Read Online Gagged & Bound by Natasha Cooper - Free Book Online
Authors: Natasha Cooper
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table, then come back, lifting the glasses off her nose.
‘I really loved him,’ she said. ‘I’d do anything for this not to be true. But I know it is. And he’s got to be stopped before more people get killed.’
Chapter 4
Wednesday 14 March
Bee had the complete set of Jeremy’s diaries delivered to chambers in a canvas book bag. With it came an invitation to tea on Saturday with his mother, which Trish accepted at once. The weight of the book bag surprised her as she carried it back home. By the time she reached the iron staircase, the handles had made great dark-red dents in her fingers. They felt swollen and clumsy. She dropped her keys and heard them clatter down through the slats in the step.
‘Sod it!’ she muttered and rang the bell so David could let her in.
His face split in an immense smile when he saw her.
‘Lost your keys, Trish?’
‘No. Dropped them.’ She pointed down to the dustbins that lived at the bottom of the building.
‘I’ll get them. You go on in.’
Dumping the book bag on her desk, she flexed her sore fingers and wondered why he was looking so happy. When he got back, dangling the keys between his fingers, she asked.
‘I got top marks in history today,’ he said. ‘It’s never happened before.’
‘Fantastic!’ Trish swooped down to kiss him. For once, he let her do it. ‘Was it the Queen Elizabeth the first essay?’
‘Yup.’ He sprinted halfway up the spiral staircase, and turned
to declaim Gloriana’s speech to her troops at Tilbury. ‘“I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too; and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm.”’
Trish gazed upwards, trying to represent all the awestruck troops for him. She loved seeing him preen as any young male should, even if he was using a woman’s words to do it.
‘Hurrah!’ she cried, flinging both arms in the air. ‘Or should it be, huzzah!’
‘I don’t mind.’ His smile took on a shyer aspect. ‘But I was nearly bottom in science. Again.’
‘Doesn’t matter so long as you did your best. Now, cup of tea and a toasted sandwich?’
‘I’ll make them,’ he said, descending the stairs two at a time. ‘Rest your weary bones.’
Smiling at the old-fashioned phrase, wondering where he’d read or heard it, Trish kicked off her shoes and lay along one of the big black sofas that stood at right angles to the double-sided fireplace. With her head propped up on a pile of red and purple cushions, she let her eyes close for a minute or two. All was well.
The flat was barely darker when she woke, so she couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes. She could smell strong tea nearby and melting cheese from further away. Letting her eyes slide sideways, she saw a steaming mug on the floor beside her. David must still be assembling his sandwich in the kitchen. A knock on the front door made her eyebrows twitch.
She found Caro on the doorstep, looking nervous, which was rare enough to be scary.
Trish kissed her and stood back. ‘Come on in.’
Caro headed off towards the sofas, pausing as she rounded the fireplace.
‘I can never get over the size of this place. You are so lucky.’
‘ I like it,’ Trish said, thinking of all the media pundits who’d started to write that loft-living was on its way out. They
predicted that false ceilings and dividing walls would soon be inserted into all the cavernous, echoing spaces for which people had paid such vast prices at the beginning of the new millennium. George had crowed like the noisiest cockerel when he’d heard that because his house in Fulham was the acme of traditional cosiness.
Trish, who had always felt it was too like a padded cell for comfort, didn’t care what anyone wrote. Her echoing space meant so much to her she would keep it through any economic and fashion recession. It was a pity the winter fuel bills were so vast and that most of
‘I really loved him,’ she said. ‘I’d do anything for this not to be true. But I know it is. And he’s got to be stopped before more people get killed.’
Chapter 4
Wednesday 14 March
Bee had the complete set of Jeremy’s diaries delivered to chambers in a canvas book bag. With it came an invitation to tea on Saturday with his mother, which Trish accepted at once. The weight of the book bag surprised her as she carried it back home. By the time she reached the iron staircase, the handles had made great dark-red dents in her fingers. They felt swollen and clumsy. She dropped her keys and heard them clatter down through the slats in the step.
‘Sod it!’ she muttered and rang the bell so David could let her in.
His face split in an immense smile when he saw her.
‘Lost your keys, Trish?’
‘No. Dropped them.’ She pointed down to the dustbins that lived at the bottom of the building.
‘I’ll get them. You go on in.’
Dumping the book bag on her desk, she flexed her sore fingers and wondered why he was looking so happy. When he got back, dangling the keys between his fingers, she asked.
‘I got top marks in history today,’ he said. ‘It’s never happened before.’
‘Fantastic!’ Trish swooped down to kiss him. For once, he let her do it. ‘Was it the Queen Elizabeth the first essay?’
‘Yup.’ He sprinted halfway up the spiral staircase, and turned
to declaim Gloriana’s speech to her troops at Tilbury. ‘“I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too; and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm.”’
Trish gazed upwards, trying to represent all the awestruck troops for him. She loved seeing him preen as any young male should, even if he was using a woman’s words to do it.
‘Hurrah!’ she cried, flinging both arms in the air. ‘Or should it be, huzzah!’
‘I don’t mind.’ His smile took on a shyer aspect. ‘But I was nearly bottom in science. Again.’
‘Doesn’t matter so long as you did your best. Now, cup of tea and a toasted sandwich?’
‘I’ll make them,’ he said, descending the stairs two at a time. ‘Rest your weary bones.’
Smiling at the old-fashioned phrase, wondering where he’d read or heard it, Trish kicked off her shoes and lay along one of the big black sofas that stood at right angles to the double-sided fireplace. With her head propped up on a pile of red and purple cushions, she let her eyes close for a minute or two. All was well.
The flat was barely darker when she woke, so she couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes. She could smell strong tea nearby and melting cheese from further away. Letting her eyes slide sideways, she saw a steaming mug on the floor beside her. David must still be assembling his sandwich in the kitchen. A knock on the front door made her eyebrows twitch.
She found Caro on the doorstep, looking nervous, which was rare enough to be scary.
Trish kissed her and stood back. ‘Come on in.’
Caro headed off towards the sofas, pausing as she rounded the fireplace.
‘I can never get over the size of this place. You are so lucky.’
‘ I like it,’ Trish said, thinking of all the media pundits who’d started to write that loft-living was on its way out. They
predicted that false ceilings and dividing walls would soon be inserted into all the cavernous, echoing spaces for which people had paid such vast prices at the beginning of the new millennium. George had crowed like the noisiest cockerel when he’d heard that because his house in Fulham was the acme of traditional cosiness.
Trish, who had always felt it was too like a padded cell for comfort, didn’t care what anyone wrote. Her echoing space meant so much to her she would keep it through any economic and fashion recession. It was a pity the winter fuel bills were so vast and that most of
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