The Twain Maxim Read Online Free Page A

off.
    “Lonely?”
    “No,” he said, “not really.” He’d lied. “I’ve got Jane and she’s over this weekend – but it can get a bit quiet when she’s working.”
    “Why don’t you come over?”
    “That’d be great – I’ll be with you after she’s gone back.”
    “And get yourself a butler like Jeffries.”
    Jim laughed. “It’s an idea, but I’m not sure it’d suit me.”
    “A man of your position needs staff,” said Davas. “And a good butler is a top-quality manager as well as a confidant and an adviser.”
    Jim’s mind flapped as he poured silence down the phone to Davas. A butler was the ultimate status symbol in the world of privilege to which his strange talent had taken him. Jim could predict the transit of a stock or currency chart. On his monitor, the tiny trail of pixels represented the inexorable grindings of the world economy: to be able to see just a minute ahead unlocked vast treasure that he had barely begun to plunder. It was the skill that had led him to see that global markets were to crash to zero and that for this to happen the world had to come to a sudden and catastrophic end. With his freakish ability he had helped to find the source of the threat and had ended up nearly dead. After that, everything seemed rather bland.
    “Look, Jim,” Davas interrupted his musing, “let me find you one. If you don’t like him or her, I’ll take care of it.”
    “You’ll fire them?” said Jim.
    “Sure.”
    “OK,” he said, slumping on to the bed, head spinning. “Got to go.” He hung up and took a few deep breaths. Not good, he thought, eyes closed.
    His mobile bleeped with an SMS. It was from Davas. “Are you all right?”
    “Fine. J Thanks,” he sent back. Not quite true, he thought, but I’m not going to miss this weekend.

3
    The garage door swung up and Jane rode inside, stopped the bike and jumped off, keys in hand. She unlocked the side door into the house and went into the den. There was a bowl of fruit on the table, a plate of cookies under cling-film and a little basket of silver-wrapped sweets. The mail was in a pile. It had been opened and annotated, with yellow Post-it notes poking out at the top, detailing what had been dealt with and what needed her attention.
    She slipped off her leathers and boots and took them with her as she sprang up the stairs. She had a shower – always more refreshing in her own place – then put on her favourite pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. She noted the difference a little weight loss had made and determined to put it on again.
    Downstairs, she went back to the den. Thanks, Mom, she thought, as she picked up a satsuma and the mail. She went into the kitchen, opened the door to the patio and stepped outside. A worn wooden table stood beside the pool with a few chairs. Jane sat down and peeled the fruit, popped a segment into her mouth and began to leaf through the envelopes.
    “$16 overcharge,” said the Post-it note on her bank statement, in a tight barely legible scrawl. “Have complained and requested refund. TBA.” Jane smiled. Her motherwouldn’t let anyone get away with taking a penny from her daughter that they hadn’t earned. The next note was attached to the phone bill: “Switched carriers. Better deal!” The bottom line on her savings-account statement showed $183,284.92. Her mother had ringed the balance in pink marker and noted “+$5327.48” on the yellow tag.
    Jane ate another piece of satsuma and turned over the next sheet. “We’re so proud,” said the note. It was confirmation of a second oak leaf to her Purple Heart. She smiled again. It was a perfect afternoon.
    The front-door bell chimed.
    She dropped the sheaf of papers on to the table and jumped up. Friendly neighbours must have spotted her come in. Doubtless, some urgent community action needed her support – paving had to be replaced or a gate changed. Whenever she was at home they always collared her fast. They knew they had to catch her