Page 8 of London
“I was at the clinic,” she said, looking down at the furry feline. “If it were possible, I would’ve taken you along. I’m sure you would’ve cheered the children.”
Pirata meowed as if he understood, watching her intensely through his slanted blue eyes.
“I met one of the doctors, a man… well, a great guy. But you do know I don’t trust men, right? Especially the ones who seem too good to be true.”
Pirata arched his back and rubbed his pink nose against hers.
Linda started to laugh. “Ahimè!Look at me! Am I not pathetic? My best friend is a cat, and I’m crazy enough to think he understands what I say. Come on, let’s get a drink—actually, I’ll have one, and you’ll eat.”
The cat jumped down, led the way to the kitchen, and Linda followed.
The room, dominated by an island counter with tall bar chairs, was decorated simply in beige and pristine white.
“Let’s see what Mrs. Adams cooked for us tonight,” Linda mumbled, opening the refrigerator door.
She’d inherited Mrs. Adams from the previous owners. The fifty-something woman was a Godsend since Linda had been in desperate need of a housekeeper/cook/sounding board. She loved the woman, so much so, that she’d given her a raise every month since she’d started. Although she grumbled about the extravagance, Mrs. Adams accepted the money graciously, then treated herself to some little trinket.
As she stared into the fridge, Linda saw a container of chicken soup, a mushroom omelet, and her favorite dessert, pumpkin pie.
She was still full from the cheeseburger, but she never refused pumpkin pie. After she cut a slice and put it on a plate, she dropped a dollop of clotted cream on it, and then filled Pirata’s bowl with moist cat food before refilling his water dish. As he ate, Linda sprinkled cinnamon and nutmeg over the pie and took it to the living room, along with a cold can of cola.
Browsing through the channels, she stumbled on a romantic comedy. The movie wasn’t half bad. As darkness grew denser, the lights came on in the garden, making the pool’s shiny surface more alluring.
Because of her recent work and England’s rainy weather, she hadn’t had many opportunities to use the pool. Why not take advantage of it tonight? After all, this had been one of the hottest days in London’s history. The water would be delightfully refreshing.
Pirata, who’d sprawled on her lap during the movie, was sound asleep. Picking him up, she lowered him gently to the sofa beside her. He meowed softly in protest, stretched, and went back to sleep.
Linda climbed the stairs to her bedroom and undressed, leaving what she’d worn strewn on the huge, blue spread covered bed—the same color as the walls.
She donned a black bikini, grabbed a towel and her cellphone, setting it to a radio app.
Padding downstairs, she left the back door ajar and walked to the pool, placing her phone on a nearby lounge chair. With smooth jazz playing in the background, she answered the water’s call. As she walked down the stone steps, she slowly immersed herself, savoring the liquid coolness. At the moment, that sensation far exceeded any recent sexual interlude she could remember.
Awake now, Pirata had come to keep her company and plopped down, belly up, among the gnomes.
Linda swam several laps, allowing a pleasant fatigue to seep into her muscles. She turned on her back, let herself float, and gazed up at the starry sky. Satisfied with her evening’s exercise, she turned over and swam back to the edge of the pool. Her cellphone rang.
“Who the hell—”
She rushed out of the water and grabbed the phone, checking the display. The number was unfamiliar.
“Ciao?” she answered briskly.
“Linda. It’s Gerard Leon. Listen, I’m at your front door. I knocked, but there was no answer. Are you home?”
Unable to utter a sound, her mouth agape, she stared at the phone dumbly, then put it back to her ear.
“Gerard? What the hell are you doing here at this time of night? And how did you get my address?”
“I’ll explain when I see you. Do you mind opening the door?”
“It would serve you right if I didn’t,” she muttered under her breath, annoyed and more than a little upset. “Hold on, I’ll be right there.”
Hastily wrapping a towel around herself, she slid her feet into flip-flops, and set off to see what had brought on this madness. She moved from the back door to the front, faster than the cross breeze created by open windows and doors. Since her hair and skin were wet, she shivered thanks to the cooler night air. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as fast and hard as her temper rose.
How dare he disturb her at home? Was he some kind of stalker? He knew she lived alone. What difference did it make if he was a brilliant doctor and scientist? It didn’t mean he couldn’t be a psychotic maniac. She might be the one with the “psycho” car sticker, but real psychos didn’t advertise.
As she approached the front door, she saw his silhouette through the opaque glass panels. Her breath coming in heaves, she unlocked the door and opened it barely an inch, the safety chain in place. She couldn’t make out his features in the moonlight, but it wasn’t as if she didn’t know them. That handsome face was unforgettable.
