Chris smiled. In the far corner of the room he saw a full-size pool table, with a long green lamp directly above it illuminating the immaculate felt and the perfectly polished balls that had been laid out, ready for the next game. Next to it, along the wall, was a line of cues that looked as if they had never been used.
He was about to walk over to it to have a closer look when Sir Bentley spoke.
“I’ll let you settle in. As for me, I have rather a lot of work to be getting on with, so I’m going to leave you to it. Maura will show you to your room after dinner. I’ll see you at midday tomorrow. Do you need anything else?”
Chris shook his head. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“Good. Well, have a restful evening, and make yourself at home,” he said, and patted Chris on the shoulder as he made his way past him. Chris smiled back, then walked around the sofas and up to the bookshelf built into a section of the back wall and filled with brand-new books. He scanned the titles and recognized a few of them as latest bestsellers that had only recently arrived in his local library.
He walked back over to the sofa and sat down; then, realizing that he had the room to himself, he took his shoes off and flopped backward. He peered over the arm of the sofa and saw a remote control, which he picked up; then he realized that there was no television. He sat up and looked around, but he couldn’t see a screen anywhere. Chris put it back down on the table and noticed a brass button next to the lamp. Out of curiosity he pressed it, then jumped at the sound of something buzzing in front of him. Looking up, he saw the large oil painting of the English countryside that hung above the fireplace begin to turn into the wall until it revealed an enormous television behind it.
Chris grinned, picked up the remote, and curled up on the sofa as the screen came to life.
“I see you worked out the television,” said Maura, walking in with a large tray.
Chris jumped. He quickly sat up as Maura placed the tray in front of him. On it was a plate of roast beef, Yorkshire puddings, and vegetables, a small boat of gravy, and a tall crystal glass filled with apple juice.
• • •
While Chris tucked into his dinner, Sir Bentley was on the telephone in his office, down the hall.
“Yes, Prime Minister, we have everything in place and ready to go. We just have to hope for a bit more time so that we can train them up. . . . I know, I know, but what option do we have? As soon as they’re ready, we’ll send them out and see what we can find out. . . . No, sir, at the moment we have no further information. . . . Yes, it could be a coincidence, but I don’t believe Cecil would have mentioned Inferno unless it was absolutely necessary. . . . No, he hasn’t muttered a word since that day, and it doesn’t look good. Unfortunately, whoever did this to Cecil clearly knew what they were doing—his shutdown appears to be quite irreversible. . . . Of course, Prime Minister, I’ll keep you updated and let you know as soon as work is underway. . . . Thank you, Prime Minister, I appreciate that. All the best.”
Sir Bentley put the phone down slowly and rubbed his hands over his silver-gray hair. He opened up the file in front of him and pulled out a black-and-white photograph of the strange-looking pale boy in a crisp uniform, cross-legged, staring up at Cecil Humphries.
“Who are you?” he said to himself.
• • •
“And here . . . is your room,” said Maura, opening up the door. “You’ll be sharing it with another lad, Philip. Ever so . . . eccentric. Lovely, too, of course. I’m sure you’ll get along like a house on fire.”
“Thanks,” said Chris, and walked out into the open air—or at least that’s how it felt, as the walls of the small room had been painted from top to bottom in a realistic landscape of rolling hills, with distant trees silhouetted against the moonlit night. There were two small wooden cabins, like miniature log houses, on either side of the room, with beds above them that could be reached by ladder.
“Wow,” said Chris.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” said Maura, smiling. “This way you won’t feel like you’re stuck underground the whole time. Now, that’s for you to do your homework in,” she continued, pointing to the door of the cabin on the left. “There’s everything you’ll need in there for your studies tomorrow.” She walked over to another small door to the right, which was camouflaged by the landscape. She turned a handle and pressed a switch. A light came on, and she moved to the side to let Chris see in.
“This is your wardrobe space, and past the other door is your bathroom.”
