Six Geese a-Laying Read Online Free PDF

no one will be at the physio clinic this evening. I can’t go and sit there for hours, just in case.
    I’m starting to feel seriously freaked out now. Everything’s unravelling.
    To make matters even worse, as I run back into the lobby, the concierge is busy. His desk is surrounded by a large group of conference delegates, talking about restaurant reservations. I try to catch his eye, hoping he’ll beckon me forward as a priority, but he studiously ignores me, and I feel a twinge of hurt. I know I’ve taken up quite a lot of his time this afternoon – but doesn’t he realize what a hideous crisis I’m in?
    ‘Madam.’ The doorman has followed me into the lobby, his brow creased with concern. ‘Can we get you something for the shock? Arnold!’ He briskly calls over a waiter. ‘A brandy for the lady, please, on the house. And if you talk to our concierge, he’ll help you with the police. Would you like to sit down?’
    ‘No thanks.’ A thought suddenly occurs to me. ‘Maybe I should phone my own number! Call the mugger! I could ask him to come back, offer him a reward … What do you think? Could I borrow your phone?’
    The doorman almost recoils as I thrust out a hand.
    ‘Madam, I think that would be a very foolhardy action,’ he says severely. ‘And I’m sure the police would agree you should do no such thing. I think you must be in shock. Kindly have a seat and try to relax.’
    Hmm. Maybe he’s right. I’m not wild about setting up some assignation with a criminal in a hoodie. But I can’t sit down and relax; I’m far too hyper. To calm my nerves I start walking round and round the same route, my heels clicking on the marble floor. Past the massive potted ficus tree … past the table with newspapers … past a big shiny litter bin … back to the ficus. It’s a comforting little circuit, and I can keep my eyes fixed on the concierge the whole time, waiting for him to be free.
    The lobby is still bustling with executive types from the conference. Through the glass doors I can see the doorman back on the steps, busy hailing taxis and pocketing tips. A squat Japanese man in a blue suit is standing near me with some European-looking businessmen, exclaiming in what sounds like loud, furious Japanese and gesticulating at everybody with the conference pass strung round his neck on a red cord. He’s so tiny and the other men look so nervous, I almost want to smile.
    The brandy arrives on a salver and I pause briefly to drain it in one, then keep walking, in the same repetitive route.
    Potted ficus … newspaper table … litter bin … potted ficus … newspaper table … litter bin …
    Now I’ve calmed down a bit, I’m starting to churn with murderous thoughts. Does that Hoodie Guy realize he’s wrecked my life? Does he realize how
crucial
a phone is? It’s the worst thing you can steal from a person. The
worst
.
    And it wasn’t even that great a phone. It was pretty ancient. So good luck to Hoodie Guy if he wants to type ‘B’ in a text or go on the internet. I hope he tries and fails.
Then
he’ll be sorry.
    Ficus … newspapers … bin … ficus … newspapers … bin …
    And
he hurt my shoulder. Bastard. Maybe I could sue him for millions. If they ever catch him, which they won’t.
    Ficus … newspapers … bin …
    Bin
.
    Wait.
    What’s that?
    I stop dead in my tracks and stare into the bin, wondering if someone’s playing a trick on me, or I’m hallucinating.
    It’s a phone.
    Right there in the litter bin. A mobile phone.
    You’ll be able to read the complete book
when it is published in February.
    1. His specialism is Cultural Symbolism. I speed-read his book,
The Philosophy of Symbolism
, after our second date and then tried to pretend I’d read it ages ago, coincidentally, for pleasure. (Which, to be fair, he didn’t believe for a minute.) Anyway, the point is, I read it. And what impressed me most was: there were so many footnotes. I’ve totally got into them. Aren’t they