The Billionaire’s Curse Read Online Free Page A

envelope back into the side pocket and pushed the bag half under the bed. He jumped up—the moment he regained his feet a stripe of bright light crossed his face as the doors from the main cabin were thrust open. In the doorway was the imposing shape of the flight attendant, Mr. Fry.
    “So this is where young sir has been hiding.” The voice dripped with accusation. Fry’s eyes darted around the suite. They came to rest on the overnight bag, lying on its side by Gerald’s feet, half shoved under the bed.
    “Tsk, tsk. How did this get under here?” Fry said. He hauled the bag out and settled its contents back into place. He zipped it shut and bent down so he could look Gerald square in the eye.
    “Now, will sir be joining his parents for luncheon or does sir have some more snooping to do?”
    “I wasn’t snooping!” Gerald protested. “I was looking for the, um, toilet.”
    Mr. Fry regarded Gerald as he might a hair floating in his soup.
    “Yes, of course sir was.”
    Gerald screwed up his face and pushed his way back into the main cabin. He found his parents at the dining table, Vi holding a fresh glass of champagne. Gerald was surprised to see a small balding man sitting opposite his mother. A row of documents was set out in neat piles on the table between them. The man’s head, his shoulders, even his manner, all seemed shrunken. He was dressed in a pale gray suit at least two sizes too large, and he had a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of what could best be described as a beak. In another life, the man could well have been an owl.
    Gerald sat next to his father and studied the small man with interest, wondering where he had been until now.
    “This must be Gerald,” the man said pleasantly, half standing and extending a tiny hand, which Gerald shook softly for fear of crushing it like a dried leaf.
    “Yes, this is him,” Vi said, as if identifying a bag snatcher in a police lineup. “Gerald, this is Mr. Prisk. He’ll be helping us with your great-aunt.”
    “What help do we need?” Gerald asked.
    Mr. Prisk smiled at him from across the table.
    “Gerald, I have been your great-aunt’s solicitor for many years. She left specific instructions in the event of her death—quite specific instructions.”
    “Uh…instructions?”
    “From what I am told”—the lawyer gave Vi and Eddie some sharp glances—“you are unaware of the extent of the situation.”
    Gerald saw an opportunity at last to get some answers. He cleared his throat, and said in his politest voice, “By ‘situation’ do you mean my parents coming to school yesterday to tell me that the high point of my holiday will be going to a funeral? Do you mean being driven home at twice the speed limit, told to pack a bag and get to bed early because we have a flight to catch first thing in the morning? Then today getting picked up in a stretch limo longer than our house and being taken to the airport where no less than a private jet is waiting? Being told to shut up and sit quietly in my seat, where I’m treated like an infestation of head lice by that guy?” Gerald jerked his thumb at Mr. Fry, who was laying out plates of poached salmon on the table, impervious to Gerald’s tirade. “And all the while my mother’s acting like she’s been named the next queen of England. Would that be the ‘situation’ you’re referring to?”
    Gerald looked at Mr. Prisk, who had removed his glasses and was cleaning them with a corner of his napkin.
    “Gerald!” Vi was livid. Her eyes blazed from beneath her lacquered helmet of hair. “How dare you speak in that tone!”
    Gerald crossed his arms and sank back into the chair, glaring at the salmon on his plate, and what looked suspiciously like a thumbprint in the potato mash.
    There was an awkward silence, then Mr. Prisk cleared his throat.
    “Yes…well, perhaps there are a few questions that need to be answered.” Turning to Vi, he ventured, “Would you like me to provide