Chris peered in and saw empty clothes rails on both sides with drawers below them. At the end of the dressing area, he could see a small bathroom with a toilet, a sink, and a shower stall against the far wall, which from what he could make out, seemed to be moving.
Chris walked into the room, curious, and his mouth dropped open in amazement.
“Are those real jellyfish?” he asked, staring in wonder at the wall, which was, it turned out, a giant aquarium filled with gently pulsating jellyfish floating around.
Maura shuddered.
“Not my cup of tea, I can tell you. They told me it’s supposed to be calming—though for the life of me I can’t see how anyone could relax when they’re showering next to hundreds of deadly creatures! What’s wrong with a blooming goldfish in a bowl, I say.”
Chris couldn’t have agreed less—he thought the jellyfish were beautiful. He stared at the wall, hypnotized, until Maura called him back into the bedroom and broke his trance.
“We’ll sort you out some clothes tomorrow,” she said. “In the meantime, there’s a toothbrush and a towel on your bed. Now try to get yourself a good night’s rest. You’ll need it. Big day tomorrow!”
“Thanks,” said Chris. “This is amazing.”
“Ah, well, I’m glad you like it. I’m off now. Night, night, love,” said Maura, and walked out, closing the door behind her.
Chris climbed up the ladder and sat on the edge of his bed. He looked around at his new room and was filled with a strange feeling—a mix of excitement, trepidation, and loneliness.
He kicked his shoes off and lay back on the bed. It was only then that he noticed that the ceiling was black, except for a bright moon in the far corner and a thousand twinkling stars. He stared up at them, then saw a comet shoot across the top of the room.
“How strange,” said Chris, but he was too tired to think. He closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
• CHAPTER NINE •
The next morning
Chris woke to the sound of birds singing and a warm light on his closed eyes. He opened them and saw clear blue skies above him.
“What . . . ?” Chris sat up, disoriented, then remembered where he was. Amazed, he looked around him and saw that the landscape was now bathed in morning light. The grass of the field about him glistened with dew, and the trees in the distance swayed gently in the breeze that he could hear whispering faintly about him. Chris leaned over and touched the wall. It felt cool and smooth, like glass, and Chris realized that he was looking at a screen.
There was a knock on the door.
“Can I come in?” said a voice Christopher recognized as Maura’s.
“Yes,” called Chris, and Maura opened the door, carrying a mug. She walked over to Chris’s bed and passed it to him.
“Now, I know it’s early, but you’d better drink that up and have a quick shower. I’ll see you in the Map Room. There’s a car waiting for you upstairs.”
“A car?”
“Miss Sonata arranged for you to go buy some new clothes. You can have some breakfast when you get there.”
Chris hesitated.
“What’s wrong, love?”
“It’s just that . . . well, I don’t have any money to buy clothes.”
Maura smiled. “Don’t worry your head about that. Miss Sonata explained that you had to leave home in a bit of rush.”
Chris reddened, wondering exactly how much Maura knew.
“There’s nothing to be embar
rassed about, love,” said Maura gently. “We all need a bit of help sometimes. Now, Miss Sonata’s taken care of everything. You just enjoy yourself.”
“Really? I could pay it back when—”
“Don’t be so silly,” interrupted Maura. “You don’t have to pay anything back. Every growing boy needs new clothes once in a while, so will you stop your worrying and finish up that cup of tea?”
Chris nodded gratefully and took a sip from the hot mug.
“I’ll see you in the Map Room in ten minutes,” said Maura as she walked out.
Chris took another sip, then left the mug on the shelf by his bed and climbed down the ladder. He showered quickly, watching the jellyfish circle gently around the aquarium, then dressed in the clothes he had arrived in.
He met Maura in the Map Room, and they took the kitchen elevator back up to the ground floor. This time he activated the kettle himself with Maura’s permission, much to his delight.
• • •
Out in the street, which was still dark, Chris found Ron standing at the bottom of the stairs by the waiting car. John, he saw, was already squeezed into the driver’s seat, ready to go.
