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Pillow Talk. Freya North
Читать онлайн.Название Pillow Talk
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780007325795
Автор произведения Freya North
Жанр Современная зарубежная литература
Издательство HarperCollins
Author’s note and Acknowledgements
Something isn’t quite right – I have a hunch about this. But I think I’ll just tuck it into the back of my mind while I tuck my feet into my wellington boots. Now I’ll open my front door and step out into the night.
I’m ready. Where is it I’m meant to be going? I can’t quite remember. It’ll come back to me in a moment. I’ll just put one foot in front of the other and trust myself. I am turning left. If I am automatically taking this direction to Wherever, this must mean it is the right way to go.
Now where am I? I’m glad I’m wearing my gumboots. That was a good idea. I had to rummage for them as I can’t remember when I last wore them. I can’t remember when I last had a weekend away from the city. No one has ever whisked me away. Not that I’ve ever asked – that wouldn’t be me. That’s not to say I haven’t daydreamed of it, though.
But enough of this mental meandering, I must walk on. This way. That way. I don’t feel very comfortable. I’m rather cold and my feet feel – strange.
I’m hoping for the landmark to loom, to say to me that I’ve arrived at my destination. I know metaphysics would say that it’s not the arriving but the journey that’s the point – but I’m going to have to have a sit-down and a rethink if I don’t get there soon. Perhaps I’ve gone the wrong way. I don’t want to admit to myself that I don’t really know the route because that would call into question the destination which, actually, I can’t remember at all. Well, I’ll keep on walking this way. My feet are really sore. I’d love a bar of chocolate. I’m quite tired now. Sleepy, in fact. Something will jog my memory.
It was not Petra Flint’s memory that was jogged. It was her slumber. By the police. She woke with a start and in a panic; for a split second she thought she was blind. Actually it was very dark and she was lying face down on the ground. Earthy, itchy ground, and wet.
‘Are you OK?’
Petra lifted her head a little and glanced up: two police officers were looming over her. The sudden beam from a torch scorched her eye so she dropped her gaze and put her face back to the ground. She was wearing her nightshirt and her wellington boots, which were on the wrong feet, and she felt mortified. She also felt