The Key Read Online Free PDF

I know. I’ve known for a few years.”
    Our feet crunched on the gravel as we made our way closer to the house. The grounds, from what I could see in the darkness, were well tended. The lawn, clipped as short as a Marine’s buzz cut, was home to a couple of topiary bushes, pruned into the shape of a key and a keyhole. It seemed he had a thing about those.
    “I like your bushes,” I said. “Perhaps, when we get down to it, you’ll like mine.” I stopped myself from widening my eyes at having said such a thing. “That is, if you like bushes. There are those Brazilians now, and women who walk around without any hedge in their knickers at all. It is not something you can ask a man on a first date, whether he prefers a landing strip or a jungle.”
    He laughed, ran his hand through his hair. “Yet I think you just did. And the answer is, I think I’d like your bush whatever it’s like—or even if you don’t have one.”
    “Ah, good. Yesterday it was overrun, a scribble of unruly weeds, but tonight, in honour of our meeting, I did some gardening. I see you like gardening, too.” I lifted one hand and gestured to the hedges, fully expecting him to say he paid some gardener or other to do it for him.
    “I do. That’s the kind of thing I meant. Simple pleasures. Do you like gardening?”
    “I am not sure. I have never done it, but I would be willing to give it a try. I have a houseplant at home. It is a Venus flytrap, and I am quite fond of it. I talk to it when I give it water.”
    He’d definitely think me insane now.
    “That’s sweet,” he said, holding my elbow tighter while we went up the steps.
    He took a bunch of keys from his pocket then slid one into the lock. An alarm blared, scaring me shitless, and I jumped back, letting out a pathetic “Oh!” He tugged me inside then disarmed it by prodding yet another code into another keypad that was on the wall above a telephone table holding a large cactus.
    “Oh, a prickly plant,” I said. “I like a good prick.”
    He flicked on a light, chuckling. “I had an idea you might somehow…”
    He closed the front door then led the way down the hall to a door at the bottom that was slightly ajar. He opened it, snapped his finger and thumb, and a light popped on.
    “Would you like a drink?” he asked. “Maybe a glass of the wine from the bottle I bought at The Plough?”
    “That would be nice,” I said, knowing I’d need it to bolster my courage later. “Your kitchen is very bare. You do not have a single thing on the worktops. It is like no one lives here.”
    “I’m… Yes, I see what you mean. I didn’t see the point of having it more homely, what with it only being me here.” He moved to a wall cupboard that had glass in the door. Wine goblets glittered behind it from the bright light. He took two out then pulled the cork from the wine bottle, pouring us half a glass each. “Here you go.” He handed me a drink. “Would you like to go into the living room?”
    “No,” I said, needing to get the next part in full swing so the nerves that had suddenly decided to race around my body might actually calm down. I emptied my glass. “We have business to attend to in your bedroom.”
    “Business? I certainly hope that’s not all this is to you.” He raised his eyebrows and took a sip of wine.
    “Of course not. It was a figure of speech, that is all.” I was amazed I’d been able to keep up my French accent all this time. I just had to hope he hadn’t travelled to France much, or at all. What if he asked me questions about the place? My knowledge was limited. I would have to say I couldn’t talk about that time in my life, but that I liked the Eiffel Tower.
    “Ah, I see. Shall we, then?”
    He held out one arm, hand pointed in the direction of the kitchen door. I popped my glass on the side then walked back out into the hallway, aghast that it was larger than my living room. I let him go ahead of me and followed him up the double-wide stairs