that particular window? Shortly after, Sweeney, the auburn-haired witch, and another man were having breakfast at their terrace table with ... Naomi Campbell. Well, it certainly LOOKED like Naomi Campbell. No sign of wife, kids, or cleaners. At around 10.30, the four of them left, and haven't been seen since.</p>

<p><strong>29 May 2009</strong></p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>This morning, before I went out on my bike to do some errands, Sweeney was doing his usual phone deals, while the Sunday cleaning man (who has clearly changed his day to Friday - the night time cleaning lady has totally disappeared) was dusting and mopping around his feet.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>Now, a couple of hours later, the cleaning man has been joined by another man, and both are on ladders cleaning the outsides of the huge expanses of windows that encircle the penthouse. No, I wasn't peeping through the curtains, I was simply making fresh ice tea and cutting up an avocado for my lunch. Sweeney, Shorty (in a suit today) and a new man with a pony-tail are having lunch at the terrace table, and talking earnestly. The witch and the Naomi Campbell lookalike (unfortunately it turned out not to be Naomi - she was marginally too short and not slim enough on the second observation)have disappeared. Sweeney's wife and kids haven't been seen for weeks.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>Meanwhile, on the fifth floor (just below Sweeney's - all the floors below Sweeney's have normal apartments like ours - his is the only glass penthouse) a man is sitting on his very tiny terrace smoking a cigarette. I suspect he may have some sort of a device to listen to what Sweeney and Co are plotting. They can't see each other, but I have a good view of both apartments.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>Now I'm thinking that the outsides of my windows desperately need cleaning (I don't have a terrace outside all the way round like he does - just a teeny one at the back - so it would be very dangerous for me to dangle outside my sixth floor windows myself to do the job). Do you think there's any way I could hire Mr Sunday &amp; friend to do it? Remember, I'd have to go down to my ground floor, cross to his building, get his lift up to the penthouse, and find some reason to be there... 'I'm sorry, Mr Sweeney, I happened to notice, while I was cutting up my avocado for lunch, that your window-cleaners are doing an excellent job. Do you think they could possibly...?' Oops, and I don't even know Sweeney's real name.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p>

<p><strong>20 June 2009</strong></p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>The day before yesterday, at about 4.30 p.m., while I was sitting at my desk trying to find my way round the new Writelink site,&nbsp; I heard a fairly loud sound, like a banging door, and thought how odd, my husband must be home early.&nbsp; I called out to him, and when there was no reply, I went to have a look.&nbsp; There was no-one there, so I checked that the door was locked, and went back to my wanderings.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>Half an hour later the phone rang.&nbsp; It was the old lady who lives on the second floor.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'There's been a burglary,' she said, 'on the fifth floor, just below your apartment.&nbsp; I don't want to scare you, but is your door locked?'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>Soon after, there was major hammering and voices, so I went down to investigate.&nbsp; Not one, but both the apartments below me were open, and workmen were fixing the front doors.&nbsp; The Resident's Rep was there, with the concierge.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'They broke the doors down with a crowbar,' one man said.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'They're on the CCTV camera,' the concierge said. 'Two women, and a man, but they covered their faces.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>I was a bit concerned, since everyone seemed so relaxed about it, so today I wrote a letter to the Residents' Rep, asking a few questions:&nbsp; how did the burglars get in through the front door of the building?&nbsp; What have the police found out?&nbsp; What measures should the rest of us take?</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>Soon after she paid me a visit:&nbsp; apparently it's easy to get in through the main door by slipping a card through; the police hadn't found out much, and we all need secure doors.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'What about dropping a note into all the residents' letter-boxes to inform them that there's been a burglary?'&nbsp; (There are three 'blocks' in the building, each with two lifts, and two apartments on each landing, so people in the other blocks probably didn't hear a thing.)</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'But I'm awfully busy,' she said.&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Busy?'&nbsp; (She's retired)</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Yes, people are wanting me to deal with the bike parking and the intercom and the satellite dishes.&nbsp; We'll discuss the burglaries at the next A.G.M. in February.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Hang on, madame, you're dealing with satellite dishes, which you've been discussing at the A.G.M. for the last twelve years, and we've had a burglary, and you're telling me you're too busy to write a five-line note?'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Mais madame, this is a voluntary position, I'm not even paid to do all I do.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>I went and got my laptop.&nbsp; 'Right, we're writing a note now.&nbsp; To all residents:&nbsp; there was a burglary last Thursday afternoon.&nbsp; The police are investigating.&nbsp; Please take extra care to lock your doors properly.&nbsp; Cut, paste forty times, there, print, sign.&nbsp; It took three minutes, madame, of our precious time.&nbsp; Now will you put the notes in the letter boxes, or will I?'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Why aren't you on the Committee?' she asked me.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Because I don't want to be.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'See, no-one wants to help me.'&nbsp; Hmm...</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Madame, if I volunteer for a job, it's because I know I can do it properly.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>Anyway, my husband and I have our suspicions.&nbsp; There is a person in our neighbourhood who has a bird's eye view of all the living-room and kitchen windows on our side of the aprtment block...and if you remember my very first post on the subject, he has a telescope pointed towards us...</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>What's more, today he is celebrating today.&nbsp; Balloons decorating his apartment, strange-looking guests...</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;</p>

