The Hidden Girl Read Online Free PDF

there was movement at the window.
    Shocked, she walked towards it.
    No way.
    It was early March, and the garden of Tornley Hall was completely white. Thick snow fell heavily from an opaque sky. Apart from a few stubborn brown patches in the flower beds and gravel, the garden was nearly covered.
    This could not be happening.
    Hannah rushed to the kitchen and turned on the radio to a news channel.
    ‘High pressure over Scandinavia and cold winds from Russia have clashed with weather systems from the Atlantic, leading to snow overnight in many parts of Britain . . .’ said a voice of doom.
    No! Snow would ruin everything.
    Fighting back panic, Hannah opened the boiler cover. A light flickered. She pressed one button, then another. There was a rumble and the boiler burst back into life. At least that was working.
    She grabbed her mobile from the worktop and rang Will’s number.
    ‘Have you seen this?’ she said when Will picked up.
    A pause. ‘What?’
    ‘Snow!’
    A longer pause. ‘Yeah. It was starting when I got to Woodbridge.’
    It was only just after 10 a.m. and yet already he sounded tired. She felt guilty about the four-hour-plus daily round commute he was now going to have to do, in order for them to be far enough out of London to afford a house like this. It would only be for a year, she reminded herself, till the studio was built and Will could work from home.
    ‘Really? You don’t sound worried. You realize if this goes on, it’s going to mess everything up?’
    Another pause. A chair creaking. ‘How?’
    ‘Because I won’t be able to do stuff! I won’t be able to cut the grass and get rid of the weeds. Or get to Ipswich if I need more paint. Can you come back? This afternoon?’
    ‘Er, no.’ Will sounded bemused at the thought.
    ‘Will!’
    ‘Han. It’s a stupid question . . .’
    He drifted off again. She knew he’d be adjusting some tiny piece of reverb on the Mac, his phone jammed against his shoulder. She knew it was a stupid question. They needed the money from Jeremiah’s record company to pay for the increased mortgage payments for the next few months.
    A guitar strummed in the background. She heard Will’s studio assistant, Matt, chatting in his goofball, mockney voice to someone she guessed was Jeremiah. A mobile rang. Familiar London sounds. Life sounds.
    Hannah walked to the window. The high Victorian wall rose steeply behind the small rear garden. Snow was forming a soft ridge along the top. How far away was the nearest human being right now?
    There was a crackle. Will’s voice started to break up.
    ‘I’ll try to . . . back earlier this evening . . . not this afternoon. Listen . . . going . . . a session now, so . . . talk later.’
    ‘OK, but when you say earlier, can you at least make it . . .’ Hannah started. She knew what he was like: when he became immersed in a job, he could work all night and lose track of time.
    The phone died. She checked. One bar of signal. Then nothing. Cursing, she returned to the table, where it strengthened to two bars, and tried again. Will’s phone went straight to message.
    ‘Will!’ she said, knowing it was too late. When he turned off his phone, that meant he’d be working for hours now.
    She put down her phone. If she wasn’t bringing in a salary any more, she could hardly argue.
    Back in the two-bar zone, Hannah’s phone beeped.
    Two voice messages arrived in her in-box. The first was an unfamiliar voice.
    ‘Hello, Mrs Riley. I’m very sorry, but our engineer will not be able to get to you today, due to poor road conditions on the A12. We’ll arrange another appointment when we know more.’
    The engineer.
With all the decorating this weekend, she’d completely forgotten that they’d arranged the broadband installation for today. Now there’d be no landline, or wi-fi or TV, for another day at least. Hannah told herself to remain positive. She could manage. The second message was from the estate agent.
    ‘Hi, Mrs Riley, this is