8 months later…
"Oh, I simply can't wait to introduce you! You two have so much in common and his dinner parties?! I swear if you don't just drop dead on the spot, I'll kill you myself!," she giggled, with a slight edge of madness to its sound.
"How long have you known him?," her companion asked, while gazing out the limousine window at the rows of opulent buildings that lined the gaping streets of the little utopian suburbia.
"Oh, I suppose he arrived in the area about 6 months ago? It didn't take him long to slide into the elite circle of our little group. He's a natural charmer, so suave. He knows about a half dozen languages and his voice? Well. Those dulcet tones could melt the heart of an iceberg! I swear, half the women have been trying to woo him but it's obvious his proclivities lie in other directions, as far as I can tell. And I have a nose for these things!" she lilted, while tapping the side of said rather prominent feature.
"Indeed," he replied, flashing her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm looking forward to meeting the mysterious and enigmatic… what did you say his name was, Mrs Clarfore?"
"Oh please, call me, Judith. Mrs makes me feel so OLD…! Rufus. His name is Henrik Rufus."
The car slowed at the gated entrance. "Ah! Here we are!"
A few minutes later, they climbed from the car and headed up the steps to the entrance of the Rufus Residence.
With her younger companion gracing her arm, Judith Clarfore looked like she belonged. Her escort for the evening fed off this confidence and ease to fuel his own disquiet. It did not take long for him to locate the source of his rising trepidation.
"Oh! There he is! Come, James. You simply must meet him and his sister," she said, leaning gently into him. "Well, half sister," she whispered, conspiratorially.
There was no mistaking the frame of the man in front of him, standing with his back to them. Waxing lyrical about Italian art in that soothing but all-too-well-remembered deadly tone. And the woman? His… sister? Surely not…
"Henrik! Henrik!," Judith called.
Hannibal turned towards the voice. His heart stuttered at the sight of the man he had left for dead on the side of a lonely, wood-covered mountain. Destiny, it seems, is nothing if not in possession of a sense of determination.
Will Graham had never looked even more devastating to Hannibal Lecter's eyes.