<p>Sweeney is leaving.&nbsp; And I mean leaving for good, not just going on holiday.&nbsp; I started feeling something was amiss yesterday morning when he took down all the balloons he'd put up ten days ago to celebrate the burglaries in the two flats below mine.&nbsp; Then in the afternoon he and another man hosed down the terrace with a machine-powered hose. The noise drowned my tennis commentary (I had the window open due to the stifling heat.)&nbsp; Now anyone who has to clean their terrace that thoroughly is definitely suspect.&nbsp; Yesterday evening they had six people to dinner.&nbsp; And today the witch, who normally does nothing but loll about the terrace in her ugly towelling dressing-gown, smoking, is in full action.&nbsp; The dining-room table is piled high with clothes.&nbsp; Dressed in olive coloured linen trousers and a white strappy top, her hair dishevelled, she is taking each item of clothing, holding it up to look at it, folding it, and putting it into a&nbsp; packing case on the floor.&nbsp; Hang on, but Sweeney is nowhere to be seen.&nbsp; Perhaps it's just the witch who's going?&nbsp; But it does seem odd that she's not packing into a case - large cardboard boxes imply heavy-duty house moves, in my experience...</p>

<p>No bodies in cardboard boxes.&nbsp; No criminals in Kiev.&nbsp; Just storms in teacups.&nbsp; I came back on Tuesday from four days in London to find Sweeney and the Witch in their towelling dressing-gowns in a fond embrace on the terrace, beside a small new Red Bull bar table. No sign of the mobile on that day. &nbsp; The living-room was decked with white flowers, and the boxes had disappeared.&nbsp; The Witch has remained in her dressing-gown for the last four days - but she doesn't look ill. In fact she has been pottering - taking a real interest in the penthouse for the first time - watering plants and so on.&nbsp; Sweeney has moved from dressing-gosn to shorts to longs, and is now back on his mobile deals.&nbsp; He has hardly been out in the last few days - normally he does his deals only in the morning and evening and disappears (to his 'cover job'?) during the day.&nbsp; Yesterday there was an important and intense meeting between Sweeney, the Witch, and two balding men, on the terrace.&nbsp; The Friday ironing man came as usual.&nbsp; I don't understand it, but I feel something major is about to happen.&nbsp;</p>

<p>Well, there I was on Saturday morning, by the kitchen window, squeezing the breakfast oranges, and The Witch came out onto her terrace in the tiniest imaginable bikini...now the witch is an attractive lady, but not exactly slim - a sort of Kate Winslet type with the Titanic figure and about ten years older...so of course I turned away, removed my oranges to a more discreet kitchen surface.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>Then at lunch time, it was time to chop the tomatoes.&nbsp; The witch appeared, this time in a just-below-the-bottom white Indian beach-type top.&nbsp; Aha, I thought, she's decided to get a bit more decent.&nbsp; Then a gust of wind came along, and I promise you, the witch had nothing on underneath ... once again, I beat a hasty retreat. The workmen are coming in August and I shall get blinds. Thank goodness.&nbsp; I don't think I can take much more.&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>Of course I didn't mention any of this to my husband - he, after all, insists we shouldn't look...</p>

<p>Thank goodness.&nbsp; It looks like the woman opposite is leaving.&nbsp; Boxes are piled high in her living-room, and she's packing.&nbsp; It's been bad news ever since she moved in.&nbsp; Constantly peering over here.&nbsp; I thought things would improve once she got those ugly curtains, but no, now she seems to be chopping stuff at her kitchen window morning, noon and night.&nbsp; Her man's not so bad - quiet guy - out all day, rarely see him - sits with his back to the window.&nbsp; But she's a real pain.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>I mean, when you have a glass penthouse like mine, right up on the sixth floor, you expect to be able to carry out your business undisturbed.&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>It was weird enough when those two women lived there - a lot of coming and going late at night - you could see the shadows through the black drapes they had over the windows - but their life was exciting enough that they didn't have to snoop into mine.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>But this one's a real busybody.&nbsp; We call her Pru, because she looks like a real prude.&nbsp; You should have seen the look on her face when I got rid of Marguerite and Ang&eacute;lique moved in!&nbsp; I sent Ang&eacute;lique out to the terrace in a skimpy bikini to scare her off ... and I think it's worked!&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;</p>

