The Watchers Read Online Free PDF Page B

way. The banker just happened to handle her financial affairs and had her number in his BlackBerry.
    ‘Why don’t you call her now and have a chat?’
    By the time the dessert arrived, Katherine’s life was sorted. And by the time she moved to Lausanne, a German pharmaceutical company announced they were buying the entire building that housed her flat. A three-hundred-thousand profit on a cash investment of zip. And she didn’t have to move for another two years.
    Katherine Taylor liked Lausanne.
    It dripped with easy money.
    She stood, let the towels drop from her body. She sprayed a small mist of Chanel over her head, let the scent fall on her hair and shoulders. She opened the armoire, found the black Versace, slipped it over the expected black Aubade lingerie. The Prada heels would make their début tonight. They added 3 inches to her 5-foot 9-inch frame. The client said he liked tallish women. Her winter coat was on the chair by the front door. Fendi mink, three-quarter length. Another token of someone’s appreciation. An Italian Formula One driver this time, as thanks for her silence when an Italian tabloid offered her a million euros for the skinny on a certain dirty weekend in Rome, while the world champion’s pregnant wife was home alone in Milan. Men of immeasurable means knew how to thank a girl who could keep her mouth shut when required. She tossed on the mink, gave one more turn in front of the hallway mirror.
    ‘Later, baby.’
    She took the lift down to the taxi waiting at the corner of Rue Caroline and Langallerie.
    ‘ Bonsoir , Mademoiselle Taylor.’
    ‘Hi, Pascal. Ça va ?’
    ‘I’m very well, mademoiselle, thank you. You are very pretty tonight.’
    ‘Thanks, Pascal. You always say the right things.’
    ‘The Palace, mademoiselle?’
    ‘Please.’
    Pascal remained quiet through the ten-minute drive. Katherine appreciated his silence. That’s why he was number two on speed dial, and why she always paid twice the meter. She watched Lausanne roll by in the rain. Wet asphalt reflecting blue neon signs and orange street lamps. Rounding Rue Saint-Pierre and stopping at a traffic lamp, she saw the lights of Évian across the lake. Pretty, she thought, in a San Francisco sort of way.
    Trolley buses rolled through the intersection till the lights changed and Pascal crossed on to Rue du Grand-Chêne. Katherine’s eyes just about popped from her head. The Lausanne Palace was flooded in red light, tied up in red ribbons and bows, garlands and ivy hanging from six floors of balconies. The pavement was dressed with stunted Christmas trees and the limestone pillars of the portico draped with hundreds of tiny white lights. None of it was there yesterday.
    ‘Look at that! When did they do all that?’
    ‘Today, mademoiselle. It is the beginning of Christmas season in Switzerland when the Palace is decorated. People from all the cantons come to see it.’
    ‘All that, in a day?’
    ‘We Swiss are very efficient.’
    ‘Tell me about it.’
    Pascal made a quick turn up the crescent drive. Katherine giggled.
    ‘Gosh, it’s like living a fairytale.’
    Ten bells echoed down the dripping street.
    He checked his watch: five minutes shy of the hour. He tapped the crystal and put the watch to his ear. Still ticking, just slow.
    He lit a smoke, stood still a moment. He listened.
    Bells, rain.
    Rain, bells.
    As if there should be something else.
    But he had no bloody idea what it should be.
    He ducked under the hotel portico and waited as the taxi rolled up to the entrance. A nice set of ankles in black heels issued forth from the passenger door. The rest of the package came wrapped in mink, topped with a veil of blond hair that caught the white lights strung about the stone columns. He watched her make a slow turn, taking in the small forest of Christmas trees along the pavement. Watched her smile and climb the red-carpeted stairs to the revolving doors that carried her into the hotel like a kid on a