The Kings of Eternity by Eric Brown Read Free Book Online Page B

hotelier.
    “Mr Langham,” Alexis said, beaming, “what brings you out?”
    “I know the artist,” Langham said shortly. “What was the Englishman asking about me?”
    “Oh, to be famous! He said he was writing a book about you, a - what do they call them? A biographical book?”
    “A biography? About me?”
    “That’s what he said, Mr Langham. He also said that you knew about it.”
    “Well, the bastard was lying. Excuse my English. I’ve authorised nothing of the kind.”
    Alexis touched his arm. “Don’t worry, Mr Langham, we reported no scandal or gossip about you!”
    “Much appreciated. Excuse me, I must see about this...”
    He left Alexis with a nod, then looked across to where he’d last seen the journalist. He turned in a circle, but the Englishman seemed to have vanished into thin air. He hurried to the exit and pushed through the double doors. A gaggle of children obscured his view of the square, and by the time he pushed through them the fat Englishman was squeezing himself into a tiny taxi - like a genie being sucked back into a magic lamp. Langham hurried down the steps, but the taxi was accelerating with its load away from the square.
    He stood in the mellowing evening sunlight and fumed.
    “Daniel? What’s the...? Is something wrong?”
    It was Caroline, hurrying down the steps and across the cobbles towards him.
    “I don’t believe it.”
    “Daniel? Don’t tell me” - she was smiling - “has someone tried to steal a painting?”
    He shook his head. “No, someone is trying to steal my life.”
    She touched his arm and peered at him. “You’re shaking. Are you okay?”
    “I’ll be fine. No thanks to...”
    “Look, let’s go and get that drink, and then you can tell me all about it.”
    She linked arms with him and they walked across the square to the harbour. “I’m sorry,” he was saying. “I noticed this fellow loitering around the village a week ago.”
    “What fellow?”
    “From time to time I’ve had journalists come and try to interview me. They know I don’t give interviews, but that doesn’t seem to stop them.”
    They came to the waterfront and a café bar called, appropriately enough, The Oasis . “Inside, or out here?” Caroline asked.
    “Ah... why not outside, it’s a beautiful night, and soon the stars will be out.” He smiled. “They always seem to have a calming effect.”
    They sat down at a table overlooking the water and ordered drinks, a beer and an orange juice.
    From here he could see the entire majestic sweep of the coastline and, in the distance, hazed in the diffuse light of the setting sun, the peninsula on which his villa was a tiny white chalk mark in the olive groves.
    All he could think about was the bastard racing away in the taxi; he wouldn’t put it past the man to break into his villa while he was away and rifle though his personal effects for scandalous information.
    He was relieved that everything, scandalous or otherwise, was safely locked away.
    “So tell me about the journalist,” Caroline said.
    He took a long swallow of refreshing beer. “Do you know what he was doing at the exhibition? He had the cheek to go around quizzing the locals about me. It turns out that he isn’t just a journalist, oh no - something far worse.”
    She peered at him, mock-shocked. “You mean, there’s something even worse than a journalist?”
    “The bastard - I’m sorry - told Alexis that he was my official biographer, and that I’d authorised the book.”
    “And did you?”
    “What do you think?”
    She laughed, reached out and squeezed his arm. “I know, I know. I’m joking!”
    “A biographer! Can you imagine what pile of lies a man like that would write about me?”
    “A man like what, Daniel? You don’t even know him.”
    “A man,” he said patiently, “who would sneak behind my back asking people about me and lying that he was doing it with my permission. That kind of man.”
    She was watching him. “I’m seeing a