Villanelle is no longer bleeding, moaning, and splayed on the bathroom floor. But that doesn’t stop Helène from knowing she’s still injured under her lavender cowl-neck top and a turquoise leather coat. Flirtier than ever, she touches it, strokes Villanelle’s hair, and cradles and kisses her head. “Do you know why I love you, Villanelle?,” Helène asks. “Because you’re an agent of kills. And I love kills.”
“Beautiful monsters” like Villanelle, Helène continues, don’t have to keep their feelings bottled up. And for a moment, it seems like Villanelle is buying it. “I did something bad to my mother,” she admits. A tear rolls down her cheek. “I took a shit in her shoe when I was three. A really big one.”
Far from amused, Helène makes to leave. But Villanelle carries on with pushing her luck, demanding a new job. Eventually, they compromise: Helène gives Villanelle the go-ahead to kill Dasha. “Thank you for the inappropriate touching,” Villanelle calls after her. “It was actually pretty nice.”
Back in Moscow, Villanelle’s assassin-in-training is still getting the hang of things. Fourteen-year-old Irina is in a detention center, and yet still fully convinced she’s going to get away with murdering her mom’s boyfriend. “Manipulative. Calculating. Almost entirely lacking in empathy,” the man who evaluated her tells Konstantin. “When asked about the accident involving your ex-wife’s partner, she said she wished she could go back in time, so she could reverse back over his body.”
Konstantin, laughing, bribes him with a 10 percent off coupon for a massage at the Ritz Carlton and cash. Still, there’s no denying that his “very disturbed child” has put a wrinkle in his fleeing-to-Cuba plans.
Lest you couldn’t tell that they’re in Scotland, Dasha and Villanelle are both wearing tartan. (A Burberry scarf for Dasha, who’s also wearing a wig, and a coat by the breakout London designer Charles Jeffrey Loverboy for Villanelle.) No wonder the receptionist mistakes Villanelle for Dasha’s daughter. “My mother has a very funny sense of humor,” Villanelle tells her. “It’s dementia.” While Dasha is still alive, Villanelle seems to be squeezing in as many digs as she can get. Dasha will never fit in with the vegans in modern-day Russia, she jeers, knowing full well that Dasha will never make it there anyway.
A trip to the golf course finds Villanelle in more tartan by a London-based up-and-comer: a cropped coat with enormous shearling sleeves by Charlotte Knowles. She couldn’t look more out of place, and she couldn’t look more disgusted with those actually dressed for the occasion—especially a particularly trying American man. Seizing on Dasha’s gripes that she’s going to miss killing people—“when you can count the number of breaths you have left in one hand”—Villanelle proposes one last murder.
Before long, Dasha is watching, bemused, as Villanelle raises her golf club over the man’s head. She swings—but hits a different target. As Dasha crumples to the ground, the man scampers off for help.
Instead, he finds Eve. And his yells about a “crazy woman” with a “nice figure” tell Eve she’s on the right track. Pushing him aside, she heads off to find Villanelle, but stumbles upon a dying Dasha instead. If only Villanelle were still there; she would have delighted in watching Eve stomp on her husband’s would-be killer until her ribs cracked.
With Irina apparently forgotten, Konstantin fetches Villanelle. They’re steps away from boarding a train when Konstantin keels over, clutching his chest. “I don’t want you to die,” Villanelle tells him, calmly watching him have a heart attack. But she also doesn’t want Konstantin’s money to go with him to the grave.
Villanelle grabs a receipt from Konstantin’s pocket. She’s just in time to make the train—and just in time to miss Eve. By the time they realize they’re just feet apart, it’s too late. Eve, who also quickly abandoned Konstantin, waves long after Villanelle is out of sight.
Of all the single items of clothing to bring on an escape to Cuba, Villanelle’s unmissable shearling couldn’t have been a worse choice. But perhaps her end destination isn’t Cuba after all. No matter what she told Konstantin, Villanelle isn’t over Eve just yet. So, like any other human might do, she gives Eve a call. “We have to stop running into each other like that,” Villanelle says. And next week, they will; if the seasons 1 and 2 finales are any indication, a real reunion is in store.
Related: Killing Eve Season 3 Episode 6 Fashion Recap: The Kids Aren’t Alright
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