“Have a good time, love, and we’ll see you back here in a couple of hours,” said Maura, as Ron opened the door and shooed Chris inside.
“Thanks,” said Chris, as the door closed behind him.
“Mornin’,” said John, starting the engine.
Chris smiled. “Hi,” he said, fastening his seat belt.
“Right,” said Ron, “let’s go. Cleaver and Hawkes.”
“The department store?” asked John, checking.
“Cleaver and Hawkes?” asked Chris. He had expected to be taken to a supermarket to pick up some jeans and a couple of T-shirts, not to London’s most exclusive department store.
“Affirmative,” said Ron.
Chris didn’t respond—he was thinking about the last time he had been inside Cleaver and Hawkes on a cold day in late December, when he was four. His father was on leave from the army and had taken him there with his mother to look around and do some Christmas shopping. He still remembered it now—the carol singers greeting the throngs of shoppers, the enormous Christmas tree in the marble foyer and the smile on his parents’ faces as they watched him run about the toy department in amazement. It was one of the few clear memories he had of his parents together.
“So, doing a bit of shopping?” asked Ron, interrupting Chris’s thoughts.
“Um, yes,” said Chris.
“Just shopping, nothing else?”
“Um, no. Just shopping,” said Chris.
“You can trust us, Christopher,” said Ron, sounding, Chris thought, a bit annoyed. “We need to be kept in the loop to protect you. So I’ll start again. Going to do a bit of shopping, Christopher?”
Chris didn’t know what answer Ron was expecting. “Yes. I’m getting some new clothes.”
“That’s nice,” said Ron, staring at the road ahead, sunglasses on. “Just popping out to get a couple of designer belts and some cologne?”
“I don’t think so,” said Chris, confused. “Just some trousers and a couple of tops, probably.”
In an instant Ron unbuckled his seat belt and jumped round in his seat, facing Chris.
“What are you really doing?” he shouted.
John looked round in surprise and grabbed Ron by the arm.
“For goodness’ sake, Ron, calm down,” snapped John, still driving.
Ron did up his seat belt, breathing heavily. “I know, I know,” he said, taking deep breaths, “but he’s not telling us everything, and you know I don’t like secrets, John.”
John didn’t respond. Instead he looked in the side mirror and swerved to the side of the road, where he stopped the car and pulled up the hand brake. He turned to Ron, while Chris sat sheepishly in the back.
“Look, Ron, you need to calm down. The boy doesn’t have to tell you anything. If he says he needs to get some socks, then we’re going to drive him to get them, ’cause that’s what we’re paid to do.”
Ron shrugged his shoulders and turned his head to look out of the window, while Chris sank back into his seat, wishing he could disappear.
Finally Ron spoke. “It’s just . . . well . . . something’s not right, John. Twelve years in Special Forces—personal bodyguards to the Queen, for Pete’s sake—and now they’ve got us living in a cellar, minding a bunch of kids—doesn’t that seem a bit strange to you, John?”
John thought about this for a moment before responding.
“You’ve got a point, Ron, I’m not denying it, but we’re just here to do what we’re told,” he said, and with that he pulled back out onto the road and they continued their journey in silence.
• • •
“We’ll wait here for you,” said John when they finally pulled up outside Cleaver and Hawkes.
“Thanks,” said Chris quietly, glad to get out of the car.
Chris stepped out onto Regent Street and looked around. Although the sky was beginning to lighten, the streetlamps were still on and the sidewalks were mostly empty. Chris looked up at the clock above the entrance. It was only seven thirty in the morning. He walked up to the doors and saw that, although the lights were on inside, the sign on the door said they were still closed. He was about to turn back and tell John they were too early when he saw a lady in the distinctive Cleaver and Hawkes navy-and-gold uniform approach. She smiled and unlocked the door.
“Christopher Lane?” she asked, and Chris nodded, surprised.
“My name is Victoria. Welcome to Cleaver and Hawkes. Please, come in.”
Chris walked in and looked around at the sprawling shop floor. All about him, members of staff were rushing around, preparing to open up for the day.
