Resurrectionists Read Online Free PDF Page B

pictures of winter wonderlands. Perhaps that would be worth staying for, especially compared to the oppressive summer waiting for her back home.
    “I’ll let you know in plenty of time when I’m going back to Australia.”
    “Good, because we’ll have to decide what to do with the property. In any case, Maisie, enjoy your stay. Don’t hesitate to phone me if I can help you in any way.”
    “Thanks. I will.”
    She was slightly relieved to hang up on that posh voice. Back home she had always considered herself well-spoken. Don’t tell me I’m getting homesick already . She dialled Adrian’s number. At least not homesick for Brisbane. That would be too tragic.
    “Hello?”
    “Hello, is that Adrian Lapidea, the famous opera singer?” The name was a joke. Adrian’s real surname was Stone, but given that most opera stars were Spanish or Italian, she sometimes used the Latin translation to tease him.
    “Maisie! God, I’m so glad you called. You’ve been gone for two days.”
    “I tried to call last night – yesterday morning your time – but the phone hadn’t been connected.”
    “Listen, I’ve got a rehearsal in twenty-five minutes. I’m literally just walking out the door.”
    Maisie felt her heart sink. “But I haven’t spoken to you in so long.”
    “I’ll phone when I get back around eleven. I have the number here from the fax the solicitor sent you.”
    “This is going to cost us a fortune in phone calls, isn’t it?”
    “We’ll manage. One other thing – it was so weird, but on the way back from dropping you at the airport I stopped in town and I ran into Sarah Ellis. Do you remember her?”
    “Was she one of those two sisters who were in the choir you used to sing with? The hippy girls?”
    “Yes, that’s right.”
    “What’s weird about seeing her?”
    “Her sister, Cathy, the red-haired one, moved to York in September. She’s studying medieval
    archaeology at the university there.”
    “Really?”
    “You liked her, didn’t you? I mean, they were both friendly enough girls.”
    “She’s okay. Why?”
    “I got her phone number for you, in case you get lonely. It seemed like too much of a coincidence not to exploit it. York’s not far from where you are and I’d be much happier if I knew you had some company.”
    Maisie scratched around for a pen and paper. She doubted that she would actually call Cathy Ellis, but as Adrian had gone to the trouble of getting the number she may as well write it down. “Go ahead.”
    Adrian dictated the number. “Sarah seemed to think she’d be happy to hear from you. Apparently she’s been a bit lonely.”
    “Whatever. I might call her.”
    “I have to go, darling. I love you.”
    “I love you too.”
    She was unprepared for how devastating the click at the other end of the phone could be. Tears sprung to her eyes. “Shit,” she said, “shit, shit, shit.” He was just so far away. She took a deep breath. She would not cry. Crying would solve nothing.
    She took her towel back to the bathroom – whose idea had it been to paint the walls salmon pink with navy trim? – then went to the bedroom to get dressed and pack her things away. She found a tube of Pringles that she had bought while waiting at Kings Cross for the train, and they seemed just the thing to have for breakfast given she hadn’t found the toaster yet. Maisie crammed some chips into her mouth and pulled the wardrobe door open with a creak. As she had suspected, the wardrobe was overflowing with more clutter. About two dozen dresses hung there with four or five coats, old clothes folded up in the bottom, shoes crowded in anywhere. This was going to be more difficult than she thought. But then, if she had been close to or fond of her grandmother, she might feel obliged to keep everything. Instead, she could simply package it all up and take it to Oxfam. One by one she pulled down the dresses and piled them near the bedroom door. She hung up her own clothes and was so