The Forgotten Holocaust (Ben Hope, Book 10) Read Online Free PDF

fence, and they hurried to the door. He unlocked it and showed her inside.
    Kristen stood shivering and dripping on the bare floorboards. ‘I’m like a drowned rat.’ She took off her fleecy top, which was wet through. Her bare arms were mottled with cold.
    ‘Here,’ Ben said, pulling a wooden chair out from the table. He hung the fleece over the back of it. ‘This’ll dry off fine once I get the fire going.’ He’d prepared it earlier, split logs and kindling sticks on a bed of balled-up newspaper.
    Kristen checked inside her bag. ‘Thank God, my stuff didn’t get wet.’ As she slung the bag over the back of the chair, Ben motioned towards the narrow wooden staircase. ‘You’d best get yourself dried off. There’s towels and a hair dryer in the bathroom.’
    As Kristen trotted upstairs, he knelt by the fireplace and used his Zippo to light the paper and kindling. By the time she returned a few minutes later, her short hair frizzy from the dryer, he had a crackling blaze going and the cottage was already filling with a glow of warmth.
    ‘What a lovely little place,’ she said, now that she could admire it.
    ‘Back when I had the big house, this was just a derelict fisherman’s bothy, no more than four walls and half a roof. I used to shelter in it sometimes when I was out running and it began to rain. Good to see it all done up.’ He walked over to the old oak dresser by the window and picked up a half-finished bottle of whisky. ‘Would you like a drink? Afraid all I have is this stuff.’
    ‘Laphroaig single malt, ten years old. Very nice,’ Kristen commented. Then, noticing the case of identical bottles sitting on the floor next to the dresser, she added, ‘You must be a bit of a connoisseur.’
    ‘That’s a nice way of putting it,’ he said with a sour chuckle, and poured out two measures in a pair of chunky cut-glass tumblers.
    ‘I shouldn’t. Whisky always goes right to my head. But what the hell.’
    ‘That’s the spirit,’ he said. ‘This will warm the cockles of your heart.’
    ‘I always wondered which bit of the human heart the cockles were,’ she mused, accepting the tumbler. ‘Next time I meet a cardiologist, I must remember to ask. Cheers.’
    ‘Cheers.’ They clinked. The fireplace had a brass surround with a single padded seat on either side. They sat opposite one another, in the glow of the crackling flames.
    At her first sip, Kristen spluttered. ‘Jesus.’
    ‘It’s cask strength,’ he said. ‘Fifty-five per cent proof.’
    ‘The strong stuff.’
    ‘You get used to it.’
    ‘I wouldn’t want to get too used to it,’ she laughed, then took another sip. ‘I can feel those cockles warming up already.’
    Ben was beginning to appreciate the company now. It felt good to have someone to relate to again after long weeks of being very alone. He was glad he hadn’t turned Kristen away when she’d approached him on the beach.
    ‘So what is it you do, Ben?’
    ‘Right now, nothing.’
    ‘You certainly are the mysterious one. No family, no home, no future plans, and now no occupation either.’
    It was his instinct to be evasive when being questioned. ‘Let’s just say I’m kind of between things,’ he said. ‘Considering my options.’
    ‘What did you do before? Or would I be prying?’
    He knew there was a limit to the whole Mr Mystery bit. Any more, and he risked putting out alarming signals. He didn’t want to come over as a weirdo or a serial killer. It was time to open up a little with her. ‘I was in the military for a while. Then I left to start up in business for myself.’
    ‘You don’t strike me as the businessman type,’ she said, laughing.
    ‘It was a particular kind of business.’ His tumbler was empty again. He refilled it once more and topped hers up too. She was drinking much less quickly than he was.
    ‘Now you really have me intrigued. Remember you’re dealing with a nosy journalist.’ She grinned, pointing a jokey finger at him. ‘I