The Warning Read Online Free PDF

while the blackbird was cheerfully singing . . .”
    It’s him. I leap to my feet. “Tom Rigbey!” Oops. That was uncool. Too late now to pretend I’m not thrilled to see him. He’s got his bike with him. Same red bicycle clips as last time, a black suit, white shirt with thin blue and lilac stripes . . .
    “Hello, Chloe Whose-Surname-I-Still-Don’t-Know-Because-She-Didn’t-Write-It-On-Her-Card.” He sounds equally thrilled to see me. My heart is bouncing up and down like an excited toddler in a soft play center ball pit.
    “This . . . this is such a coincidence,” I stammer.
    “Not at all. I hunted you down. I’m pretty ruthless when it comes to stalking people I’m keen on. You don’t mind, do you?”
    He is obviously joking. I am obviously not going to mention to Lorna that he said it.
    “I’m serious,” he says. “You wrote in your note that Freya aced the auditions. I found out where and when they were. I figured you’d be exactly where I found you, waiting to collect your talented progeny.”
    “You were right. Here I am!”
    “They don’t call me the Talented Mr. Rigbey for nothing. Now, may I draw your attention to this quite exceptionally beautiful tiepin I’m wearing? With what I like to think of as ‘our song’ ”—he mimes quote marks in the air—“ ‘The Ash Grove’ contained within it! What an incredibly thoughtful idea. I love it—seriously, I can’t think of any present I’ve ever been given before that I’ve loved anywhere near as much. Where did you get it from? I’m guessing the Folk Song Tiepins Warehouse just off the M11, right?”
    I giggle. “I made it.”
    “You made it? Wow. You’re a genius, Chloe No-Surname.”
    “No, I’m not. I’m a jewelry maker—that’s what I do. And I’m Daniels.”
    “Daniel’s? Who is this Daniel? I’ll have him killed.”
    Another joke not to be repeated to Lorna. Though, actually, maybe I should tell her. No one who was planning to commit murder would announce it so cheerfully and openly.
    “I mean my surname is Daniels. Chloe Daniels.”
    “Oh. Well, that’s a relief. I must admit, I was rather hoping you didn’t belong to anybody—apart from Her Highness Freya, that is. But this jewelry business of yours sounds amazing—when did you start it up? What’s it called? Is it just you, or do you have a whole team?”
    Normally, I like to be asked about my work. It might be a frivolous thing to spend my days doing, but I love it. I look forward to making each new piece, and not many people can say that about their work. And I love having a company, however tiny. I loved choosing its name, all by myself, and not having to consult anyone else.
    “It’s called Danglies,” I say. I can’t manage any more words at the moment. My brain is busy doing acrobatics around the idea that Tom Rigbey doesn’t want me to belong to anyone. He definitely said that—I didn’t imagine it—and there’s only one thing it can mean.
    “Ah, voila Mademoiselle Freya !” Tom exclaims, as she emerges from the rehearsal hall and comes running towards us. I don’t speak French, but I’m guessing that he said something like, “Here comes the lovely Freya.”
    “Congratulations on your successful audition, young lady. Have you been promoted to Pharaoh yet? I’m sure it won’t be long.”
    “What are you doing here?” Freya asks him.
    “I wanted to thank your mother for the present she made for me, and she annoyingly withheld her phone number, hoping to shake me off. As a result, I’ve had no alternative but to become a musical theater groupie.”
    “I wasn’t hoping that at all,” I say. “I didn’t want you to think I expected a thank-you, that’s all.”
    I’ve just lied to Tom Rigbey. Nadine Caspian warned me that he was untrustworthy. Maybe she’d have been better off warning him about me. So far in our very short acquaintance, he’s been nothing but lovely to me and I’ve failed him twice—once by taking