Read Online Mr Golightly's Holiday by Salley Vickers - Free Book Online
Authors: Salley Vickers
Ads: Link
examined.
In any case, with the old bloke out of the way, he could get inside the house and have another snoop round.
Johnny slithered down the yew tree and nipped warily across the road and round the back of Spring Cottage, where he had noted from his first visit that the window was left unfastened. No probs – he could get in easy.
Samson sauntered over to the wire fence and stood watching as the boy creature swung his leg up and on to the sill, reached an arm inside an open window and disappeared inside.
On the other side of the window Johnny found the laptop on the gateleg table. It took five minutes to work out the means to find the password. Rapidly, he scanned the contents. Nothing interesting. No porn. A few e-mails, no sex or love stuff. There was someone called herself Muriel but she didn’t seem to amount to much.
Upstairs offered no new discoveries either. A book by the bed; Jeeves in the Offing. Nothing else different.
Downstairs there was a box of stuff. More books: Ethics by Spinoza, The Sermons of John Donne , The Odyssey , Shakespeare, Jane Austen, George Eliot, Damon Runyon, Raymond Chandler, Philip Pullman, a load of poetry books, The Wind in the Willows – which was a kids’ book – and another book for kids Johnny’s mum had given him when he was seven, Alice. Maybe the old guy was a perve after all?
Johnny cast around looking for another unexplored quarter to assuage his curiosity. Next to the music centre there was a box of tapes and CDs – classical stuff and some rock– Ella Fitzgerald, Peggy Lee, Elvis, David Bowie, the kind of stuff old ravers went for – no rap or thrash, not that you’d expect that.
Mr Golightly had driven out of the village before he remembered his credit card. As a rule, he carried no cash or card as his staff attended to all money matters for him. But part of the point of the holiday was supposed to be an opportunity to sample the pleasures of self-sufficiency. Bill, his PA, had organised a special ‘Gold’ card. There had been talk of ‘Platinum’ but Mr Golightly had rejected this – platinum, with no poetic tradition behind it, he regarded as inferior to the nobler virtues of gold. However, in assembling the usual furniture of the inner pocket of his jacket – notebook, fountain pen, propelling pencil – he had forgotten to include the neat case in which, expensively sheathed, the card had arrived from the credit-card agency. As Martha would say, he would forget his own name next!
Johnny had memories of Elvis because before his mum met his stepdad she had used to dance to a tape, Elvis: the Greatest Hits , with Johnny in her arms. Mr Golightly, returning to retrieve the card, was greeted by a familiar bass-baritone declaiming that you could do anything you chose except step on his blue suede shoes. ‘Ah,’ he said, entering the parlour where he was met by a terrified young face, ‘a fellow fan…!’
There were some Cokes still left over from the six-pack in the fridge. Johnny drank one of these while Mr Golightly made himself a cup of black coffee and they both listenedto the King. However, when it came to one track, Mr Golightly made a pretext to leave the room.
The lyrics never failed to remind him of someone who was always on his mind.
9
M R G OLIGHTLY’S CD S ESSION WITH J OHNNY HAD concluded, to Johnny’s surprise, with no questions asked about his presence in Spring Cottage. It was as if his weird host believed the purpose of the call was to establish a musical bond. He had played Johnny some other CDs which, once Johnny had got over the shock of being offered a Coke, rather than a smack round the head, he found quite entertaining. Mr Golightly sounded pleased when his guest asked the name of one of the pieces.
‘Steve Reich’s “Music for 18 Musicians” – an innovative work. Who is your own favourite?’
Johnny said he liked Badly Drawn Boy.
‘Any special number I should look out for?’ enquired Mr Golightly.
Johnny
In any case, with the old bloke out of the way, he could get inside the house and have another snoop round.
Johnny slithered down the yew tree and nipped warily across the road and round the back of Spring Cottage, where he had noted from his first visit that the window was left unfastened. No probs – he could get in easy.
Samson sauntered over to the wire fence and stood watching as the boy creature swung his leg up and on to the sill, reached an arm inside an open window and disappeared inside.
On the other side of the window Johnny found the laptop on the gateleg table. It took five minutes to work out the means to find the password. Rapidly, he scanned the contents. Nothing interesting. No porn. A few e-mails, no sex or love stuff. There was someone called herself Muriel but she didn’t seem to amount to much.
Upstairs offered no new discoveries either. A book by the bed; Jeeves in the Offing. Nothing else different.
Downstairs there was a box of stuff. More books: Ethics by Spinoza, The Sermons of John Donne , The Odyssey , Shakespeare, Jane Austen, George Eliot, Damon Runyon, Raymond Chandler, Philip Pullman, a load of poetry books, The Wind in the Willows – which was a kids’ book – and another book for kids Johnny’s mum had given him when he was seven, Alice. Maybe the old guy was a perve after all?
Johnny cast around looking for another unexplored quarter to assuage his curiosity. Next to the music centre there was a box of tapes and CDs – classical stuff and some rock– Ella Fitzgerald, Peggy Lee, Elvis, David Bowie, the kind of stuff old ravers went for – no rap or thrash, not that you’d expect that.
Mr Golightly had driven out of the village before he remembered his credit card. As a rule, he carried no cash or card as his staff attended to all money matters for him. But part of the point of the holiday was supposed to be an opportunity to sample the pleasures of self-sufficiency. Bill, his PA, had organised a special ‘Gold’ card. There had been talk of ‘Platinum’ but Mr Golightly had rejected this – platinum, with no poetic tradition behind it, he regarded as inferior to the nobler virtues of gold. However, in assembling the usual furniture of the inner pocket of his jacket – notebook, fountain pen, propelling pencil – he had forgotten to include the neat case in which, expensively sheathed, the card had arrived from the credit-card agency. As Martha would say, he would forget his own name next!
Johnny had memories of Elvis because before his mum met his stepdad she had used to dance to a tape, Elvis: the Greatest Hits , with Johnny in her arms. Mr Golightly, returning to retrieve the card, was greeted by a familiar bass-baritone declaiming that you could do anything you chose except step on his blue suede shoes. ‘Ah,’ he said, entering the parlour where he was met by a terrified young face, ‘a fellow fan…!’
There were some Cokes still left over from the six-pack in the fridge. Johnny drank one of these while Mr Golightly made himself a cup of black coffee and they both listenedto the King. However, when it came to one track, Mr Golightly made a pretext to leave the room.
The lyrics never failed to remind him of someone who was always on his mind.
9
M R G OLIGHTLY’S CD S ESSION WITH J OHNNY HAD concluded, to Johnny’s surprise, with no questions asked about his presence in Spring Cottage. It was as if his weird host believed the purpose of the call was to establish a musical bond. He had played Johnny some other CDs which, once Johnny had got over the shock of being offered a Coke, rather than a smack round the head, he found quite entertaining. Mr Golightly sounded pleased when his guest asked the name of one of the pieces.
‘Steve Reich’s “Music for 18 Musicians” – an innovative work. Who is your own favourite?’
Johnny said he liked Badly Drawn Boy.
‘Any special number I should look out for?’ enquired Mr Golightly.
Johnny
Similar Books
