Read Online The South Lawn Plot by Ray O'Hanlon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ray O'Hanlon
Tags: Contemporary
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objective, Pender took his eye away from the zoom lens. He had been just able to make out the summit from his bedroom window by looking from a sideways angle. Despite the distance and poor light he picked out the two men at the top. One was gone, and the other was now only a few minutes away from the house.
Pender sensed a presence and turned. The old man, Michael, was standing in the bedroom door. Pender smiled.
âGreat smell from the kitchen. Dinner must be ready. I'm starving,â he said.
âIt will be ready when Mr. Manning gets back,â the old man said. He lingered in the door for a few seconds.
Pender thought that the old man was trying to read his mind. Certainly, he was no fool.
âI reckon he's no more than two or three minutes away,â said Pender, eyes fixed on the old man. âCan I give you a hand serving it up?â
The old man did not reply. He just turned and walked back to the kitchen.
9
B AILEY HAD BOTTLED UP HIS CURIOSITY long enough. Henderson had been in the newsroom for thirty minutes but had still not come over to his desk. Nor had he summoned Bailey to his.
Bailey kept glancing over his shoulder. But all he could discern was Henderson on several phone calls, his head bent low over his desk and occasionally his free hand masking his mouth.
What the hell was he up to, Bailey thought. Normally the first few minutes of a Henderson shift were loud and furious. The man wanted everyone to know that he had arrived, was on the job, and that what he described as the lazy hours of the day were over.
A lot of people found it necessary to rush to the lavs or take smoke breaks during this initial assault. Henderson usually settled down after about twenty minutes, and the evening would fall into its less frenetic routine.
But today is was different. And Bailey wasn't the only newsroom inhabitant to notice.
Still, looking at a gift horse in the mouth and all that, Bailey said to himself. Perhaps Henderson had acquired a new girlfriend, or his first. Few in the newsroom had any appreciable knowledge of the man's private life. Old Percy was the best bet. He seemed to enjoy a charmed existence around Henderson, a bit like a pilot fish with a shark.
Bailey made a mental note to quiz Percy later if nothing made itself plain. He resumed his rummaging through the Internet for information on a story he was half working on, a turgid tale about passport forgeries.
Nick Bailey considered himself to be pretty sharp at his work, if sometimes reluctant. Newspaper reporting had not been his original career plan. It had started almost by accident with a summer job in a small newspaper down on the Kent coast. His father had known someone on the staff. He was the office Jack-of-all-Trades, which meant he made a lot of tea.
But he had watched the handful of reporters at work. He would sit beside them trying not to be noticed. Some of them were rather tetchy, but slowlyand surely he began to understand some of the mysteries of how a newspaper worked. It was remarkable how little he knew about how a story reached a page. Nevertheless, in time, he began to notice that he was sometimes several steps ahead of a couple of the reporters in seeing story angles, spotting lead lines and even dreaming up headlines.
Yes, he had looked over a lot of shoulders as he lugged pots of tea. After a bit of pestering he had been given his chance. His first story had been about the mistreatment of a horse, and it had caused an absolute uproar. And here he was now, in one of the world's most famous city tabloids.
Bailey had once fancied the idea of being a stockbroker. Real flash, money, good car and girls galore. The idea still occurred to him from time to time. But something always pulled him back to the news business. He could not quite explain it. Certainly Henderson was not the reason.
Bailey's daydreaming was abruptly ended by a shout from the same man. It took him several seconds to comprehend the fact that he
Pender sensed a presence and turned. The old man, Michael, was standing in the bedroom door. Pender smiled.
âGreat smell from the kitchen. Dinner must be ready. I'm starving,â he said.
âIt will be ready when Mr. Manning gets back,â the old man said. He lingered in the door for a few seconds.
Pender thought that the old man was trying to read his mind. Certainly, he was no fool.
âI reckon he's no more than two or three minutes away,â said Pender, eyes fixed on the old man. âCan I give you a hand serving it up?â
The old man did not reply. He just turned and walked back to the kitchen.
9
B AILEY HAD BOTTLED UP HIS CURIOSITY long enough. Henderson had been in the newsroom for thirty minutes but had still not come over to his desk. Nor had he summoned Bailey to his.
Bailey kept glancing over his shoulder. But all he could discern was Henderson on several phone calls, his head bent low over his desk and occasionally his free hand masking his mouth.
What the hell was he up to, Bailey thought. Normally the first few minutes of a Henderson shift were loud and furious. The man wanted everyone to know that he had arrived, was on the job, and that what he described as the lazy hours of the day were over.
A lot of people found it necessary to rush to the lavs or take smoke breaks during this initial assault. Henderson usually settled down after about twenty minutes, and the evening would fall into its less frenetic routine.
But today is was different. And Bailey wasn't the only newsroom inhabitant to notice.
Still, looking at a gift horse in the mouth and all that, Bailey said to himself. Perhaps Henderson had acquired a new girlfriend, or his first. Few in the newsroom had any appreciable knowledge of the man's private life. Old Percy was the best bet. He seemed to enjoy a charmed existence around Henderson, a bit like a pilot fish with a shark.
Bailey made a mental note to quiz Percy later if nothing made itself plain. He resumed his rummaging through the Internet for information on a story he was half working on, a turgid tale about passport forgeries.
Nick Bailey considered himself to be pretty sharp at his work, if sometimes reluctant. Newspaper reporting had not been his original career plan. It had started almost by accident with a summer job in a small newspaper down on the Kent coast. His father had known someone on the staff. He was the office Jack-of-all-Trades, which meant he made a lot of tea.
But he had watched the handful of reporters at work. He would sit beside them trying not to be noticed. Some of them were rather tetchy, but slowlyand surely he began to understand some of the mysteries of how a newspaper worked. It was remarkable how little he knew about how a story reached a page. Nevertheless, in time, he began to notice that he was sometimes several steps ahead of a couple of the reporters in seeing story angles, spotting lead lines and even dreaming up headlines.
Yes, he had looked over a lot of shoulders as he lugged pots of tea. After a bit of pestering he had been given his chance. His first story had been about the mistreatment of a horse, and it had caused an absolute uproar. And here he was now, in one of the world's most famous city tabloids.
Bailey had once fancied the idea of being a stockbroker. Real flash, money, good car and girls galore. The idea still occurred to him from time to time. But something always pulled him back to the news business. He could not quite explain it. Certainly Henderson was not the reason.
Bailey's daydreaming was abruptly ended by a shout from the same man. It took him several seconds to comprehend the fact that he
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