King and Joker (26 page)

She yawned with the pressure-change. The plane bumped, once, and she let the deceleration down the runway sink her into the upholstery while she listened to the strangely satisfying well-that's-over note of the reversed jets. I wonder if Nonny's been faithful to him all the time, either, she thought. Mother has, of course. I mightn't even be his daughter … No, that's nonsense, that's starting another sort of story. They love me. He loves me. That isn't half-and-half. I love them too—not Paradise Island, but people … and I'm free now. He'll find a way of letting me go. I think Nonny might be glad to stop the lie, too—it must have been a frightful strain on her, sometimes. And when Mother sees it's right … And I'll never need to remind him that I've seen him standing to attention by Kinunu's bed, with his trousers round his ankles, snuffling …

As the plane swung to its bay Father twisted to peer through the rain-streaked window.

“I'll never understand the GBP,” he said. “Not if I live till I'm as old as Durdy. Here we are, an expensive luxury, time of crisis, pound at two dollars—we let the Family get itself into a godawful mess, mostly my fault—bombs and murders and other unbecoming mayhem—and then more by luck than judgment we get ourselves out again and they turn up in thousands to cheer us as if we'd just flown in from winning a war single-handed.

“God, it's absolutely pissing down. At least somebody's managed to find the steps this time. No thank you, Turner, we'll have to do without brollies and brave the elements—there's a lot of them on the roof up there and they won't see a thing otherwise. Will you go first, darling? I'll come slap behind you. Leave a bit of a gap, Lulu—you're the one they want to see—sure you can face that?—then Bert. OK, Turner, tell them to open up.”

The rain was streaks of diamond under the floodlights and made a rattly drumming on the metal of wings and fuselage. A big jet was taking off, but both sounds were drowned by the crash of cheers as Mother stepped out into the rain. When Father followed her the noise screwed itself up a pitch. Louise saw Nonny smugly getting her umbrella ready to open. She squeezed her hand, got a squeeze back, put on her public face—the one for use at funerals—and walked to the door. The white, lit faces were banked shingle, the rain was spume, the cheers were roaring surf. She paused on the top step, as though waiting for Albert. Flashlights sparkled like fireworks at a royal birth. As she came down the steps she thought I hope Durdy's watching. This is just her cup of tea.

About the Author

P
eter Dickinson was born in Africa but raised and educated in England­. From 1952 to 1969 he was on the editorial staff of
Punch
, and since then has earned his living writing fiction of various kinds for children and adults. His books have been published in several languages throughout the world.

The recipient of many awards, Dickinson has been shortlisted nine times for the prestigious Carnegie Medal for children's literature and was the first author to win it twice. The author of twenty-one crime and mystery novels for adults, Dickinson was also the first to win the Gold Dagger Award of the Crime Writers' Association for two books running:
Skin Deep
(1968) and
A Pride of Heroes
(1969).

A collection of Dickinson's poetry,
The Weir
, was published in 2007. His latest book,
In the Palace of the Khans
, was published in 2012 and was nominated for the Carnegie Medal.

Dickinson has served as chairman of the Society of Authors and is a fellow of the Royal Society of Literature. He was made an Officer of the Order of the British Empire in 2009 for services to literature.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1976 by Peter Dickinson

Cover design by Mimi Bark

978-1-4976-8449-2

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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