Read Online THE PERFECT KILL by A. J. Quinnell - Free Book Online Page A

and then she said, “You were bloody right. It was like walking into a deep freeze.”
    “It won’t get any easier.”
    He pointed to his left, at the massive dome of a church. “That’s the village of Xewkija. That dome is the third largest in the world. The church can hold five times more people than live in the entire village.”
    “Why?” she asked.
    He shrugged. “Competition. The villages compete with each other. They compete in football matches, they compete in the amount of fireworks they have in their village feasts, they compete in everything. Even the priests in the different villages compete with each other. Up to a couple of decades ago it would have been a great scandal if a boy from one village married a girl from another. Even the accents between the villages are different.”
    They drove through Rabat, the island’s capital, and he pointed out various shops and buildings. Five minutes later he pulled the car into the side of the road and pointed up to a high ridge. She could see the house nestling under its brow.
    “That’s where you’ll be living for the next six months.”
    “It’s beautiful,” she said, “but when I walk in there will I also be walking into a deep freeze?”
    He shook his head. “No, that house will be your refuge. There you can relax and stop acting. Apart from the boy there will be few, if any, visitors, except a woman from the village who will come in two mornings a week to clean.”
    “Did the woman know Nadia?”
    “Of course.”
    “Then I will do the cleaning.”
    Again he shook his head. “No, the woman is a widow and needs the money.”
    “I will pay her from my allowance.”
    “Without doing the work she will not accept it; they are proud people. It’s only a couple of hours twice a week. While she’s there you can always go down to the beach.”
    He put the jeep into gear and moved up the hill.

Chapter
09
    The boy was in the swimming pool, halfway down at a steady crawl. He did not hear the gate open. He did not see them come in. Creasy put down the bag and the suitcase, took the woman by the arm and led her towards the pool. The boy did a racing turn and moved back down the pool. They stood looking down at him. At the other end he did another racing turn, but now he was tiring. Halfway back he noticed them, but did not break his stroke.
    He reached the end beneath their feet and rested his elbows on the side, his chest heaving.
    “How many?” Creasy asked.
    The boy looked up at him: black hair, dark eyes, dark face.
    “A hundred and twenty,” he said. “And tomorrow I’ll beat you over two lengths, five lengths or a hundred lengths.”
    The woman turned and looked at Creasy’s face. For the first time she saw him smile.
    “Make me a bet,” he said.
    The boy grinned back.
    “I was looking in the cave, under your study, where all the wine is. The French and Italian wine. I made a note of all the labels. Father Manuel is an expert. I showed him the list. He said they were all good, but he said the best was the Chateau Margaux. He asked what year it was and I had to check the next day. When I told him it was seventy-one, his eyes gleamed and he licked his lips…so the bet is a bottle of Chateau Margaux seventy-one.”
    “You will drink it yourself?”
    The boy grinned again, “I’ll give it to Father Manuel but if he doesn’t share it with me, I’ll not talk to him again.”
    Creasy nodded and gestured at the woman.
    “This is Leonie…my wife.”
    The boy pulled himself, dripping, out of the pool and held out his hand.
    She took it and murmured, “Hello, Michael, did you really do a hundred and twenty lengths?”
    He looked straight into her eyes and said, “Yes, I don’t tell lies.”
    Creasy glanced at her and saw the confusion in her face. He gestured at the suitcase and bag by the gate.
    “Michael, would you put the bags in my bedroom while I show Leonie around the house.”
    He took her by the arm and led her away.
    It was only