Lady of the Shades Read Online Free PDF Page A

pick up on those signals and convert them into voices.’
    ‘You mean you can read minds?’ Joe asks, squinting nervously — I guess we all have dark secrets we want to hide from the world at large.
    Pierre shrugs. ‘To an extent. I always explain to my clients that I’m using science to help reveal the workings of their subconscious, but many choose to ignore me. They’d
rather believe in an afterlife and ghosts whispering through me. And since the customer’s always right, I don’t argue with them too strenuously.’
    I come away from our meeting intrigued. If Pierre can transform brain waves into voices, maybe there are others who can turn them into visions or physical objects. In such a world, almost
anything is possible. That gives me a whole universe of ideas to play with.
    I breeze through the next week, plot lines clicking together neatly, my muse trilling like a diva. To my surprise, I enjoy working with Joe. Although I willingly took him on as
an assistant, I wasn’t convinced it was the right move, and I thought I’d have to cut him loose sooner rather than later. But he’s been a real asset. Without forcing me,
he’s got me talking more than I have in years. Usually I grunt when people ask me questions, instinctively cautious around strangers and even warier of those who try to get close to me, but
with Joe I’ve started stringing whole sentences together. I’m not sure what it is about him. I just like the guy. He brings out a lighter, warmer part of me, a part I thought I’d
lost a long time ago.
    To reward him for helping me connect with my positive vibes, I tell Joe where my story has been leading me. The book is going to be a supernatural thriller. My central character dies of
spontaneous human combustion, then returns as a ghost and embarks on a quest to unearth the truth behind his demise.
    ‘A ghost out for revenge,’ Joe beams. ‘I like it!’
    Trying to decide on locations, I check out the infamous Whitechapel area, haunt of Jack the Ripper. It’s as eerie now as it must have been back then. I’d love to set my book there,
but I’m worried that readers might dismiss it as a Ripper cash-in.
    Brixton appeals to me more. You come up out of the Tube to find street preachers set among hawkers and homeless people trying to flog copies of the
Big Issue
. A dark atmosphere. Brixton
Market feels like something out of a horror film, maze-like, roofed-over, claustrophobic. I could have my ghostly hero burst into flames outside the Tube station, in front of a preacher.
    I look around and imagine a burning man stumbling through the market, women screaming, men trying to extinguish the fire, the stench of scorched flesh. I grin ghoulishly. Sometimes this job
requires me to explore the sickest of scenarios. That’s why it’s so much fun!
    To afford me a different taste of London, Joe has arranged a night out on the river. One of his friends is holding a party on a boat. There’ll be a meal and a disco, and
the boat will sail up and down the Thames into the early hours of the morning. I’m not keen on parties, and at first I gave Joe the brush-off. But he persisted, said I’d been working
hard and that it would be good for me to let my hair down. In the end I agreed just to shut him up.
    I’m shaving when my cell phone (they call them mobiles here) rings. It’s Joe. ‘You’re gonna kill me,’ he groans. ‘I can’t make it. My mam took ill.
I’m catching the next train to Newcastle.’
    ‘Is it serious?’ I ask, concerned.
    ‘Hopefully not. Mam’s had a couple of bad turns these last few years and seen them off. She’ll probably be fine, but I need to be with her, just in case.’
    ‘Of course. I understand completely. It’s not a problem.’
    ‘I don’t know when I’ll be back,’ he says.
    ‘Don’t rush on my account,’ I tell him.
    ‘Will you still meet up with John Meyher?’ Joe asks. Meyher’s an expert in the field of spontaneous human combustion. He