The Night Manager

So when Frisky and Tabby threw open the door and switched on the blue overhead storm light, and Frisky the left-hander made for Jonathan's right side, leaving his left arm free for emergencies, and Tabby knelt to the left of Jonathan's head ― fussing with his keys as usual, never having the right one ready in advance ― everything was exactly the way the close observer had predicted, except that he had not expected them to be quite so frank about the purpose of their visit.

"We're all very, very fed up with you, I'm afraid, Tommy. The Chief particularly," said Tabby. "Which is why you're going on a journey. Sorry about this, Tommy. You had your chance, but you would be stubborn."

Which said, Tabby dealt Jonathan a half-hearted side-kick in the stomach, in case he was thinking of being a bother.

But Jonathan was long past the bothersome stage, as they could see. In fact there was an awkward moment when Frisky and Tabby seemed to wonder whether the bother was over for good, because when they saw him slumped forward with his head slewed sideways and his mouth open, Frisky dropped to his knees and yanked up Jonathan's eyelid with his thumb and peered into his eye.

"Tommy? Come on. Can't have you missing your own funeral, can we?"

Then they did a wonderful thing. They let him lie there. They unchained him and they ungagged him, and while Frisky sponged his face down and put a fresh plaster across his mouth but no bung, Tabby pulled off what was left of his shirt and got him into a fresh one, arm by arm.

But if Jonathan was playing floppy as a rag doll, already his secret store of energy was emptying itself into every part of his body. His muscles, bruised and half-paralysed by cramp, were screaming out to him for the relief of action. His smashed hands and crumpled legs were glowing, his blurred vision was clearing even while Frisky mopped his eyes.

He waited. He remembered the advantage of that extra moment of delay.

Lull them, he thought, as they hauled him to his feet.

Lull them, he thought again, as he slung an arm round each of their shoulders for support and let his weight hang on them as they dragged him down the corridor.

Lull them, he thought, as Frisky went crookedly ahead of him up the spiral staircase and Tabby propped him up from below.

Oh, God, he thought, as he saw stars stretched across black sky, and a great red moon floating on the water. Oh, God, give me this last moment.

They stood on the deck, the three of them, like a family group, and Jonathan could hear Roper's thirties music echoing through the early darkness from the taverna at the stern, and the jolly sounds of chatter as the evening revelries began. The forward end of the boat was unlit, and Jonathan wondered whether they intended to shoot him: one shot at the height of the music, who would hear?

The boat had changed course. A stretch of shore lay only a couple of miles off. There was a road. He could see the row of streetlights below the stars, more like mainland than island. Or perhaps a row of islands, who could tell? Sophie, let's do this together. Time to say a fond goodbye to the worst man in the world.

His guards had come to a halt, waiting for something. Slumped between them, an arm still clutched round each of their shoulders, Jonathan waited too, pleased to notice that his mouth had started bleeding again inside the plaster, which would have the double effect of loosening it and making him look even more smashed up than he was.

Then he saw Roper. He'd probably been there all the time, and Jonathan hadn't spotted him in his white dinner jacket against the white of the bridge. Corkoran was there too, but Sandy Langbourne hadn't made it. Probably screwing one of the maids.

And between Corkoran and Roper he could see Jed, or if he couldn't, God had put her there. But yes, he could see Jed, and she could see him, she saw nothing except him, but Roper must have told her to keep quiet. She was wearing plain jeans and no jewellery, which pleased him unnaturally: he really hated the way Roper hung his money on her. She was looking at him and he was returning her look, but what with his face in the mess it was, she couldn't know that. Probably, with all the extra moaning and sagging he was doing, she wasn't feeling very romantic.

Jonathan slumped still lower in the arms of his guards, and they obligingly stooped and grasped him more firmly round the waist.

"I think he's going," Frisky murmured.

"Where to?" Tabby said.