Never Forget Me Read Online Free PDF

brings me no nearer at all to knowing what it is I am going to do.’
    You are bright, quick-witted, practical and articulate, Geraint had said. None of those epithets had ever been applied to her before, yet Geraint never said what he didn’t believe. He was blunt to a fault, but he also saw things in her that others did not, and expected much more of her than anyone else did, which both pleased and scared her a little. What if she failed?
    Think positively , Flora castigated herself. She would not fail, because that would reflect badly on Geraint, and she wanted Geraint to succeed. Almost more than she wanted to succeed herself. Which was a novel, not to say startling, thought. ‘Sink or swim,’ Flora repeated, remembering the pact they had made.
    An image of a naked Geraint swimming beside her in the loch, rivulets of water coursing down his muscled back and buttocks, sprang shockingly vivid into her mind’s eye. ‘Swim it shall most definitely be,’ Flora muttered, pressing the backs of her hands against her flaming cheeks.

Chapter Four
    A few days later, as October was coming to a close, Flora and Geraint were in the attics, a jumble of rooms at the top of a narrow staircase. Though the main part of the house had electricity, which ran from a generator, there was no light here, save for what crept in through the occasional dusty skylight and what was given off by the two oil lamps they had brought with them. It had been Flora’s idea, since the outhouses and the old stables were already full to overflowing with displaced furnishings, to put the smaller and more valuable artefacts here, but she was beginning to wonder if it had been a mistake. ‘I hadn’t realised there was so much up here already,’ she said, looking around her in dismay.
    Geraint was standing just inside the doorway, clutching the low frame, staring past her into the cramped room, his eyes unfocused. ‘Geraint? Are you feeling unwell? You look quite pale.’
    Flora set her lamp carefully down and put the back of her hand on his brow. It was clammy with sweat. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said brusquely, before pushing her hand away and ducking his head to enter the attic. ‘I see what you mean. I’ve never seen such a collection of junk.’
    His voice sounded brittle to her, but his colour had returned. If he was feeling ill, he did not care to admit to it. Flora edged her way into the confined space, which was strewn with bric-a-brac. Old trunks, dusty boxes, broken furniture and huge empty picture frames comprised the majority of it, but there were also moth-eaten rugs, several stacks of account books, and an assortment of stuffed animals in various states of decline. ‘I doubt I’d recognise that thing if it were alive,’ she said, pointing to a decrepit mound that looked like a large shoe with fangs. ‘What on earth is it?’
    Geraint picked it up gingerly. ‘It appears to be a baby crocodile or alligator. Did one of your ancestors have a penchant for taxidermy?’
    ‘I have absolutely no idea. Why do you ask?’
    ‘I’m just worried we might stumble across a stuffed laird or two.’
    Flora burst into laughter. Geraint, now seemingly quite restored, was smiling at her in a way that made her heart beat erratically. It was an intimate smile, a complicit smile, and at the same time a very sensual smile. His eyes looked more black than brown in the dim light and there was a warmth in them that triggered a corresponding heat in her blood. Tearing her mind back to the job in hand, she looked around despairingly. ‘I shall have to clear some space, though how I am to decide what can be jettisoned...’ She took the crocodile from Geraint and eyed it distastefully. ‘You can go for a start, my lad.’
    ‘And what about this?’
    She whirled around to find him draped in an ancient sheepskin cloak, clutching a dagger. The leather was worn, the fleece was moulting in places, the blade of the dirk was rusted through, and yet he managed to