<p>I'm worried about Sweeney. His penthouse has been empty for two weeks: no Sweeney, no Witch, no kids visiting, no Baldy - not even the Friday cleaning man and Sunday cleaning lady.&nbsp; The first week was half-term holidays, so I wasn't too concerned, but still, a week after the end of the holidays, no lights, no movement, nothing.&nbsp; I don't think he's left, because there are two bikes on his south-facing terrace: strange, he used to keep them on the north-facing terrace...</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>And what's more, when my builders' foreman was here doing a final couple of tweaks a couple of weeks ago, he remarked:</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Strange man, next door, always on the phone.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Does deals,' I replied.&nbsp; 'Stocks and shares, or something, must be...'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'I don't think so,' my bald Flemish foreman Geert said.&nbsp; 'Something more suspicious...'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Why do you say that?'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Women...'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'Well, I know he exchanged his wife for a newer model recently...'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'No,' said Geert.&nbsp; 'WomEn, not womAn.'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'What do you mean?'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>'I think that's what his business is.&nbsp; Women.&nbsp; There were lots there when you moved out and we were working in your apartment.&nbsp; And they weren't wearing a lot of clothes...'</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>Perhaps that explains the month's delay on the building works.&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>Hmm...could Sweeney be connected to our previous tenants?&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>(For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, you'll need to read the last three episodes of my Pru and Wills series in the Arena)</p>

<p>When I came home yesterday evening, my husband said 'Sweeney's back.'&nbsp; Unusual for him to comment.&nbsp; But then we hadn't closed our curtains for the last two and a half weeks, since chez Sweeney had become dark and empty, so he couldn't help but see. I had a look, and indeed,&nbsp; the place was ablaze with light. &nbsp; Only the two blinds to the left were open - the ones that are in the kitchen - and the three blinds to the right were down (now Sweeney keeps one closed, generally, and only closes more when it's a very sunny summer's day).&nbsp; But absolutely no sign of life.&nbsp; 'Perhaps they're watching TV' my husband suggested.&nbsp; Sweeney never watches TV - he doesn't have one - the place is designer minimalist. And when Sweeney is there, you notice him.&nbsp; 'Perhaps they're hiding behind the blinds' I thought - but it would be odd, then, to hide with all the lights on.</p> <p>And this morning, I'm up early - 6.30 - (because, would you believe, the cooker fundi is coming at 7 a.m. to fix the new oven which keeps ventilating after you switch it off), and the lights at Sweeney's are still on.&nbsp; Now Sweeney NEVER switches on lights till eight, when he starts doing his telephone deals.&nbsp; There have been no deals done yesterday evening or this morning - those are always done on the terrace.&nbsp; Sweeney is definitely not there, but who switched on the lights?&nbsp; Is it a signal?</p> <p>&nbsp;</p>

<p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">There I was, opening a yoghourt by the kitchen window, the way one does, wondering why Sweeney hadn't been seen since the beginning of November, and worrying about his electricity bills and global warming and his carbon footprint with all those lights blazing at his place all day and all night, when suddenly a man, dressed entirely in black, appeared from behind the blind-covered window into view in the non-blind-covered window, clutching his mobile </span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning /> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas /> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables /> <w:SnapToGridInCell /> <w:WrapTextWithPunct /> <w:UseAsianBreakRules /> <w:DontGrowAutofit /> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:NL;} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">&agrave; la Sweeney.&nbsp; But was it Sweeney?&nbsp; I couldn't tell - as soon as he saw me, he darted back behind the blind...</span><br /></span></span></p>

<p>Half an hour after the first sighting, there were two men chez Sweeney, one short and balding, one large, dressed in black.&nbsp; Neither was Sweeney.&nbsp; And now the lights, which had blazed for a fortnight, are out.&nbsp; No sign of life. Tbc...</p>

<p>This morning Sweeney and the witch clearly had a lie-in - they were sauntering around at lunch time, he in his grey track suit and she in her ugly beige towelling dressing gown.&nbsp; Fair enough, since it's Saturday.&nbsp; I was otherwise occupied in the afternoon, so I don't know what went on ... but tonight, at ten p.m., the cleaning lady was hoovering away ... no one else in sight.&nbsp; Now why would anyone hire a cleaning lady at ten o'clock on a Saturday night?&nbsp;&nbsp; I'm worried...</p>

<p>There is a man at Sweeney's.&nbsp; About forty, tall, closely cropped hair, grey trousers, black sweatshirt.&nbsp; Never seen him before.&nbsp; Not nearly as seedy-looking as Sweeney or any of his friends.&nbsp; He has one of those high-power hose things I mentioned before, and he's washing the terrace.&nbsp; Could he be disposing of the final traces of evidence?</p>

<p>You will remember that Sweeney disappeared during my absence a couple of months ago, then nothing happened until there was a recent huge clean-up of evidence. I can now report that there is a huge hammock swinging in his terrace. I returned from two weeks in London to find it.&nbsp; I have also seen a short, stout woman and a so far unidentifiable number of children.&nbsp; There are bits and pieces on the table in the dining-room, and packing cases hanging around.&nbsp; As usual, the agent I left in charge during my absence observed nothing.&nbsp; When I questioned him this morning he said 'Oh.&nbsp; Okay, new people have moved in.&nbsp; Please don't stare at them.'&nbsp; Clearly this is a major cover-up orchestrated by Sweeney and his gang.&nbsp; I am requesting advice from any of my assistants who may read this.&nbsp; Why does all the drama always happen when I'm not here?</p>