Cut You Dead (Dr. Samantha Willerby Mystery #4) - A J Waines Page 0,14

go to a meeting. By then I was hooked.

Although Claussen had warned me the files were ‘read only’, I tried to print the full report. Sure enough I was forbidden access. The same happened when I put in my USB stick in order to copy it. Blocked. Fair enough, I thought. You’d expect confidential details such as this to be protected to prevent it getting into the wrong hands.

What Claussen hadn’t mentioned, however, was making handwritten notes. If I didn’t want to stay cooped up in this stuffy office all day, that was what I needed to do. Then I could mull things over and reflect on what I’d found, away from this soulless setting. That was how I’d work best.

So, with Prue still away from her desk, and after checking that no one was looking my way, I surreptitiously pulled out my notebook. Omitting key names, so it wouldn’t make sense to anyone out of context, I scribbled down the main details.

There was another case flagged up from my search, but I’d done enough for now. I was aching for fresh air and to stretch my legs, so I got up and left.

11

Charlotte

Three years earlier

As I step off the bus a few stops before I need to, it starts to sleet, icy fragments biting into my cheeks. I’m glad. It should be snowing at this time of year. The earth needs to freeze away all the bacteria so nature can start afresh.

I look up and watch as the tiny slices of ice fill the black sky with wet confetti. I’ve always loved winter and even wanted to get married in the snow, but that won’t be happening any time soon. Not now I’ve given back the ring.

The film doesn’t start for forty minutes, so I break away from the main road and stroll through back streets, past red-brick apartment blocks, then into a secluded area which would have been one of London’s original villages.

It’s refreshing to be away from the bustle of commuters and tourists. The further I drift from the main road, the fewer people are about and I’m aware of the intermittent crackle as leftover autumn leaves are tossed by the breeze into doorways. The only other sound is the lonely clomp of my boots on the pavement. They’re tatty these days, but I can’t afford new ones. I tried stitching the hole in the side, but I broke two needles in the process. Maybe I’ll get to a charity shop at the weekend to see if they’ve got anything my size.

I’m drawn under an archway into one of the quiet cobbled mews. The courtyard cottages look homely and cosy, painted in shades of pastel pinks and pale blues. They remind me of cupcakes.

Lantern-style streetlamps, straight from a Dickensian Christmas card, are few and far between, creating ethereal pools of light on the melting sleet. I feel the woodsmoke in the air tickle my lungs. Blinds are down and shutters are closed. It seems like everyone in South Kensington has turned in for the night.

I slow down and daydream, picturing myself living in the luxurious interior behind one of these doors. This one, perhaps, painted glossy cobalt blue with a golden ring door knocker. Wearing satin pyjamas and mohair slippers, I’d loll in front of a real log fire. Make that fake mohair, now I’m vegan. I do a little twirl at the notion of it. Fantasies are my escape. With my job at the dentist under threat and an ex-fiancé who can’t seem to grasp we’re over, it feels like my dreams are all I’ve got. I’m going to have to cut back on food and clothes, give up my poetry class and probably move to a cheaper bedsit, but I can’t bear to think of that now.

Even though it’s pure make-believe, I want to create a blissful existence in my mind, full of beauty and magic. Dad says I spend too much time looking for escapism instead of getting on with important stuff like finding a better job and settling down. He says I’m always away with the fairies, but the real world is too hostile and tough for a ‘delicate soul’ like me. They were the words the new vicar at the church used to describe me last week and I think they’re spot on.

I’ve spent hours on the net looking up properties for sale in places like this, admiring the décor, the furnishings and accessories. I’ve scoured magazines on home makeovers in the