Scorpion [Scorpions 01] Read Online Free PDF

FOUR
        
        Maurice Jenkins drained the last of the tea from his tin mug, smacked his lips in satisfaction, and lay back in the grass, staring up into the star-filled sky. He drew in a breath of the fresh night air and wished he could spend the rest of his life in this ideal condition.
        He had pitched his small tent on gently sloping ground where he could look out over the cliffs to the sea beyond. Before darkness had fallen he had set up his campsite, lit his primus-stove, and cooked himself a meal. Afterwards he had settled back with a large mug of freshly brewed tea, contentedly watching the daylight slip away and the mantle of night cloak the land and the sea.
        Maurice lived in London, in the same house where he’d been born forty-three years ago. He ran a small newsagents in the Mile End Road. It didn’t make a lot of money but there was enough for Maurice. He had never married so there was only himself to support - apart from Rex, his black and white terrier-cum-collie dog. Maurice and Rex existed in close harmony, each dependent upon the other, satisfied with their ordered, routine lives. And one of their routines came round each August. In the first week of the month Maurice closed the small shop for two weeks, exchanged his shiny worn suit for a pair of baggy shorts and an old jacket, packed up his haversack, and with Rex alongside took a train down to Kent. There he spent his fortnight’s holiday hiking along the coast, enjoying the lush scenery and the invigorating climate, which was a world apart from the fume-ridden air of the city.
        Each year Maurice took with him a favorite volume from his treasured collection of books. He was a devotee of the classics, his ultimate choice, Dickens. This year, being no exception, he had brought along a leather-bound copy of David Copperfield . He had read the book a number of times, yet with each new journey through the pages he discovered fresh joys, saw deeper into Dickens’s intricate characterization. Every evening, after his meal was over, he would finally retire to his tent and spend an hour slowly reliving the experiences of one of Dickens’s wonderful creations.
        He glanced at his watch. It was almost nine. Time to retire, Maurice thought. He sat up. Sweat beaded his face, trickling down his neck. If only it weren’t so close, he thought. From the moment he had stepped off the train three days ago the weather had been beautiful - ideal for hiking. But it had changed that morning; the heat had closed in, saturating the very air. It was that cloying, muggy sort of heat, the kind you couldn’t escape from.
        Maurice stood up, pulling his damp shirt away from his lean body. Even his shorts were clinging stickily to his flesh. He made sure that the primus was extinguished before he walked to the small tent. Unzipping the flap he got down on his hands and knees and crawled inside. The inside of the tent was like an oven. Maurice grumbled softly to himself, realizing he’d made a mistake in closing the flap earlier. He switched on the battered little radio he’d brought along; soft music filled the tent. Maurice undressed and pulled on his pajamas, neatly folding his clothes and placing them beside his sleeping bag ready for morning. He lit the small gas-lamp and adjusted the flame so there was enough illumination for him to read, then crawled into his sleeping bag. He lay for a while listening to the radio, then turned it low and reached for his book.
        He had been reading for almost half an hour when a faint rustle of sound reached him from outside the tent. Maurice lowered the book and listened. A smile crossed his face. Good old Rex was back. Part of Rex’s enjoyment of the holiday was to be able to go off on his own for a few hours and have a good roam around. Maurice didn’t worry. He knew that Rex would come back. Nor was he concerned about what Rex might get up to. The dog, though part collie, was a