The First Time I Saw Your Face Read Online Free PDF

remember, once I fling the mud, it’ll stick.’
    Mack was flailing around in that stinking water.
    O’Dowd bent down and fished out an A4 brown envelopefrom his briefcase before placing it delicately on Mack’s knees.
    Mack looked down at it as though it was a piece of excrement: brown envelopes, unless stuffed with cash, were never good news.
    ‘Romantic Sir Teddy Montgomery also kept a rather lovely photo of him and the woman. Have a look at it, Mack … though really no son should have to see his mother doing that to a man.’
    Mack pushed the envelope off his knees and heard it land on the floor.
    ‘You liked my mother,’ he said. ‘How can you do this to her?’
    ‘All’s fair in love and circulation wars. And I have a duty to inform a betrayed public of my findings … unless –’ O’Dowd bent and picked the envelope off the floor – ‘unless I decide for some reason, not unconnected with a famous actress, to spike this story. Think about it, Mack, what Cressida gets up to is of global interest; it’ll make you, me, the paper, big money. The Montgomery story’s just a little domestic something that’ll soon be old news – except for Mongomery’s lover and her family, of course. No one will ever let them off the hook.’ O’Dowd did a shifty little side glance. ‘How old are those nieces of yours now?’
    ‘OK,’ Mack said, slipping under the water without any more struggle. ‘This Jennifer woman. Where do I start?’

CHAPTER 3
    Jennifer tried to concentrate on what Mr Armstrong was saying and filter out the muffled laughter coming from the poetry section. Luckily Mr Armstrong was fairly deaf and would not realise that it pinpointed exactly where two other members of the library staff were hiding to enjoy another classic Armstrong performance.
    ‘Also, pet,’ he said, leaning against the counter and wetting his forefinger, ‘as well as the bad language, there are some scenes of a sexual nature on page thirty-four.’ He turned the pages of the book with the specially wetted finger until he reached the offending passage and began to read in a wavering voice: ‘Pulling her to his chest, he placed her hand on his iron-hard member thrusting against the confines of his rough, calico breeches and suddenly the two hard nubs of—’
    ‘Yup, that’s definitely sex,’ Jennifer cut in, and looked towards the poetry section, where Auden through to Coleridge was actually shaking.
    ‘Aye,’ Mr Armstrong said eventually, ‘shocking.’
    He glanced down at the piece of paper in his hand covered with faint, spindly writing, and, as he did so, his stick fell off his arm, causing him to lean more heavily against the counter.
    ‘Would you like to sit down, Mr Armstrong?’
    ‘Aye, I would.’
    Jennifer fetched a chair and settled him in it, lifting his carrier bag up off the floor and placing it gently in his lap.
    ‘So what’s next?’ she asked when she was back behind the counter.
    ‘Page one hundred and eighty-four – blasphemy.’ Mr Armstrong turned the pages torturously slowly, referring to his list from time to time, and Jennifer looked at the library clock, hoping that somebody would come in and give her an excuse to call Sheila and Lionel out of hiding. Not much hope of that: late-night opening and only an hour until closing time. The graveyard shift. The only voices Jennifer could hear were coming from the children’s section, a woman and a little girl by the sound of it. They must have come in when she was up in the office.
    It was always a mistake, one way or the other, to come out of the office.
    Mr Armstrong found the offending page and held the book up for Jennifer to read, obviously deciding that the blasphemous passage would sully him further should he reacquaint himself with it.
    Jennifer scanned the words. ‘The character just says, “God’s Blood”, Mr Armstrong. He is a pirate.’
    Mr Armstrong sucked his teeth. ‘Then, on page two hundred, more sex.’
    The torturous