Where Memories Lie Read Online Free PDF

put Maura Bell out of his mind, and his face burned with shame again as he remembered his reaction to Kincaid’s question. Why couldn’t he have just shrugged and offered some manly and macho platitude. Easy come, easy go. You know women.
    But no, he had to make an utter fool of himself in front of his boss.
    The truth was that he’d taken Maura Bell out a number of times, for drinks, for dinner, to the cinema. He had thought she liked him, but a public school education combined with a deep and fundamental shyness had handicapped his nerve severely. When he finally got up the courage to make a serious advance, she’d drawn away from him as if stung.
    He’d stammered out apologies; she’d made excuses and left him standing in the middle of the Millennium Bridge, so humiliated that for a moment he’d contemplated jumping in. But good sense had prevailed. Perhaps even that was sad—that he was incapable of making a grand romantic gesture.
    He’d gone home to his gray flat in the Euston Road, and whenMaura had rung him repeatedly over the next few days, he’d refused to take her calls. After a bit the calls stopped, and in the months since, he’d devoted himself to work with excessive zeal, becoming the best researcher in the department, and limited his social life to an occasional after-work drink with Kincaid, and a monthly visit home to his parents in Saint Albans, during which he told them exaggerated stories of his importance at work.
    The bus slowed for Great Portland Street, and for an instant Cullen had a wild thought. He could still take the Circle Line. Then the Docklands Light Railway to the Isle of Dogs. He could stand outside Maura Bell’s flat, waiting for a glimpse of her, just to see if she was still as he remembered.
    Then he snorted in disgust. Stalking, that’s what he was contemplating, and he wasn’t that far gone—at least not yet. But the woman in the multiple coats seemed to disagree. She glared at him, chins quivering, making it clear she thought he was a nutter, then got up and waddled her way to the very back of the bus.
     
    After Cullen had left, Kincaid gave the worktops one last wipe, turned out all but the small lamp in the kitchen, then stood and listened. Wesley had brought the boys home wired on pizza and lemonade, but now the giggles had faded upstairs. Even the dogs had disappeared; Tess, thirteen-year-old Kit’s little terrier, would be with him, while Geordie, Gemma’s cocker spaniel, would be curled on the foot of their bed, accompanied like sticking plaster by their black cat, Sid, who had developed a perversely unfeline passion for the little dog.
    The house seemed to exhale, settling into the profound silence of night inching towards morning, and Kincaid gave a worried glance at the clock above the cooker. It was half-past twelve—surely Gemma would be home soon.
    He felt a niggle of worry about Erika’s phone call. It seemed soout of character, but then he found Gemma’s relationship with Erika rather odd as well. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the older woman, but when she studied him with her keen glance he felt like a suitor sized up and found wanting, an uncomfortable sensation for a man unused to feeling intimidated.
    Did she disapprove of the fact that they weren’t married? he wondered. But surely she knew Gemma well enough to know that was her choice, rather than his.
    Kincaid shrugged, irritated with himself for letting his thoughts go down that path, but he found he couldn’t contemplate going to bed or settling down with a book while Gemma was still out. He’d decided he might turn on the telly when the doorbell rang. The sound was shockingly loud in the quiet house, and upstairs one of the dogs gave a single yip of surprise.
    Hurrying towards the front door, he was spurred by an instant, clutching panic. Gemma was out—had something happened to her?
    He was telling himself not to be daft, that one of the guests had forgotten something, when he swung