Josephine shut the door behind them, carrying a small tray with tea and light refreshments; she watched her step as she navigated a few fresh blooms, and watched Robbie too, eyes keenly searching out hints of his mood from the slope of his shoulders, the tilt of his hips as he walked. Pleasant though she found him, her attentiveness wasn't really out of concern -- and now she paused to set down her tray upon the table between two wooden chairs, now she took a moment to murmur out her hope that he was feeling better, punctuated with a maternal smile of affection she couldn't possibly feel -- it was the attentiveness of the eternal predator, judging when best and how best to make its move.
None of this predation could find its way to the surface, however, not through Josephine's iron-clad barriers; every nuance, from her delicate serving of their tea to her airy, informal sun-dress gave her an aura of gentleness -- and beneath the sun, shaded by a floppy, quaint sun-hat, she glowed with an almost sedate calm. This was purposeful, of course. Everything about her, particularly the casual, was intentional -- was designed to mitigate the appearance of danger to her unsuspecting prey. Robbie might not have been an intended victim in the strictest sense of the word, but he needed to be fooled.
Because -- ultimately -- Josephine, buried in lush flowers and comfortable chairs and innocuous smiles, was going to suggest some very nasty things... and a cultivated perception of nurturing suited her ends far better than one of ambitiousness.
"Thank you Robert," she sighed, affecting an air of humility. She was quite proud of her garden, in fact, and the effort that went into it -- all so it could be admired when she had a visitor. "Please have some tea."