PAPER MONEY by Ken Follett

the same count.”

The sub grinned. “Want a job?”

Cole went back to his desk. Annela Sims came up and said: “The Holloway

Road incident came to nothing. A bunch of rowdies, no arrests.” Cole

said: “Okay.”

Joe Barnard put down the phone and called:

“There’s not a lot to this fire, Arthur. Nobody hurt.” “How many people

living there?” Cole said automatically.

“Two adults, three children.”

“So, it’s a family of five escaped death. Write it.” Phillip Jones said:

“The burgled flat seems to belong to Nicholas Crost, quite a well-known

violinist.” “Good,” Cole said. “Ring Chelsea nick and find out what was

taken.”

“I did already,” Phillip grinned. “There’s a Stradivarius missing.” Cole

smiled. “Good boy. Write it, then get down there and see if you can

interview the heartbroken maestro.”

The phone rang, and Cole picked it up.

Although he would not have admitted it, he was thoroughly enjoying

himself.

NINE A.M. TIM FITZ PETERSON was dry of tears, but the weeping had not

helped. He lay on the bed, his face buried in the damp pillow. To move

was agony.

He tried not to think at all, his mind turning away thoughts like an

innkeeper with a full house. At one point his brain switched off

completely, and he dozed for a few moments, but the escape from pain and

despair was brief, and he woke up again.

He did not rise from the bed because there was nothing he wanted to do,

nowhere he could go, nobody he felt he could face. All he could do was

think about the promise of joy that had been so false. Cox had been

right when he said so coarsely, “It was the best night’s nooky you’ll

ever have.”

Tim could not quite banish the flashing memories of her slim, writhing

body; but now they had a dreadfully bitter taste. She had shown him

Paradise then slammed the door. She, of course, had been faking ecstasy;

but there had been nothing simulated about Tim’s own pleasure.

A few hours ago he had been contemplating a new life, enhanced by the

kind of sexual love he had forgotten existed. Now it was hard to see any

point at all in tomorrow. He could hear the noise of the children in the

playground outside, shouting and shrieking and quarreling; and he envied

them the utter triviality of their lives. He pictured himself as a

schoolboy, in a black blazer and short gray trousers, walking three

miles of Dorset country lanes to get to the one-class primary school. He

was the brightest pupil they had ever had, which was not saying much.

But they taught him arithmetic and got him a place at the grammar

school, and that was all he needed.

He had flourished in the grammar school, he remembered. He had been the

leader of the gang, the one who organized playground games and classroom

rebellions. Until he got his glasses.

There: he had been trying to remember when in his life he had felt

despair like this; and now he knew. It had been the first day he wore

his glasses to school. The members of his gang had been at first

dismayed, then amused, then scornful. By playtime he was being followed

by a crowd chanting “Four-eyes.” After lunch he tried to organize a

football match, but John Willcott said: “It’s not your game.” Tim put

his spectacles in their case and punched Willcott’s head; but Willcott

was big, and Tim, who normally dominated by force of personality, was no

fighter. Tim ended up stanching a bloody nose in the cloakroom while

Willcott picked teams.

He tried to make a comeback during History, by flicking inky paper

pellets at Willcott under the nose of Miss. Percival, known as Old

Percy. But the normally indulgent Percy decided to have a clamp down

that day, and Tim was sent to the headmaster for six of the best. On the

way home he had another fight, lost again, and tore his blazer; his

mother took the money for a new one out of the nest egg Tim was saving

to buy a crystal radio kit, setting him back six months. It was the

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *