The Perfect House

Chapter 8: Florian's problem

Florian was looking out the front windows the next morning. Mrs Stein wasn't in her garden, but he had noticed something disquieting - there was a sunroom built on the front of her house which would allow her a good view of the street and the front of their house whenever she was in there.
Did she spend much time in there? Probably, it looked like it was a nice place to sit.
How am I going to get past that blasted woman to go to uni, or anywhere else for that matter?
There was no alternative way; their street was a cul-de-sac, a dead end. The only way out was through the T-junction down the open end. The university grounds were directly opposite the junction and were enclosed with a high decorative panel fence, but there was a gate only twenty or so paces along from the end of their street. The gate had an electronic lock that their student cards would open, and then it was but a short walk to the main buildings - all up, hardly more than five minutes; oh yes, it was so very convenient for them to walk to uni.

Florian sighed quietly to himself. So what he would have to do was dress up as Florina, and walk down the street and through the gate; then he would be out of sight of Mrs Stein and could revert to being Florian. On the way back, redo his female image before going through the gate; (sigh) It looked like he would have to become something of a quick-change artist.
"Irene, I'm going to need your help again," Florian declared to himself with a grimace.

Somewhat disconsolately, he returned to his bedroom and stood looking around. "Oh, I love this room." He started to walk out onto the balcony, but stopped as an unwelcome thought hit him.
Neighbours!
That Mrs Stein was bound to know most of the neighbours, and if one of them spotted him 'undisguised', she was sure to hear about it.
Florian slumped down onto his bed, the immortal words of Sir Walter Scott (which were often attributed to Shakespeare) jumping into his head:

Oh, what a tangled web we weave
When first we practice to deceive.

This was like a bad dream. It was some minutes before Florian was able to force himself to think clearly. So everytime he ventured out of the house, or out the back, onto his balcony, out the front, anywhere outside, it would have to be as Florina; and perhaps he'd better be careful near some of the windows as well.
"Oh lord, can I do this."
He looked around at the room again, once more feeling that lift. "Dammit, I've got this far, I have to keep going."

That afternoon, Florian changed to Florina and drove over to see his mentor, Irene.