The Silver Chain Read Online Free PDF Page A

slim ropes of muscle under the skin, then the flash of pale wrist. His long, strong fingers slide out one by one and while I now own his glove, he claims my bare hand.
    The muscle is playing in his jaw again but I’m pretty sure it’s not suppressed laughter this time. Is it quicksilver that changes like this, or mercury? If I ever see him again, I’ll have to learn to keep up.
    I already know these eyes, how black they are, how deep, I’ve noticed the crackle of yellow streaking round one iris like sunrise edging a cloud. Does he know mine? Some people call them green. Others emerald. After what feels like hours of talking, he’s travelling right inside me now.
    I imagined his hand would be cold, like the statue, but his skin on mine is dry and warm.There’s his pulse again, this time beating in his wrist, beating into my hand. I can feel the heat crackling through the network of veins and arteries like a tidal wave.
    ‘I’d like to see your lake, and your castle. Sorry. Chalet.’ My voice is a frog’s croak. What am I saying? ‘I’d like to go there one day.’
    ‘Who knows? One day perhaps we will.’
    He lifts my hand, so small in his, and turns it over. He has one glove on, one glove off. He separates my fingers. I hold my breath.
    Did he just say ‘we’?
    He kisses each finger on the tip, watching me all the while. It’s all I can do not to collapse against him. My legs feel weak. My head is heavy and lazy on my neck. The gorgeous, scary mouth I will try to kiss in a minute if I’m not careful is blowing over the palm of my hand now, and just as I lean towards him he presses my hand against his mouth, kisses it with a delicious dampness, then releases it.
    ‘Wow. Is this how the locals introduce themselves in Lake Lugano?’
    Gustav Levi just chuckles and sheaths his fingers one by one. Then he claps his sturdy gloves together in what I take to be his hearty, scene-changing gesture. He glances around the square, towards the bright lights. His black hair blows back off his face like a stallion ready to hit the horizon.
    ‘Only the charming locals, and only when they meet beautiful ladies. It’s the Italian influence. So. Can I walk you somewhere, Serena? It might be best to come away from this area. Shepherd’s Market is just down there. Not dodgy like it used to be, but still, you hear things about the new clubs that have opened up.’
    ‘Shepherd’s Market?’
    He laughs, re-organising his scarf. To my dismay covers his mouth. ‘You really are from out of town. It used to be a red light district. Or at least, very boisterous and of ill repute. That’s why they banned the sheep market in the end.’
    I don’t reply. I’m nearly losing my grip on my camera because my gloveless fingers are so cold. He hooks it safely onto the strap and loops it round my neck. I wait to see what he’ll do next and yes, he does it. His gloves brush against my neck as he lifts my hair out of the snagging strap, holds it for a moment, then lets it fall. He’s watching me, all the time.
    ‘A party, perhaps? It’s Halloween, after all. A gorgeous young woman like you must be in demand?’ He steps back suddenly. ‘A boyfriend waiting for you. Damn. Of course there is!’
    I shake my head as carelessly as I can.
    ‘No. No boyfriend. I’m not going anywhere. I’m too busy. I have to get these pictures edited and use my cousin’s printer. I’ve only just arrived in London, you see. I’m touting my portfolio round the galleries.’
    ‘So you’ve only just left that desolate seaside you were telling me about?’
    ‘It’s all behind me now. I’m in London, now, and that’s all that matters.’
    ‘Yes indeed. And lucky London.’
    He starts to walk away from me, up the hill where the little witches went. OK. So that was goodbye then. Fine. Goodbye, mister. It’s a relief, actually. He’s had me dancing on tacks the last few minutes, and I haven’t time for this kind of distraction.
    I need to find my