(2013) Four Widows Read Online Free PDF Page B

keyhole surgery, hip replacements and is also a trustafarian. No idea of the word debt unless it concerns the medical aid budget in a third world country. Now he is off to Ghana to work on an HIV-AIDS programme despite having his father’s millions to fall back on,” said Harrison affectionately.
    Harrison championed his friend’s show-home apartment with its flawless finishes. It was an incredible space with Sistine-high ceilings and tremendous amounts of natural light flooding through huge alcove windows. The light sealed the deal.
    “The bathroom’s too good to be true,” I said.
    Harrison seemed pleased at my reaction.
    It was good: freestanding bath and bright-white ceramic accessories, sink, handleless drawers and floating wall-hung units with a walk-in shower, which took up the same space as our entire bathroom in London. The floor was bright expensive marble blue.
    Another arresting feature was the Caesar-size bed finished in white leather and positioned low to the floor, a grand design. Its vastness threw up issues, though. I never felt more alone sleeping in it even with Harrison next to me–acres of space and more than just 700-threat count cotton between us.
    In keeping with a surgeon’s taste, the kitchen had an antibacterial theme: immaculate white marble counters and units punctuated with occasional chrome. I could picture Ralph perched on a bar stool performing an intricate hip replacement on one of the work surfaces. Harrison, on the other hand, seemed more taken with the front door and its fingerprint technology to gain access; if someone wanted to break into this place, he or she would need to cut off the resident’s finger. Or put a gun to my back.
    We had three hectic months in Edinburgh together, including wonderfully riotous Hogmanay celebrations, before the accident in February. Now it was July.
    Harrison never moaned about the 60-mile drive from Edinburgh to Dundee, probably because he travelled when the world was either nodding off or starting to stir. Sometimes he didn’t come home between shifts, instead using hospital accommodation to catch up on sleep. “I could sleep on a fence post,” he used to joke, even crashing out on an operating table when he was confident no enthusiastic intern would start digging out his kidneys.
    I did wonder if a long-distance relationship would indeed have more effective, me in London and him in Edinburgh. We wouldn’t have seen less of each other, that’s for sure.
     

Chapter Six
    Ribbons Restaurant, Grassmarket
     
    It was 8pm and the office was deserted; loneliness threatened. My temperature dropped and I cursed the air conditioning for exacerbating the problem. For once, I looked forward to the suffocating humidity outside to ease the deep-rooted chill inside me.
    I would go to Ribbons, I decided. Before I became a hypothermic casualty in this 27-storey building. I would eat lamb cutlets or whatever and be sociable. I used to do it in a past life. I could do it now.
    As it turned out, I would have a breakthrough moment; the first enjoyable evening in such a long time. It would also go down as the night I was first followed home.
    When I first whined about leaving London, my mother pointed out that while London was the edgier young starlet, Edinburgh was a grand old dame; absolutely charming. She was right, of course, but the place had a darker side too–medieval past with its ancient volcanoes as well as narrow winding streets where shadows congregated even on the brightest night. I was in the right place to flee from ghosts. Sleeplessness confirmed this. Spirits ran this town and I seemed to attract their attention; porous with grief and susceptible to terror.
    Fortunately, Ribbons was just a short walk from the office. I dipped off route to walk past the National Museum, the Victorian side spiked by scaffolding during its multimillion-pound makeover. Feeling slightly lightheaded from the wine earlier, I sank onto the steps, taking a moment,