Once Read Online Free Page A

wall behind him. He wore an unbuttoned camel waistcoat over a pale blue open-necked cotton shirt; red braces supporting grey flannel trousers (Thom caught a glimpse of them every time his friend breathed out and the parting in the waistcoat expanded) that bagged around his ankles. The turn-ups were snaggled over incongruous, stained Timberland boots. The hurried descent of Bracken’s stone steps had left him a little breathless and the swollen pouches under his eyes indicated either lack of sleep or too-frequent alcohol binges (he wondered if his old friend was still on the absinthe). Same old Hugo, Thom mused: out of condition, out of style, and probably still out of a proper job.
    By profession, Hugo Bleeth had been a Lloyd’s underwriter, occupying a ‘box’ at the insurance corporation’s Lime Street headquarters until his unwitting (?) involvement in the great mid-eighties insurance scandal had scuppered his career before it had properly begun.
    Without warning, Hugo threw his arms around him in an embrace that squeezed breath from his lungs.
    ‘So, so bloody good to see you!’ he all but exclaimed in Thom’s ear. ‘I was worried, old mate, I don’t mind telling you now. You looked so deathly lying there in the hospital bed. Could hardly believe my own eyes - I mean, when we had our reunion drink the week before, you looked marvellous. Tip-top, in fact.’
    As his friend prattled on, Thom noticed Hartgrove over Hugo’s shoulder: the manservant was staring down at them, face an expressionless mask, but his pale eyes as hard as flint. As a boy, Thom had always been wary of the man - no, he’d been plain bloody frightened of him - with his cadaverous features and long, skinny, dry neck emerging from stooped shoulders, and the dark tones of his uniform, that made him look like some human vulture. Thom always seemed to be catching Hartgrove watching him with those pale, cold eyes, watching him as though resenting his presence in the Big House, this tutor’s son, who would have been a pauper were it not for the munificence of his master. Perhaps he had been waiting to catch Thom slipping some tiny ornament or one of Hugo’s toys into his pocket. Perhaps he thought Thom might soil the furniture.
    Despite the passage of time, Thom felt a familiar shiver run through him. With some deliberation, he managed to divert his attention.
    ‘Hey, c’mon Hugo, you’re going mushy on me,’ he said through tight lips.
    Hugo immediately broke away and grinned. ‘Can’t help it. It’s just so … so …’
    ‘Bloody good to see me,’ Thom finished for him.
    ‘Right.’ Hugo lightly punched his shoulder.
    Thom looked up at the house again, but this time avoiding the gaze of the sombre manservant, who still loitered at the top of the steps. His eyes swept up towards the rooftop and the house, with its dark windows and tall, jutting bays, seemed to loom over him.
    ‘How is he, Hugo?’
    Hugo glanced back, following Thom’s gaze. ‘Not so good. Some days Father perks up a little, others … well, other days he seems to sink as far as a person can go without actually dying. Even in these advanced times nothing much can be done for a diseased heart and I’m afraid the trauma of a transplant would kill him off more quickly in his present weak condition. Sod’s law, it seems. He’s not strong enough to withstand the op, but without it his health will never improve. Perhaps if they’d caught it sooner things might be different. As you know, the old boy has never been in what you might call mint condition, so we failed to notice the change in him right away…’ Hugo’s voice trailed off as though it was too upsetting to continue.
    For as long as Thom could remember, Hugo’s father, Sir Russell Bleeth, had been a figure to revere. His sharp manner and equally sharp temper had always made the young Thom nervous, and the man’s overbearing presence seemed to govern Castle Bracken even when he was absent from the place.