The Therapist by B. A. Paris EPUB & PDF – eBook Details
- Author: B. A. Paris
- Language: English
- Formats: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Series: None
- Price: Free
- File Size: 1 MB
The sound of excited voices draws me away from the box of books I’m
unpacking. It has been so quiet all day that it’s hard to believe I’m actually in
London. Back in Harlestone, there would have been familiar external noises;
birds, the occasional car or tractor, sometimes a horse going past. Here, in
The Circle, everything is silent. Even with the windows open there’s been
only the occasional sound. It isn’t what I was expecting, which I guess is a
good thing.
From the upstairs window in Leo’s study, I look down to the road outside.
A woman with a white-blond pixie cut, wearing shorts and a vest top, is
hugging another woman, tall, slim, with coppery red hair. I know the smaller
woman is our neighbor, I saw her late last night outside number 5, pulling
suitcases from the back of a car with a man. The other woman I haven’t seen
before. But she looks as if she belongs here, with her perfectly fitting navy
jeans and crisp white T-shirt hugging the contours of her toned upper body. I
should move away, because if they look up at the house, they might see me
standing here. But my need for company is too strong, so I stay where I am.
“I was going to call in on the way back from my run, I promise!” the small
woman is saying.
The tall woman shakes her head, but there’s a smile in her voice. “Not
good enough, Eve. I was expecting you yesterday.”
Eve—so that’s her name—laughs. “It was ten in the evening by the time
we arrived, way too late to disturb you. When did you get back?”
“Saturday, in time for the children going back to school today.”
A sudden wind rustles the leaves of the sycamore trees, which line the
square opposite the house, and snatches away the rest of her reply. It’s very
pretty here, like a movie set depicting an enviable life in the capital city. I
didn’t really believe places like this existed until Leo showed me the photos
and even then, it had felt too good to be true.
My attention is caught by a delivery van coming through the black gates at
the entrance to The Circle, directly opposite our house. It turns down the left
side of the horseshoe-shaped road and drives slowly around. Leo has been
filling our new home with things I’m not sure we need, so it could be for us.
Yesterday, a beautiful but unnecessarily large glass vase arrived, and he spent
ages wandering around the sitting room with it in his arms, trying to find a
place for it, before finally depositing it by the French windows that open onto
the terrace. But the van continues past and comes to a stop at the house on the
other side of us, and I move nearer to the window, eager to catch a glimpse of
our neighbors at number 7. I’m surprised when an elderly man appears on the
driveway. I don’t know why—maybe because The Circle is a newish
development in the middle of London—but I’d never considered older people
living here.
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