Dead Romantic Read Online Free PDF Page B

Highness!”
    “You will be,” I threaten. “I have a thousand agonising ways to kill you, worm!”
    Well, this does it: the kids are riveted by the gory details of Egyptian torture and want to know about all of them. As I shepherd them around the museum I tell them as many gross-out facts as possible. By the time we exit the Ancient World Gallery they all look a little green and I don’t think it’s down to the lighting, either. They ask questions, take pictures and seem utterly fascinated. I’m actually quite enjoying myself. Even the grumpy journalist has cracked a smile and told me how much he likes the tour. I’m just leading them all back down the stairs before finishing, and congratulating myself on surviving, when somebody calls my name.
    “Cleo? Dr Carpenter? Is that you?”
    Please, no, anything but this…
    I turn around slowly. Simon Welsh is standing at the top of the staircase and looking down at me in absolute amazement. Of all the people to spot me it has to be him, doesn’t it?
    “Dr Carpenter?” Simon is descending the stairs now, his blue eyes crinkling with mirth. “Is that really you underneath that cunning disguise?”
    They say that life is comprised of choices and I have one now: to stay and brazen it out or to do a runner. Actually, that’s not a choice at all. I haven’t even been able to face Simon when I’ve been at my professional best. I double my speed on the stairs, figuring that once I’m in the concourse I can dive into the crowd and lose him. I’ll just deny everything when I see him next – if I don’t die of embarrassment first, that is.
    Unfortunately, in my haste to escape I catch my heel in the robes. There’s a sharp jolt as I stagger forward. For a hideous moment I teeter on the step before somehow recovering my balance and continuing my descent with my head held high, even though the bloody kids are shrieking with mirth. How on earth do teachers cope with this on a daily basis?
    It’s strange, though; either I’m super paranoid or something very strange is happening. The concourse is the beating heart of the museum – a busy, noisy hub of excited visitors and enthusiastic staff – and my ears normally ring for ages if I spend too much time here. Yet today the place is unusually quiet, and the further I get down the stairs the more a hush descends. Everyone seems to be looking at me.
    Is my costume really that interesting?
    I glance down just to check it and this is when my day lurches from bad to horrendous.
    I don’t seem to be wearing my costume.
    It’s like one of those awful nightmares when you suddenly find yourself naked in a shopping centre, only worse because I’m not dreaming. No, I’m wide awake and I really am standing on the staircase wearing nothing except my big polka-dot pants and bra! Turning slowly I see my robe abandoned halfway up the stairs.
    The school kids are practically wetting themselves while below me people are staring and pointing. Laughter spreads through the place like ripples on a pond.
    With a wail of horror I sprint for the robe, but Simon is quicker. He leaps down the stairs three at a time, snatches up the fabric and seconds later is draping it around my shoulders. An hour earlier the idea of Simon touching me would have been enough to make me feel giddy but now I’m just mortified. The guy has seen me in my pants . My big spotty pants! And when did I last shave my legs? Far too long ago for me to remember, that’s for sure.
    What must he be thinking?
    Clutching the robe around me I tear up the steps towards the safety of my office. En route I spot school kids snapping away on their mobile phones and the journalist grinning from ear to ear as he jots down what’s probably going to be a highly amusing story. I’ll be a hashtag on Twitter by the time I reach my office door. My professional reputation is ruined.
    And, almost worse, how can I ever face Simon Welsh again?
     
     
     

Chapter 4
    Once in the safety of my