“Follow me. Personal Shopping is up on floor six.”
Chris followed Victoria to the lobby elevator, and she pressed the call button.
“Have you been to Cleaver and Hawkes before?” asked Victoria, as they waited for the elevator to arrive.
“Um, only once,” said Chris, but he didn’t elaborate and Victoria didn’t ask.
They entered the elevator and Chris saw himself in the mirror. He looked tired and disheveled, even after his shower, and he suddenly felt very out of place.
Victoria saw him looking at himself and smiled warmly.
“You’ll enjoy this, I promise you,” she said reassuringly. Chris smiled awkwardly.
The elevator opened out onto a dark lobby surrounded by illuminated glass cases filled with expensive watches, ties, and belts. A large vase of flowers stood on a pedestal in the center and to the side were two armchairs behind a glass coffee table.
“Take a seat, Christopher, and I’ll just make sure your fitting room is ready.”
Chris sat down and watched Victoria walk quickly down the hall. He looked at the neat stack of magazines fanned out in front of him and picked up the one with a car on the front cover.
He had barely opened the front page when he heard footsteps approach from ahead of him and looked up to see a man with slicked hair and a scowl walking in his direction. As he neared, the man spotted Chris and stopped suddenly. Chris sat uncomfortably while the man looked Christopher up and down, then flinched in horror at the sight of Chris’s worn-out shoes.
“Young man, do you know where you are?” he asked in a snooty voice.
Chris opened his mouth to reply, but the man didn’t give him a chance to speak.
“You are not allowed up here. This is for our VIP customers only. Now, get out of here before somebody sees you. We have a reputation to uphold,” he said, and plucked the magazine from Chris’s hands, then wiped the cover with the corner of his Cleaver and Hawkes jacket.
“I was—” said Chris.
“Just leaving. Yes. Now get out before I have to disinfect the place.”
“Ahh, Julian, there you are!”
Julian and Chris looked up to see Victoria.
“I see you’ve met
Christopher. Christopher is a guest on the Millbank account.”
Julian’s eyes widened in shock.
“The Millbank account?” repeated Julian.
“Yes,” said Victoria, “he is a personal guest of Sir Bentley.” She raised her eyebrows on Sir Bentley’s name, as if to stress the importance of it.
Chris watched as Julian processed the information and squirmed.
“Yes, of course,” said Julian uncomfortably. “Christopher and I were just sharing a little joke.” He turned back to face Chris and gave a small bow.
“Would you like to follow me, sir. Your fitting room is ready for you.”
The fitting room was larger than his bedroom at home, and Chris looked around in awe at the opulent surroundings. Large vases of fresh flowers surrounded him, and an ornate crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The room was almost empty, except for a long cream sofa in the center; a changing cubicle to the side, cordoned off by a heavy blue velvet curtain; and a tall, ornate mirror at the other end. Chris noticed the light carpet, which looked as if it had never been stepped on, and then behind him with sudden panic, hoping that his dirty shoes hadn’t left a mark. Thankfully, they hadn’t.
Julian took a measuring tape and notebook out of his jacket pocket and began to take notes as he measured Chris. Chris stood awkwardly as Julian rushed round him with the tape, moving his arms and legs around as if he were a puppet. Both stayed completely silent throughout, until finally Julian stepped back with a sheepish smile.
“Thank you for your patience, sir. I’m all done. If you would care to take a seat while I make some notes. Breakfast will be served in just a moment.”
“Okay, thanks,” said Chris, still feeling very much out of place. He walked over to the cream sofa and sat on the edge of it awkwardly, his back straight and hands on his lap, while Julian began to scribble numbers furiously in his little black notebook.
After a few minutes Victoria walked in, followed by another woman pushing a cart covered with a white tablecloth. On it was a lavish selection of pastries, toast, cereals, juices, tea, and coffee and a collection of magazines. Victoria directed the trolley over to Chris, then handed Julian a clipboard, and Julian scurried off.
The Ability (Ability, The) Page 9