Bright Angel Read Online Free PDF

like the Romans, you see – the Romans could spread out over the good fertile flat land because their army was so good. That is, until the end, when they were attacked by barbarian tribes and the town was wiped out. In the Middle Ages, everyone lived behind thick walls on the heights.’
    â€˜Where they could easily hurl down boiling oil or whatever on their attackers,’ I said.
    â€˜Exactly. And as the town never got big again – it went back to being a bit of a village – they left the flat land to the cows. Okay, is that all the luggage? Come on, girls.’
    The house Freddy had rented was about half a kilometre above the car park. It was a pretty two-storey place, painted a pale cream, with faded blue shutters and a little courtyard, where a table and some chairs were set up. She was right about the garden: it was small but lovely, full of bees bumbling sleepily among the flowers and herbs, and a bench under a big tree. On one side of the house, a hill rose steeply. On the other, a little cobbled lane led into the centre of town.
    â€˜Perfect place for a writer,’ said Freddy. ‘Private but close to everything. And plenty of space for visitors.’
    She was right about that too. There was heaps of space. Upstairs, there was a bathroom and five bedrooms – enough for one each for the three of us, plus two spares. I loved my room at once. It was biggish but still cosy, with a high bed covered in huge soft pillows, a big old wardrobe that looked like it should have been on the set for a Narnia movie, a bright rug on polished wooden floors, curtains printed with flowers and a bookshelf housing a selection of battered paperbacks, including some in English, as well as a few hardback Tintin comic books in French, but that didn’t matter. I knew them off by heart. I’d read them over and over when I was a little kid.
    But the best thing about that room was the view. It was on the side facing the hill and the beautiful green meadows far below. I could see a small herd of cows busy grazing, the soft tinkle of their leader’s bell constant on the soft air. I stood at the window and breathed in the peace of it, and the beauty, and the weird feeling I’d had before seemed just like a bad dream dissolved in the bright light of morning.
    After unpacking my stuff, I went downstairs. Even the stairs were nice here, big broad wooden steps that creaked as you went up or down, and a carved newel post down the bottom, shaped like a rose. I peered in through various doors: the living room, painted a deep red, with a big fireplace, a TV and DVD player, and windows looking out over the garden; a study, where Freddy had clearly taken residence, books and papers piled everywhere and a laptop computer sitting on the untidy desk; and the kitchen was large and old fashioned in a nice way, smelling of fresh bread and the wisteria, whose scent wafted in through the open window. Freddy was in there, setting the table. She smiled at me. ‘So, been exploring? What do you think?’
    â€˜It’s awesome,’ I said. ‘Really big and old and beautiful. It feels sort of friendly too.’
    â€˜I’m glad you think that,’ said Freddy, smiling. ‘I felt that as soon as I walked in. Well, there are much older houses here. But few that are nicer, in my opinion.’
    At that moment Claire came in. She had a funny look on her face. ‘Guess what I just saw?’ she said.
    She didn’t wait for us to answer. ‘I was just looking out of my window – you can see into the car park from there – and I saw those people. You know, the ones we saw at the airport,’ she added impatiently, as both of us looked blank.
    It took a second or two to click in. ‘What, that Marc somebody you thought was so cute?’
    â€˜Marc Fleury,’ she said, ‘and I never said he was cute, you berk.’
    Freddy looked from one to the other of us with twinkling