Hurricane Gold by Charlie Higson Read Free Book Online Page B

the heavens.
    ‘Looks like we just made it in time,’ he yelled.
    The black mass was swirling and boiling in a fast circular motion and it was bearing down on the town like a huge angry beast.
    ‘It’s not the hurricane season,’ said Stone, his voice made thin and harsh by the headphones. ‘But that sure is some storm.’
    In the storm’s dark heart there were flashes of lightning. Charmian wiped her window, which had steamed up. As she tried to look, however, a gust of wind knocked the plane sideways and they banked steeply.
    ‘I’m gonna head inland,’ shouted Stone. ‘Try and outrun it. Once we get enough height we’ll be fine, but it’s pretty choppy out there just now.’
    The engines complained as Stone pulled back on the controls and eased some more power out of the throttles. Charmian was forced back into her seat as the plane climbed higher into the sky.
    She heard Mendoza throw up into a paper bag.
    How she envied James, snug and warm inside the house.
    James was in the middle of supper, but he wasn’t enjoying it at all.
    It was Precious. She was quite the rudest and most self-centred person he had ever met, and she treated the Mexican servants horribly. He supposed that since her father had gone she was relishing the opportunity of being the mistress of the house, and he feared that she was also putting on a show for his benefit.
    ‘Oh, don’t be some clumsy, Rita,’ she said to the plump middle-aged woman who was trying to serve some boiled potatoes. ‘You are too careless. You nearly dropped them in my lap.’
    Rita muttered an apology while Precious poked at the potatoes with a fork.
    ‘These won’t do,’ she said. ‘Take them away. They are not cooked properly. I won’t have any potatoes, bring me rice.’
    As Rita waddled out with the serving dish Precious shook her head.
    ‘The problem is that they don’t really understand about good food,’ she said. ‘They eat such slop themselves, it’s foolish to think they could serve anything halfway decent for civilised people like us. I have told Daddy that we should get a chef from Europe, preferably France, and definitely not from England. The English do not know how to cook. Rita is just a peasant. All they know about is beans and rice. But they will eat anything, you know. I hear they even eat lizard. Ugh. Can you imagine that? Even if I was starving to death I would never eat a lizard, but they do not know any better.’
    The three of them – James, Precious and JJ – were sitting around a large antique mahogany table. There was silver cutlery and silver candelabras and silver serving dishes, all laid out neatly on a gleaming white lace tablecloth.
    On the wall behind Precious was a large painting of her and her brother, posing formally in stiff expensive clothes. It looked like it had been done by the same artist who had painted the dogfight in the entrance hall. James thought he was better at painting aeroplanes than he was at painting people. On the wall opposite was the portrait of a woman. She was thin and beautiful and cold. James thought it must be Mrs Stone, Precious’s mother.
    He took a sip of water from a crystal glass. He was sweating badly. The air in here was damp and thick. The humidity was terrible, and the rain, which hammered down in a steady monotonous torrent, hadn’t helped to clear the atmosphere. Maybe when the heart of the storm hit it would help. There was a rumble of thunder, some way off in the distance still, but growing nearer.
    A big ornate grandfather clock in the corner chimed five. It was going to be a long evening.
    Outside, Alonzo was struggling with a storm shutter, trying to fix it over a window, but the wind was already strong and the shutter was heavy. Luis was supposed to be helping him, but he’d been sent off to fetch a hammer and nails ten minutes ago and still hadn’t returned. Luis was fifteen and the youngest of Mr Stone’s servants. As far as Alonzo was concerned, the boy was more