Forget Me Knot Read Online Free PDF Page B

DOORS glided across the elevator entrance and met silently in the middle. She was locked in. Forcibly separated from the noise and bustle of the station platforms and, in effect, the outside world, she felt trapped and utterly powerless. Somehow she resisted the instinct to pound on the doors with her fists and scream to be let out.
    Her heart racing, she closed her eyes and waited for the elevator to start moving. She tried to reassure herself that in a few seconds it would all be over. She imagined herself stepping out into the fresh air, exhilarated at having faced her fear. She began counting the seconds. One, a hundred, two, a hundred, three, a hundred… Come on. Move. After about six seconds, the elevator was still stationary. By now her heart was beating so hard and fast it felt like it was about to burst out of her rib cage. She needed air. She took several long, deep breaths and felt her head start to spin. In an effort to steady herself, she opened her eyes and placed the flat of her hand on the elevator wall. Her traveling companion was standing to her left, a couple of feet away. Hehad white iPod buds in his ears. His head was jigging vaguely to music, which was reaching Abby as faint, tinny headphone leakage.
    A few more seconds passed. The guy glanced at his watch and tutted. Abby caught his eye and smiled.
    “I hope there isn’t a problem with the elevator,” she said, a broad smile disguising her terror.
    He offered her an apologetic look to indicate he hadn’t heard her and removed his earphones. “Sorry? I didn’t catch that.”
    “I was just wondering why the elevator wasn’t moving.”
    “It’s been a bit slow last few times I’ve used it. It’ll get going in a tick.” He put his earphones back in his ears.
    How long was a tick? she wondered. A few seconds? More? Was it longer than a jiffy? Shorter than two shakes or half a mo? Come to that, how long was half a mo? Clearly it was 50 percent shorter than the full mo, but unless one knew how long the full mo was, it was impossible to calculate the value of half.
    As her interest in ticks, shakes and half mos waned, she became aware that another diversion was required to take her mind off her panic.
    She found herself focusing on the elevator walls. There were three smallish posters advertising West End shows. Les Mis and Chicago , she’d seen. She hadn’t seen The Producers . Soph had taken her parents to see it for their wedding anniversary when the show first came to London. Abby remembered how they hadn’t stopped raving about how wonderful it was. That had to have been four or five years ago. It seemed the show was back in town for a second run.
    Having finished studying the theater posters, Abby began scrutinizing the rubber-tiled floor. It was relativelyclean, she decided, but badly scuffed. Some candy wrappers had gathered in one of the corners. A few inches from her right foot, there was a dirt-encrusted pink bubble-gum pan-cake. She wondered how often the elevator got cleaned. Once a day, she decided—probably early in the morning, before the tube started running.
    When she realized she had extracted all the information she could from the floor, she turned her attention to her traveling companion. It was hard to do this without giving the impression that she was staring, but she managed by keeping her head still and giving him the occasional furtive glance out of the corner of her eye.
    He was tall—six foot, give or take—and about her own age. His hair was a dark roast-chestnut brown. He wore it short and spiky, with long, well-tended sideburns. His strong jawline was covered in light stubble, which suited him, she thought. He was wearing a trendy charcoal windbreaker—more expensive-looking and sophisticated than Gap, but edgier than Gant. Most likely Paul Smith, she decided. Underneath he had on dark-blue denim flares. A pair of black Converse completed the outfit. They looked pretty new. Probably got them in the Office sale.