Brighton Belle Read Online Free PDF

here. I’m happy to be a private patient, only I wonder if you might ask the doctor
if he would possibly be able to see me even if I am running a bit late. I’d be ever so grateful.’
    ‘It’s busy today. What with ...’
    ‘I know. I’m so sorry. Did you know the lady?’ Mirabelle took the opportunity.
    ‘We was all off, Miss,’ the maid said quickly, her eyes clouding. ‘I only met her when she arrived. I unpacked for her and that. Then we was dismissed. The doctor said he
wanted the house quiet for the labour. Bless her soul. She was due – you could see it!’
    ‘I’ll quite understand if he is too busy, only I have come a long way,’ Mirabelle insisted. ‘If he could squeeze me in it would be marvellous. Would you ask
him?’
    The maid relented with an apologetic smile. She stepped back and allowed Mirabelle to enter. The girl gestured towards an oak chair against the wall. ‘Who shall I say?’ she asked,
casting a glance at the silver salver on the hall table.
    Mirabelle did not carry cards. Not any more.
    ‘My name is Miss Bevan,’ she said and sat down.
    The maid waited a moment and then turned and knocked on one of the doors leading off the hallway. As she entered, Mirabelle could see that the room was pale green. The doctor’s house
seemed well furnished with antiques, which made it feel as if he had been living there for a while, but, she noticed, the soft furnishings were all new. Cushions on the chairs were still stiff from
the shop and the tie-back on one of the curtains had a small label. Things were not worn in. And it all looked a little too perfect. Either the owner had only just moved or there had been some
influx of new money to an already established household. Mirabelle heard voices from behind the study door and the maid returned.
    ‘That’s fine, Miss. He’ll see you. This way, please,’ she said.
    This, Mirabelle thought, was easier than it had seemed in all those reports she’d read. It was going like a dream. She glided into the study.
    Dr Crichton was not alone. A slight man with a moustache, he snapped to his feet as soon as the door opened. Mirabelle thought he had a cheerful demeanour for someone who had lost not one
patient but technically two the night before. He was not wearing mourning dress. On the contrary he was sporting a tweed jacket and a pair of buff trousers. By the fireplace there was a beautiful
woman in her twenties. She had short dark hair and was wearing red lipstick and far too much jewellery for eleven o’clock in the morning. Her tiny waist was set off by a flared skirt in white
chiffon that moved behind her in what seemed like a three-second time lag as she came forward to greet Mirabelle. Her stiletto heels clicked on the dark wooden floor.
    ‘Miss Bevan,’ the doctor shook Mirabelle’s hand, ‘this is my house guest – her name is Lisabetta.’
    To see another resident of the house was definitely a bonus.
    ‘I am so sorry,’ the girl said breathlessly. Her accent was Eastern European – not heavy but still there. Mirabelle tried to place it as Lisabetta continued. ‘I thought
the surgery was over so I came to see if Eric wanted to come out for some drinks.’
    ‘How do you do?’ Mirabelle smiled. She couldn’t quite tell whether the girl’s vowels were Eastern or Northern. ‘Dr Crichton kindly gave me an appointment even
though I was late. Oh, I say, I do like your skirt.’
    Lisabetta smiled and an air of triumph came over her. ‘I bought it in Paris,’ she said with delight. ‘I love the gypsy style! It’s all the rage!’
    ‘Paris is wonderful for clothes. My mother was French. Where are you from? You have a smashing accent.’
    ‘I come from Hungary.’
    Dr Crichton cut in. ‘When you ladies have quite finished with your comments on the fashions of the day ... Lisabetta, you have to leave now. Miss Bevan is a patient and this is a
consultation. I shan’t be accompanying you.’
    Lisabetta gave the doctor a