Read Online The Few (The Abductions of Langley Garret Book 2) by Derek Haines - Free Book Online
Authors: Derek Haines
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pillar alongside the car, to respond. I heard a crackling voice from it, and the driver announcing himself, before the gates began opening slowly.
'What do I call him?'
'Who?' Marcus asked.'
'Kratos.'
'Sir works for me.'
'Right, thanks.'
The tree lined entrance road ended at a white gravel driveway that encircled a large manicured garden with a tall stone fountain centrepiece, and as the car moved slowly around towards the house, I realised it wasn't a house. The word palace entered my head when I could see it clearly. Two storeys with enormous stone pillars at its centre framing the entrance, and then each side of the building arcing to the right and left, as if cradling the circular garden in its arms. Marcus opened his door as soon as the car stopped, and gathering that this was my destination, I got out too. He walked around towards me and just nodded his head towards the front doors. We had only just stepped up onto the white marble porch when one of the two doors opened.
'Please come in gentlemen. He's expecting you,' she said. Marcus nodded and sniffed, while I tried to politely smile and hide my surprise at being met by an old lady, quite wide at the girth and wearing a green floral apron, not dissimilar to ones I recalled my grandmother wore.
'Just wait there,' she said, pointing to an anteroom on our left as she closed the door. She came in behind us and fussed and tidied some magazines lying on a table as we waited to sit. Once she seemed satisfied with the neat pile she had made, she said, 'Please take a seat. I'll tell him you're here.'
She walked from the room, almost waddling, as she seemed to slightly favour one leg or hip.
'Who is she?' I asked, when I was sure she was out of earshot.
'The housekeeper.'
'I was probably expecting someone more, … um, … formal, I suppose.'
'Yes,' he replied, just as his phone must have vibrated in his pocket. He answered his phone with,' Yes?' His only addition to the conversation after that was another yes, before he put the phone back in his pocket. 'Wait here. Someone will come for you shortly,' he said as he stood, and I nodded, and then he walked out. I heard the front door open and close. Thumbing though the neat pile of magazines on the table, I found a current copy of TIME. As I seemed to have plenty of that right now, I sat back, tried to relax, and started reading an interesting article about Swiss bank fraud. It only held my interest for a short while unfortunately, so I skipped a few pages until I found something about a new political crisis in South America. I flipped a few more pages.
'You must be Langley, I presume.'
My head shot up from my magazine at the surprise announcement, and was even more surprised by who had said it. A bent old man was standing at the doorway, supporting himself on a walking stick in his right hand.
'Um, yes. I'm Langley Garret,' I managed, as I stood politely and went to put the magazine back on the table, but missed. I bent down and picked it up from the floor and tried again, with more success.
'Well, come along then, we have things to talk about.'
'Yes,' was all I managed before he turned on his heels, and walking stick, and started hobbling away. I followed and caught up with him as he made his way across the vast entrance hall.
'We'll go out on the terrace while the sun's still got something to offer.'
'Ok. Fine,' I said, as I wondered how old he was. His quite long white unkempt hair, white whiskers, unshaven for a couple of days and wrinkled face reminded me of what Fagin must have looked like in his latter years of picking a pocket or two.
'How's your hand coming along?' he asked, looking directly at me as we walked. His eyes were lightening blue and razor sharp.
I hesitated, surprised by his question. 'It's getting better, thank you.'
'Right, just though here,' he said, pointing at the glass doors with his stick. I stepped ahead of him and opened one side and let him through. A long white granite table
'What do I call him?'
'Who?' Marcus asked.'
'Kratos.'
'Sir works for me.'
'Right, thanks.'
The tree lined entrance road ended at a white gravel driveway that encircled a large manicured garden with a tall stone fountain centrepiece, and as the car moved slowly around towards the house, I realised it wasn't a house. The word palace entered my head when I could see it clearly. Two storeys with enormous stone pillars at its centre framing the entrance, and then each side of the building arcing to the right and left, as if cradling the circular garden in its arms. Marcus opened his door as soon as the car stopped, and gathering that this was my destination, I got out too. He walked around towards me and just nodded his head towards the front doors. We had only just stepped up onto the white marble porch when one of the two doors opened.
'Please come in gentlemen. He's expecting you,' she said. Marcus nodded and sniffed, while I tried to politely smile and hide my surprise at being met by an old lady, quite wide at the girth and wearing a green floral apron, not dissimilar to ones I recalled my grandmother wore.
'Just wait there,' she said, pointing to an anteroom on our left as she closed the door. She came in behind us and fussed and tidied some magazines lying on a table as we waited to sit. Once she seemed satisfied with the neat pile she had made, she said, 'Please take a seat. I'll tell him you're here.'
She walked from the room, almost waddling, as she seemed to slightly favour one leg or hip.
'Who is she?' I asked, when I was sure she was out of earshot.
'The housekeeper.'
'I was probably expecting someone more, … um, … formal, I suppose.'
'Yes,' he replied, just as his phone must have vibrated in his pocket. He answered his phone with,' Yes?' His only addition to the conversation after that was another yes, before he put the phone back in his pocket. 'Wait here. Someone will come for you shortly,' he said as he stood, and I nodded, and then he walked out. I heard the front door open and close. Thumbing though the neat pile of magazines on the table, I found a current copy of TIME. As I seemed to have plenty of that right now, I sat back, tried to relax, and started reading an interesting article about Swiss bank fraud. It only held my interest for a short while unfortunately, so I skipped a few pages until I found something about a new political crisis in South America. I flipped a few more pages.
'You must be Langley, I presume.'
My head shot up from my magazine at the surprise announcement, and was even more surprised by who had said it. A bent old man was standing at the doorway, supporting himself on a walking stick in his right hand.
'Um, yes. I'm Langley Garret,' I managed, as I stood politely and went to put the magazine back on the table, but missed. I bent down and picked it up from the floor and tried again, with more success.
'Well, come along then, we have things to talk about.'
'Yes,' was all I managed before he turned on his heels, and walking stick, and started hobbling away. I followed and caught up with him as he made his way across the vast entrance hall.
'We'll go out on the terrace while the sun's still got something to offer.'
'Ok. Fine,' I said, as I wondered how old he was. His quite long white unkempt hair, white whiskers, unshaven for a couple of days and wrinkled face reminded me of what Fagin must have looked like in his latter years of picking a pocket or two.
'How's your hand coming along?' he asked, looking directly at me as we walked. His eyes were lightening blue and razor sharp.
I hesitated, surprised by his question. 'It's getting better, thank you.'
'Right, just though here,' he said, pointing at the glass doors with his stick. I stepped ahead of him and opened one side and let him through. A long white granite table
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