Read Online Voices in an Empty Room by Francis King - Free Book Online Page A

sir.’ The ‘sir’, used for the first time, surprised Hugo. The adult tone surprised him even more.
    Henry, Lionel and Mrs Lockit appeared. Mrs Lockit, her eyes darting hither and thither and her mouth working, came over to Hugo and peered over his shoulder at the sheet in his hand, her breath fanning his ear. He felt a spasm of irritation; he wanted to shout at her ‘ Oh go away woman!’ But he restrained himself, knowing that if there were to be any future with these two subjects, then she would have to share in it.
    â€˜He’s got most of them right!’ she exclaimed. Clearly, she had already examined Henry’s sheet.
    Henry and Hugo conferred, Mrs Lockit beside them, while Cyril, still exhausted, sat on the hall chair, his head in his hands, and Lionel wandered about, whistling irritatingly under his breath.
    â€˜Remarkable!’ Hugo said at last.
    â€˜Fourteen hits out of the twenty trials.’ Henry bared his chipped, yellow teeth in a rare smile. ‘Well, boys, that’s far, far better than we’d ever dared to hope. You failed with the first four but after that …’
    â€˜They have to get into the mood of it,’ Mrs Lockit said. Then she went on triumphantly, ‘Well, now, didn’t I tell you they had this amazing gift? But I don’t think you and Mr Crawfurd really believed me. Did you now? Be honest, admit it.’ Hugo wondered as often in the past, why Henry submitted so meekly to such familiarity. With his staff in the embassy, he had been by turns distant, peremptory and waspish.
    â€˜Shall we have another run?’ Henry proposed.
    â€˜Oh, no,’ Mrs Lockit said. ‘You can see how this one–’ she indicated Cyril, who still sat, head in hands, on the hall chair ‘–has been affected. It drains him.’ She put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Doesn’t it, love?’
    Cyril looked up. The bruise-like shadows under his eyes seemed to have darkened from greenish-violet to dark grey. ‘I feel done in,’ he said. ‘I’d like to oblige but I couldn’t, just couldn’t.’
    â€˜Of course not,’ Hugo reassured him. ‘We’ve plenty of time ahead of us. If a subject is exhausted, then his performance always diminishes. No point in pressing you.’
    â€˜Thank you, sir.’ The boy looked up at him gratefully as he whispered the words.
    â€˜I’ll take them down to my flat to give them a cup of tea and some cake. They’re always hungry after a performance. Aren’t you, boys?’
    Lionel spoke for the first time since they had all come together in the hall. ‘I could do with a fag.’
    â€˜I’m afraid neither of us smokes,’ Henry said coldly. ‘And I never keep the fragrant weed – which, I’m afraid, I also regard as the pernicious weed – on the premises. Sorry.’
    â€˜The idea!’ exclaimed Mrs Lockit, in an unconvincing performance of being scandalized. ‘You know your mother never allows you to smoke. What sort of impression will Sir Henry and Mr Crawfurd get of you? You should be ashamed.’
    Lionel stumped down the stairs to the basement without a goodbye. Cyril huskily muttered, ‘ Thank you’ to Henry and then, ‘Thank you, sir,’ to Hugo, before he followed. Mrs Lockit went last. Before the door shut on her flat, the two men heard Lionel ask in a loud, aggressive voice, ‘What about the dough then?’ and his aunt tell him, ‘Sh! Wait, wait!’
    â€˜The dough,’ mused Henry, padding back into the drawing room, ahead of Hugo. ‘Ah, yes, the dough.’ He sank into the sofa and then used his right hand to lift first one leg and then the other on to it, as though they were inanimate objects.
    â€˜Well, we knew about that.’
    â€˜Yes, but what we don’t yet know is how much.’
    â€˜We’ll have to rely on Mrs Lockit for that,’