Virtually Perfect Read Online Free PDF

lying in darkness, the only light in the room beaming from his 2x3 inch screen.  He fumbled around for the switch to the bedside lamp, flicked it on.  He lay back, gazing at the rococo ceiling.
     
    'Hello?'
    'Why do you sound surprised?'
    '...How do you mean?' asked Eve.
    'You must know it's me calling,' Ben teased her, 'but you always say hello like you don't.' 
    Eve paused for a moment.
    'I know it's your number,' she said quietly. 'but how can I be sure that it's you?  It could be... a jealous wife.'
    Ben grinned.
    'Impossible.  I never let her out of the kitchen.'
    '...Or a mistress.' 
    He laughed.
    'I never let her out of the bedroom.'
    There came an uncomfortable pause.
    '...Thank you for the flowers, Ben.  They're beautiful.'
    'You're welcome.  Don't mention it.  Now, what are you doing tomorrow?'
    'I haven't made any plans,' Eve admitted.
    'I'll take you over to my place... if you like.  I'll show you my darkroom...'  
    Another long silence.  Ben bit his fist. 
    Way to go, Romeo...
    'I mean—'
    'What time?' he heard her say.  He finally exhaled.
    'I'll pick you up at two.'
     

CHAPTER 10
     
    'I'll show you my darkroom.'  It's way up there with 'Come up and see my etchings', and Eve knew it.
    If you can't say no on the phone, ask yourself this: what chance do you have in person?
    'I'll call you.'  His parting words had played over in her head ever since.  By the time Friday rolled around, Eve was convinced it was just a platitude.  She'd never hear from him again.
    Then the flowers arrived, couriered from Covent Garden.  Dan had never done anything like that.  His idea of being romantic was putting the toilet seat down.  Gardenias.  Here was a guy who actually listened and remembered.  They're as rare as rocking horse poo.
    She thought back to La Casona .  No, no.  She knew that Ben was alright.  Not just alright - he was really sweet, actually.
    She thought she was being smart when she asked about his dog - showing she paid attention.  She remembered he had one from months back.  She hadn't thought to recheck when she signed up this time.  She was mortified when he told her it had got run over.  Ben tried to shrug it off, but she was sure she saw tears in his eyes.
    'For Christ's sake, Eve!' Curtis castigated.  'Don't be such a sap!  He probably never even owned a dog, and even if he did...  Look, just because a person likes animals, doesn't automatically make them all warm and fluffy and nice...  Hitler doted on his Alsatian by all accounts, and look what happened there!  Idi Amin was so kind to his pet crocodiles, he used to feed them real live people...'
    There was a certain logic to it, even coming from a prat like Curtis.  But hearing Ben's voice again, Eve's guard was down in seconds.
    Shutterman hadn't been online in five days, but his profile was still live. 
    Eve didn't like that one bit.
    Eve had built (and deleted) her profile three times over the past four months.  Shutterman was a constant.  Same photo, same profile verbatim (apart from the 'pets' part, she now realised).  How long had he been there?   He was a good looking guy.  His profile had no typos: cute, but not sickly-sweet.  Funny.  Interesting.  All-in-all, he was pretty much up there with the cream of the crop.  So why was he there?  Looking for a relationship.  Why hadn't he found someone?  He was online regularly - always took the lead, initiating conversation. 
    ...Why was he there at all?
    A Google Search had returned over 2,940,000 search results for benjamin macy photographer.  Eve discovered, reading a write-up in The Times , that he was actually half-French.  He was 36, just like he'd said.  She saw the Mont Blanc snap he'd spoken of, the fluke click when he'd fallen and nearly killed himself.  Sunrays burst from a cerulean sky, peeking over the snow ridge, catching ice crystals, making them sparkle like diamonds.  It looked like something from space.
    There were a few