Valentina: A Hauntingly Intelligent Psychological Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page A

pen down her notes. “Let’s see, he went travelling for a year after his first degree, which was at Sheffield where, get this, he was the lead singer in a band called The Electric Cavemen.”
    “ That’s absolutely atrocious.” Cradling the phone in my neck, I turned back to my screen, pretended to carry on with my article.
    “ This is all from Robbie. Let’s see, he’s mad into plays and cinema, apparently, so that’s right up your street.”
    “ What about that girl he lives with?”
    “ Only at weekends. She was Wendy, do you remember her? The blonde. She didn’t come to the pub. Had a ‘late supper’ apparently. At ten o’clock at night? Who has their tea at that time? All a bit la-di-da if you ask me.”
    Wendy. I closed my eyes and tried to bring her to mind but no – couldn’t picture her at all. I cursed myself. Why hadn’t I taken any notice of her? Because I was all eyes on Mikey, that’s why. And he never said anything about her being in the panto, the chancer, even though I’d asked about her.
    “ They’re going through a bad patch,” Jeanie was saying.
    “ Are they now?”
    “ Uh-huh. He’s going to end it soon, according to our Robbie.”
    “ That’s terrible.”
    “ Isn’t it?”
     
    He waited a month. It was January by then. I was at work when out of the blue he rang as if he’d seen me the day before and was calling to say how d’you do.
    “ So, Shona McGilvery,” he said. “How do you fancy coming out and getting really pissed one night?”
    “ That’s what aristocrats do, is it?” I kept my voice low and steady, tried to act like this was normal, him ringing to ask me out. Meanwhile, I’d stood up and was making crazy faces over at Jeanie, one hand pulled up into my sleeve, one eye shut, one leg bent. I was hopping up and down in front of my desk by the time her mouth dropped into the emphatic O of understanding.
    “ We drink gin, mostly,” he was saying. “The quinine in the tonic keeps us warm in the draughty old houses, don’t you know.”
    God, I loved that accent.
    “ Of course it does,” I said, too excited to think of a comeback.
    “ How does Friday sound?”
    We arranged to meet in the Pot Still in town at 7pm. I shimmied around the block a couple of times so as not to be early. On the third lap, quarter past, I saw him standing outside the door, face set in anxious anticipation. I felt voyeuristic, to be honest, like I’d caught an illicit glimpse of a vulnerable core, something I knew he’d keep hidden as soon as our eyes met.
    He spotted me and his face relaxed into its default confident grin. “You’re late, Miss McGilvery.”
    Cocky bastard, I thought. You don’t fool me.
    “ And you,” I said, “have shaved your beard off.”
    He looked about five years younger than when I’d last seen him, his face smooth against mine when he bent to kiss me on the cheek.
    “ Health and safety,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Don’t want any mad women making a grab for it.” He stood up straight, pulled his hand into the sleeve of his jacket and closed one eye. “I’ve kept the hook, though.”
    “ I’ll bet you have.”
    I met his eye but immediately had to look at the floor. This was new: the two of us, here together on purpose. And there’s only so much you can pass off as Gallic friendliness.
    The bar was pretty full, the Friday after-work crowd having one or five for the road.
    “ Have a whisky,” he said. “They do great whiskies here.”
    I said yes, sure, as it was Friday. I knew fine the place did whiskies – it was what the bar was known for. To be honest, I would’ve preferred a white wine spritzer but I didn’t want to wreck his big line.
    What did we talk about? Mostly literature that first time, I think, which surprised me. I don’t know what I’d thought a journalist and an engineer would find to say to each other, but I couldn’t believe he’d read so much. The crowd thinned. With our third drink we got settled at a