Where Have All the Boys Gone? Read Online Free PDF

without her.
    The station confirmed her worst fears. She did a 360-degree turn. Above the purple mountains, a black cloud was ominously moving across the sky, and there was no building at the station at all; it was simply a halt, a platform in the air.
    ‘Bollocks,’ said Katie out loud – there was no one to hear her, just some enormous birds circling silently in the air above.
    There was a torn old timetable on the side of the platform, but she didn’t have the energy to look at it. She felt tired, grubby from the journey, starving hungry, and as far away from London as she’d ever been in her life – certainly a lot further away than she had felt on her year off in Goa, which had been full of Brits, Kiwis, Aussies and South Africans. This place was full of nothing at all, and she didn’t know what to do. For a second she let herself remember the wide-open spaces and hot colours of India. She’d felt so free there.
    There was a rumbling noise above her. Katie looked up. The birds had fled. Instead, the cloud had hit the side of the mountain. A few spits turned into a deluge. Katie’s blue peacoat, of which she’d been rather proud, was no match for it at all. Within thirty seconds it was soaked through.
    ‘Shit!’ she yelled, staring straight at the sky. This was the stupidest waste of a day’s annual leave she’d ever had in her life, applying for this stupid job on a whim, just because she had been upset.
    The rain showed no signs of letting up, as she staredinto the horizon, but she thought she saw something else move; a white dot, far in the distance. She stared at it hard, blinking away the water from her eyelashes. The white dot got bigger. Hugging her arms around herself, she stepped forward and squinted. The white dot resolved itself into a moving shape, then a car, then a Land-Rover. She kept her eyes on it as it bumped over the undergrowth towards her, windscreen wipers going furiously. After what seemed like ages, it finally drew up in front of the platform, and she slowly went down the wooden staircase to meet it.
    The engine stopped and a man leaned over, opened the passenger door and beckoned her over. Katie wasn’t sure what to do. This person could be anyone. On the other hand, he could be the person coming to pick her up. After all, how many murderous rapists would pass by a deserted local station in the rain on the off chance that there might be a nervous young city girl hanging around? On the other hand, maybe the whole advertisement had been a trick to get someone here. On the other hand, that was a lot of trouble to go to if you were an unhinged murderous rapist, down to the headed notepaper and everything. And that was a whole lot of hands anyway. This stupid mugging had upset everything.
    Katie dropped her head and peered into the front of the car doubtfully.
    ‘Get in,’ said a voice crossly.
    ‘Umm, who are you?’
    ‘I’m the Duke of Buccleuch, who the hell do you think I am? I’m Harry Barr.’
    He had a weird accent; he sounded a bit like Scottish people on the telly, but a bit Scandinavian too. She’d never met a Highlander before. He also sounded impatient and a bit pissed off.
    ‘I’m Katie Watson,’ she said, and, taking a deep breath, she slipped into the car.
    ‘Is this all there is?’ said Harry irritably. Tall and broad, he was dressed as if on his way to a Highland landwork fancy-dress party; checked shirt, cords, wellies and a Barbour jacket. A thick mane of unruly black hair was flopping over one eye. He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
    ‘Well, I may not have a lot of experience in the field, but I’m very quick to learn,’ said Katie, unhappily aware that the interview appeared to have begun.
    ‘No, I mean – are you the only person?’
    Katie glanced around. She didn’t appreciate being spoken to like a naughty dog.
    ‘Let me just check – yes.’
    Harry Barr eyed her suspiciously. ‘I invited ten people.’
    ‘I