Read Online The Hunter's Prayer by Kevin Wignall - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kevin Wignall
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French, and that picture was taken a long time ago. I haven’t seen her in fourteen years or more.’
‘Wow.’ She wasn’t surprised, but it seemed like an appropriate response. ‘You’re single now?’
He laughed as he said, ‘Yes.’
‘Do you have any kids at all?’
‘You ask a lot of questions.’ There he was, backing off again, but she felt confident enough to pursue him.
‘It’s what people do when they’re getting to know each other.’
‘Why would you want to get to know me?’
The question was close to being hostile but she said, ‘Why not? You’re worth knowing, aren’t you? You’re smart, you read, you kill bad guys.’
He smiled, but to himself this time, and looked lost in thought. The room crackled with light again, the thunder following after a few seconds.
‘It’s moving away.’
She turned briefly towards the window as if there were something to see, but came back to him, saying, ‘So? Do you have kids?’
He looked mildly exasperated. ‘I can’t see why it’s so important to you but yes, I have a daughter, with Madeleine. I’ve never seen her.’
‘How sad. You haven’t had any contact at all?’
‘Nothing. She didn’t even want my money. She was wealthy anyway, but I think she’d have lived in the gutter rather than take it. She made me promise to disappear, never get in touch.’
‘But why?’
‘You don’t get it, do you? See, I am the bad guy. Madeleine didn’t get it either, not until too late. I’m not someone who’s good to be around, especially a child.’
She didn’t want to know about this. Until now she’d pictured him as a bodyguard, working in the underworld maybe, but not a criminal himself. The kind of person who averted misery, not inflicted it. Surely her dad wouldn’t have employed him otherwise, and her dad knew him.
‘Tell me how you met my father.’
His spirits appeared to pick up.
‘Windhoek. 1982. Windhoek—it’s in Namibia. I had a lot of attitude back then, arrogant, but Hatto was a cool guy. He asked me to do some work for him. That was it. We never became friends or anything; we just hit it off. I trusted him.’
She was still trying to take in the description of her father as a ‘cool guy,’ a sentiment she’d heard a couple of times before from Simon, from her mother, people whose opinions hadn’t carried much weight. Ben was pretty cool, though, so maybe he’d been cool like Ben.
There was another flash of lightning, the room theatrically lit for a moment before the dark closed in again around the lamp and the two of them sitting there. She counted to four before the thunder sounded, and felt a little sad, the way she always did when a storm retreated.
She sipped at her cognac, growing accustomed to it, and then as the thought occurred to her she said, ‘I should make a will.’
He nodded, saying, ‘I suppose so, when you get back home.’
‘Don’t you know anyone here? What if my plane crashes? What if someone else tries to kill me?’ It was something she’d never thought about before, making a will, but suddenly it felt urgent, even though there was no one to leave anything to except her uncle or her two young cousins. She didn’t even know what she’d be leaving; only the hazy phantom fortune Lucas had suggested.
‘It’s Sunday tomorrow. But I might be able to arrange something, just to put your mind at rest till you get back.’
‘Good.’ She finished her drink and nestled further into the sofa. ‘You should write to your daughter.’
‘How can I? I don’t even know her name.’
When Ella woke, she was still on the sofa, a blanket over her. It was light, a clear blue sky visible through the windows. She could hear sounds coming in from the kitchen, and she could smell coffee. She sat up, but it was Chris in the kitchen, not Lucas.
He saw her and lifted his hand. A minute later he came over carrying a tray with coffee on it, two cups. He looked fresh, like he’d slept right through
‘Wow.’ She wasn’t surprised, but it seemed like an appropriate response. ‘You’re single now?’
He laughed as he said, ‘Yes.’
‘Do you have any kids at all?’
‘You ask a lot of questions.’ There he was, backing off again, but she felt confident enough to pursue him.
‘It’s what people do when they’re getting to know each other.’
‘Why would you want to get to know me?’
The question was close to being hostile but she said, ‘Why not? You’re worth knowing, aren’t you? You’re smart, you read, you kill bad guys.’
He smiled, but to himself this time, and looked lost in thought. The room crackled with light again, the thunder following after a few seconds.
‘It’s moving away.’
She turned briefly towards the window as if there were something to see, but came back to him, saying, ‘So? Do you have kids?’
He looked mildly exasperated. ‘I can’t see why it’s so important to you but yes, I have a daughter, with Madeleine. I’ve never seen her.’
‘How sad. You haven’t had any contact at all?’
‘Nothing. She didn’t even want my money. She was wealthy anyway, but I think she’d have lived in the gutter rather than take it. She made me promise to disappear, never get in touch.’
‘But why?’
‘You don’t get it, do you? See, I am the bad guy. Madeleine didn’t get it either, not until too late. I’m not someone who’s good to be around, especially a child.’
She didn’t want to know about this. Until now she’d pictured him as a bodyguard, working in the underworld maybe, but not a criminal himself. The kind of person who averted misery, not inflicted it. Surely her dad wouldn’t have employed him otherwise, and her dad knew him.
‘Tell me how you met my father.’
His spirits appeared to pick up.
‘Windhoek. 1982. Windhoek—it’s in Namibia. I had a lot of attitude back then, arrogant, but Hatto was a cool guy. He asked me to do some work for him. That was it. We never became friends or anything; we just hit it off. I trusted him.’
She was still trying to take in the description of her father as a ‘cool guy,’ a sentiment she’d heard a couple of times before from Simon, from her mother, people whose opinions hadn’t carried much weight. Ben was pretty cool, though, so maybe he’d been cool like Ben.
There was another flash of lightning, the room theatrically lit for a moment before the dark closed in again around the lamp and the two of them sitting there. She counted to four before the thunder sounded, and felt a little sad, the way she always did when a storm retreated.
She sipped at her cognac, growing accustomed to it, and then as the thought occurred to her she said, ‘I should make a will.’
He nodded, saying, ‘I suppose so, when you get back home.’
‘Don’t you know anyone here? What if my plane crashes? What if someone else tries to kill me?’ It was something she’d never thought about before, making a will, but suddenly it felt urgent, even though there was no one to leave anything to except her uncle or her two young cousins. She didn’t even know what she’d be leaving; only the hazy phantom fortune Lucas had suggested.
‘It’s Sunday tomorrow. But I might be able to arrange something, just to put your mind at rest till you get back.’
‘Good.’ She finished her drink and nestled further into the sofa. ‘You should write to your daughter.’
‘How can I? I don’t even know her name.’
When Ella woke, she was still on the sofa, a blanket over her. It was light, a clear blue sky visible through the windows. She could hear sounds coming in from the kitchen, and she could smell coffee. She sat up, but it was Chris in the kitchen, not Lucas.
He saw her and lifted his hand. A minute later he came over carrying a tray with coffee on it, two cups. He looked fresh, like he’d slept right through
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