New Pompeii Read Online Free PDF Page A

Got back into the tub in some dumb trance?
    No. Impossible. Well, at least, very unlikely. She thought back to the police officers. They’d been talking about her disappearance. She could remember it quite clearly. Until it had all been replaced by an incandescent haze. Soft at first, before the whiteness had rushed at her. Until she’d woken. Once more in the bathtub. Once more in the water.
    She sat up and pulled herself out in one smooth movement. She stood for a moment or two, water dripping on to the floor. Again, there was no robe. No towel. She took the few short steps into the corridor.
    “Hello?”
    There was no answer, but at least her words now sounded normal. No longer stretched or distorted. She took a few more steps. She couldn’t hear anything. Suddenly she was at the door to her room. She reached out – and her hand slipped straight through the door handle. It just glided through, with only a tingle and shimmer indicating the difference between air and metal. And then she knew she hadn’t been dreaming.
    She was very much dead.

8
    P ULLING AT HIS collar, Nick began to regret his choice of suit. The jacket hung loosely from his shoulders. Reflected in the restaurant windows, it gave the impression he was too thin for his height. But the more expensive suit at home in his wardrobe hadn’t helped him win a research post. Perhaps an unthreatening look might be enough to gain him some leniency.
    He checked the card again. The name of the establishment was written in a highly stylised flowing font, and hard to read. But he was pretty sure he was at the right place, if only because the address and phone number were printed underneath in a more down-to-earth font.

    He hadn’t heard of it before. He didn’t spend much time in this part of London. However, he quickly realised he’d not been invited to some cheap pasta house. Although the windows were steamed up by heat and conversation, the interior looked like a portal back to the 1930s. Fine dining from a very different era.
    Nick glanced at his watch, and then back along the street. There was no sign of anyone he knew. Although he had a good view of the inside, he couldn’t see Ronnie. Or the man from the British Museum. He looked at his watch again. He’d arrived early, but not by much. He’d just have to wait.
    He sighed. He seemed to have spent most of the last day waiting and worrying. Of course, Ronnie had been a lot more relaxed. As soon as they’d reached the nearest underground station, he’d been talking as if they’d won some sort of victory. His logic was simple, yet seemed a little naïve: since NovusPart had let them leave, they must have been unable to prove they’d been connected to the plot. But that was assuming NovusPart couldn’t just make them “disappear” anyway. And the irony of being worried that Ronnie’s conspiracy theory was correct provided Nick with little comfort.
    Inside his jacket, his mobile buzzed. He skimmed through the text message. Ronnie wasn’t coming. Nick typed a response:
Too scared of that NovusPart guy?
    Nick stole another glance through the restaurant windows. He didn’t recognise anyone inside but, then again, he couldn’t see all of the tables.
    His phone buzzed:
Too scared of your father?
    Nick put the phone back in his pocket. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before, but Ronnie usually reserved that particular jibe for when he wanted him to do something he shouldn’t. Just like at university. He let a few more seconds pass before glancing at his watch again. Ten to eight. Time to find out what this was all about. Swallowing, he pushed open the restaurant door.
    The place was nearly full. A few diners glanced over and allowed themselves a moment of judgement. They no doubt expected to see him ejected pretty quickly and, sure enough, it didn’t take the
maître d’
long to notice his arrival. The man advanced as if trying to shoo a stray cat from his garden.
    “Do you have