The Night Book Read Online Free PDF Page B

party colours and there was a stage at the front with the party logo as a backdrop. They were late, and people were already moving from drinks in the foyer to the tables.
    Trish surged towards them looking like a mad doll, with her garish make-up and blonde frizzy hair. Her husband Graeme followed, leathery and affable and blurred already with booze.
    Trish said, ‘We’ve got a table right at the front, next to the Hallwrights.’ She took Karen’s arm and they threaded between the tables.
    Graeme gave Simon a conspiratorial look and handed him a glass. ‘I’ll introduce you to David Hallwright.’
    Simon found the card with his name on it and sat down, with Trish on one side and an elderly woman on the other. Across the table he faced a plump couple who resembled each other, both with ruddy complexions and black hair. Rob Farnham the QC was telling Jenny Francis a joke and Graeme was talking to a thin, nervous-looking woman whose hand shook when she raised her glass. The light was too bright.
    There was a lull in the music and the nervous woman said too loudly, ‘I can’t believe that .’ She blushed and laughed. Then everyone was looking the same way as David Hallwright and his wife were ushered to their places at the next table. Somebody clapped, and there was a burst of laughter, a few extra claps. David Hallwright made a slight mock bow, to more laughter and a few cheers. Someone shouted, ‘Our next prime minister,’ and finally a proper storm of applause broke out. Everyone was smiling. Karen clapped, with shining eyes.
    Simon felt a hand on his shoulder and a voice said hollowly in his ear, ‘Our time has come.’
    It was Peter Brown, a colleague from the hospital, smiling sardonically. Simon said, ‘How are you, mate.’
    ‘Drunk.’
    Peter Brown passed by, and a waiter leaned over and filled Simon’s glass.
    He had a clear view of David Hallwright, who was deep in conversation with the man next to him. Hallwright was very tall, about six foot four, with narrow shoulders, small, nervous hands, thick, fair hair and a smooth, pink complexion. He had keen blue-grey eyes and a narrow face, the eyes underscored with shadows. He walked with a limp, the result of an injury when he was young — it was said that he’d fallen off his motorbike and a car had come to rest on his leg, and been lifted off by a crowd of passers-by. The leg had been saved from amputation, but his walk was a kind of smooth undulation, and he swung his arm to compensate. He was left-handed, which added a slight sense of embattlement; it gave the impression of his grappling, overcoming physical obstacles.
    Hallwright said something and the other two laughed. He sat back, and the men leaned respectfully towards him. Around the table people were talking to one another, but kept stealing looks at him. There was a brittle atmosphere in the room; the men talked loudly, the women had an air of overexcitement. People drifted past Hallwright’s table, casting fawning looks; others were herded by a suited functionary into a holding pattern to one side, where they sipped their drinks and talked and pretended they weren’t queuing to say their piece to the Leader.
    The waiters began to bring food, and the knot of hopefuls around the top table cleared, giving Simon a clear view of the people seated facing him.
    Trish elbowed him. ‘Simon. Are you listening? Are you paying attention? I’m saying if we could raise just a quarter of the money needed …’
    Simon interrupted her. ‘Who’s that?’
    He was looking at a slim woman in a grey dress, seated two along from Hallwright. She had a cloud of fine, light-coloured hair, large, pale eyes, an expressive face, slender hands and a wide mouth. She was listening to the man next to her, but not with any particular attention; she looked as if her mind was elsewhere. Simon had just seen her grimace at her plate, as if what she was hearing had displeased her. She played nervously with her silver