Chris Quinton Fox Hunt

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later have to give it away in turn, hopefully only
temporarily. It isn t a pleasant feeling.
They stood shoulder to shoulder in the living
room, mammoth-like in their dark coats and hats
and as menacing as sabre tooth tigers. Modern
Nature, red in cheque-book and shoulder holster. I
suppressed a shiver.
Did you succeed in locating the portrait, Mr
Rees? Tweedledum asked.
Yes, I said.
Excellent, said Tweedledee. Our employer s
faith in you has been justified. We would wish to
inspect it, of course.
Of course, I repeated. I ll go and fetch him -
it, and ducked into the kitchen to retrieve the panel
from the table. I whispered an apology and told
him it wouldn t be for long, then took him back to
the living room. Even so, it was hard to hold him
out, harder still to actually let go. Tweedle Two took
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the portrait, carefully unwrapped it and they both
studied it in silence.
On behalf of our employer, Tweedle One
pronounced, we thank you for your services. He
put a massive fist inside his coat and I froze, but all
he brought out was a narrow brown package. Ten
thousand pounds, he said, in used notes, low
denominations. You are welcome to count it.
I counted every last one and they waited in
respectful silence while I did it. It came to ten thou
exactly. All present and correct, I said with a
brightness I didn t feel. What I actually felt was sick,
as if I d sold a family member into a vice ring.
Then our business is concluded, One
said. Good evening, Mr Rees. Two echoed him and
they marched out - I swear they were in step.
Ten thousand pounds. I counted them again, just
for the sheer novelty of that much cash in my hands,
then made myself a whisky laced with medicinal
coffee. Fox didn t return, but I had a good idea what
he was up to. Or at least, I knew what I d do in the
circumstances: follow them discreetly to where they
came from, and explore the area. I wasn t altogether
sure how I was going to explain all this to Dad, but
time was on my side in that respect. I d think of
something, I was confident.
* * *
However, I d conveniently mislaid the fact that
Dad was never easy to fool, and even harder to
fob off with generalities. By the time I got to the
hospital that evening, I had a story all planned out
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in my head. In the event, I didn t need it. When I
turned up at Dad s bedside, he launched straight
into a question and answer session on my dinner
date which strained my self-control very nearly
to breaking point. Honestly, the old goat can be
intolerable sometimes. You d think I was a fourteen
year old virgin girl, not twenty-six, male and far from
virginal.
* * *
I was back at the cottage within the hour, and
once I d lit the fire and made myself a much-needed
cup of coffee, I flopped in the wing chair in front
of the hearth and tried to summon up the energy
to think about food. Fox arrived a few well-timed
minutes later, bringing me an aromatic lifesaver.
Chicken in black bean sauce, I enthused,
investigating the cartons he d dropped into my
lap. Special fried rice and prawn crackers. You must
have read my mind. But there was only enough
for one, and he d retreated to the kitchen to mix up
more Bovril and hot water, which didn t seem right
to me. What about you?
Already had mine, he said, coming back with a
steaming mug, and a plate and fork for me. Instinct
told me he was lying. I d already noticed his face was,
if anything, whiter than usual and pinched looking,
and there was a febrile tension about him that made
me uneasy. I wondered again about drugs.
Go and grab another plate - there s enough food
to share.
I m fine, he insisted. Any trouble with your
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visitors?
No, I said, filling my plate and beginning to
dig in. It tasted very good. But all he had was Bovril?
Was he injecting or snorting his drug of choice ... ? I
lost the thread for a moment and for some reason it
didn t seem important enough to catch it back again.
Went as smooth as silk. Let s talk about Wendlow.
Once more he took the floor with my knees as a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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