Which Prologue would entice you to buy?

I've shown both of these to a number of my fabulous team, and so far it's a tie.
Which one do you prefer? Add a comment below. Ta xxx


Prologue 1 - 1940.

“Neighbours, you are tedious.” Leonato attempted to sidestep the deranged constable, but he blocked the path.
“If I were as tedious as a king, I would bestow it all on your worship.” His solemn delivery raised chuckles.
“All thy tediousness on me, ha?”
Despite exquisite comic timing, completely unexpected from men with such serious day-jobs, the interplay couldn’t hold Clive’s attention as he ran through his lines for the next scene. The one he dreaded most. Not just the thirteen-line speech which tied his tongue in knots, but the thought of laying into the girl he’d grown dangerously fond of. Hettie, the object of his concern, whispered in his ear. “He’s remarkably good for a scientist. Should be on a West End stage.”
Trying to ignore the effect of her proximity, he whispered back. “We could all learn from his timing.” Even as his body responded to the fresh apple notes emanating from her glossy hair, his mind pondered on the slip-up. What would a girl like her know about London’s West End? Unless, as he suspected, she was playing him.
A stern glare from the director had them both zipping lips and he found himself recalling her ingenious solutions to the war-time shortages. The blush he found irresistibly endearing had accompanied her explanation of using cider vinegar to wash her hair and beetroot and Vaseline instead of lipstick. But that just drew his attention to her lips.
The call for act four curtailed his musings, and somehow he made it all the way to the end of his long speech without stumbling. A moment later, her face crumpled as he delivered the line denouncing her as “… an approved wanton.”
But that was just the start. The director’s notes to increase the physicality had her clinging to his arm as she pleaded and, when he flung her off, she stumbled, landing awkwardly on the floor. Hettie was a game girl, but he could tell she’d hurt herself, and could do nothing about it.
Finally, his part was done and he exited the stage area, oblivious to the rest of the scene except for her winces revealing the potential damage at his hands. But not for the right reasons.
The frisson he’d experienced at having her helpless at his feet had shocked and excited him in equal measure. Appalled by the powerful images running through his mind, he made a note to assess these inappropriate reactions threatening to blow his cover. And, more worryingly, to reveal a potential cruel streak.


Prologue 2 - 1966.

In many ways, Kev’s entire life had been leading up to this moment.
Admittedly, not exactly here in this less-than-salubrious pub, 22 years before he was actually born. But to a similar situation where all the life hacks resulting from his upbringing, education, and experiences coalesced. Even the parts he’d played in school productions – thanks to a sympathetic drama teacher recognising his talent for slipping into a skin other than his own – came in handy.
He adopted the confidence and sleaze of a 60s spiv, made easier by Georgie’s assurance that he rocked the trench coat, fedora and slicked back hair. He’d had a teeny tiny tremor about the etiquette of wearing a hat indoors, and quite what you were supposed to do with the damned thing when you took it off. But Ben’s golden advice saw him in good stead – watch what the people around you do, and blend in. He sipped the pale ale with a grimace.
Prickles at the back of his neck and the odd snatched phrase alerted him to the increasing interest of a nearby table of thugs. He’d clocked them as the power centre in the room while at the bar, the mirror behind it being perfectly placed for that function. He mused that its original purpose was to make the mean selection of spirits appear twice the size. Also, given some of the seedy clientele, to give the landlord eyes in the back of his head.
Part of Kev's training involved augmenting his senses to lessen his chances of being taken by surprise, and they were ganging up to inform him now would be a good time to bug out. He’d learnt as much as he could from this particular watering hole, and was unlikely to gain any further information about his prey by sticking around. Several bruises and the odd cracked rib, perhaps, but they’d have to catch him first.
He made his move and, by the time they entered the alley, he was ready for them.