Seeing Stars Read Online Free PDF

reminding me.’ Zillah, as always amusedthat Gwyneth saw her as a mere slip of a girl despite being in her fifties, gathered up her skirts and stepped over the low
     rickety fence separating her cottage from Gwyneth’s. ‘Ah well, better go and slap on the barmaid face and sort out yet another
     bosom-revealing top – that’s if Ida had left me any skin worth revealing. I’ll, er, pop round later to see if Amber has arrived
     safely, shall I?’
    ‘You mean to give her the once-over? Or more likely to make sure young Lewis hasn’t kidnapped her to add to his harem between
     Reading and here?’
    ‘Something like that,’ Zillah sighed.
    ‘Zil, love, you shouldn’t worry about—’ Gwyneth stopped and cocked her head towards the cottage’s dark hallway. ‘Oh, is that
     my phone?’
    They both listened to the shrill trilling echoing from Moth Cottage.
    ‘Ah,’ Gwyneth raised her eyebrows at Zillah. ‘It is. Blimey O’Reilly, Zil, this could be her, couldn’t it? Young Amber? To
     say she’s on her way here. I’ll have to ring Lewis and let him know he’d better make tracks for Reading. Ooooh, mind out of
     the way Pike, lad, I’m all of a tither and pop!’
    Zillah watched Gwyneth and Pike trot excitedly indoors to answer the phone call, then walked into the cool gloominess of Chrysalis
     Cottage with a very heavy heart.

Chapter Four
    Goodmorning Starshine
    Having eventually catapulted stickily from the train and negotiated Reading station’s lifts, stairs, ramps and turnstiles
     with the help of a stocky girl with a lot of nose studs and tattooed biceps like Arnie, who had hefted the towering trolley
     one-handed, Amber blinked in the dazzling sunshine.
    Not for the first time that day she wished she hadn’t left her to-die-for designer sunglasses tucked away in one of the heavily-zipped
     holdalls.
    Her mountain of luggage had been deposited outside a small newsagents and she perched on the nearest suitcase to wait in a
     prominent position at the entrance to the station’s concourse as Gwyneth had instructed.
    Some local taxi driver was going to pick her up shortly, Gwyneth had said. Well, no she hadn’t said he was a taxi driver as
     such, but that’s what she must have meant. And she’d called him Lewis.
    They must refer to people by their surnames down here, Amber thought. Would he be like his namesake, Morse’s sidekick? She
     decided he would: a sort of ruddy-cheeked, middle-aged rustic who probably ran the local garage and taxi-service and was the
     funeral director as well. With a tweed jacket with leather patches on theelbows and possibly a cap and a pipe – oh, yes – definitely a pipe.
    Well no, maybe not the jacket and cap, Amber rethought, as perspiration started to prickle her scalp. It must be in the 90s.
     Even if he was in his dotage and thin-blooded, with these temperatures Lewis would probably be wearing a sweat-stained singlet
     and reek of sheep and other strange countrified odours.
    During the shouted and rather odd phone call to Gwyneth which she’d shared with the businessman, the large T-shirt lady and
     the curry-eaters, Amber hadn’t managed to ask how she’d recognise Lewis. And Gwyneth hadn’t described him at all. She’d simply
     asked Amber what she was wearing so that she could write it down and pass it on to Lewis so’s he’d recognise her.
    Gwyneth had clearly taken down Amber’s answers then chuckled throatily down the phone. ‘And you’ve got long blonde hair? And
     you’re very pretty?’
    ‘Well, my hair is longish and blondish, yes – but pretty?’ Amber had stopped. She was OK-ish. Passable. With makeup and her
     hair done she could almost look glamorous. ‘No … no, I wouldn’t say pretty. Just – well – normal. Like most people …’
    ‘Don’t be coy, duck,’ Gwyneth had chuckled. ‘If you takes after your Gran then you’ll be a proper bobbydazzler. And believe
     me, if you’re wearing, er, let me see, a short denim skirt and