Gregory's Game Read Online Free PDF Page B

roots?’ Patrick asked.
    â€˜A very few tenuous ones,’ Gregory told him. ‘I always assumed that the only time I’d be fully planted was the day they finally put me in the ground.’
    Meal over, Patrick excused himself. He had work to do that he’d rather get out of the way so he could have a free weekend. Gregory helped Harry to clear the table and wash up. Harry had switched on the radio and the news informed them that the populated world was still doing nasty things to itself. The local bulletin spoke of a car crash on the coast road and ensuing delays and reports of a suspicious death a few miles down the road at Halsingham. Gregory recognized the name of the village, but could not place what bell it rang. Maybe, he thought, he’d just passed a sign for it recently.
    â€˜Shall we go through to the living room?’ Harry asked. ‘I could do with a drink and I’m not keen on drinking alone.’
    â€˜I should go,’ Gregory said. ‘I’ve imposed for long enough.’
    â€˜Do you have somewhere to be or are you just being polite?’
    Gregory smiled. ‘A drink would be nice.’ He followed Harry through to the small sitting room. It was plainly furnished. A sofa, a chair, a television in the corner and …
    â€˜You’re into hi-fis?’
    â€˜My one real indulgence, I’m afraid. I love my music. It’s not a new system, but it does the job. Truth is, the speakers are a bit over the top for the room and I’ve never had the amp up past three, but—’
    â€˜A Pioneer A400, that’s something of a classic,’ Gregory said.
    â€˜I bought it a long time ago, but it’s a fine piece of kit and I’d have to spend a lot to better it. If you open that cupboard door, you’ll find the music. Pick something.’
    â€˜The music cupboard,’ Gregory laughed. It was just that though, stacked full of CDs and vinyl. He selected a Pat Metheny album and handed it to Harry and for a little while the two of them sat, whisky in hand, music surrounding and enfolding them, like two old friends who don’t need to make conversation. Then finally Gregory asked, ‘So, what’s your story, Harry?’
    â€˜My story? I don’t think I have one.’
    â€˜Everyone has a story.’
    â€˜And do you relate yours very often?’ Harry wondered.
    â€˜Fair point.’ Gregory leaned back in his chair and sipped his whisky. ‘Does it bother you? That I’m here?’
    â€˜Bother me? I don’t know. Why?’
    Gregory waited for Harry to answer his own question.
    â€˜You’re a guest in my house. Patrick brought you home and I trust his judgement and he’s always been welcome to bring people home with him. To bring friends home.’
    â€˜And am I a friend?’
    Harry scrutinized his visitor. ‘You want to know how I feel about you, knowing something of what you are,’ he said. ‘For some reason, my judgement is important to you. Why is that, Gregory? Why should you care?’
    Gregory nodded. ‘Fair point,’ he said again. ‘And one I don’t have a clear answer to. I suppose I’m at a crossroads in my life, Harry. I suppose I see you and Patrick as somehow neutral observers, if that makes sense.’
    Harry laughed. ‘I don’t think our small dealings with you make either of us qualified observers or qualified advisers,’ he said. He set his glass down and folded his hands across his rather ample stomach.
    â€˜I’m predisposed to like you. I’m also predisposed not to want to know too much. Was it Orwell who said something about us sleeping soundly in our beds at night because rough men fight our battles for us?’
    â€˜ People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf ,’ Gregory said. ‘And you see me as one of the rough men.’
    â€˜Yes. But