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Chapters (61)
  1. Landing Page
  2. APRIL IN SPAIN
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. LONDON
  6. Chapter 1
  7. DONOSTIA
  8. Chapter 2
  9. Chapter 3
  10. Chapter 4
  11. Chapter 5
  12. Chapter 6
  13. Chapter 7
  14. LONDON
  15. Chapter 8
  16. DONOSTIA
  17. Chapter 9
  18. Chapter 10
  19. Chapter 11
  20. Chapter 12
  21. Chapter 13
  22. Chapter 14
  23. Chapter 15
  24. Chapter 16
  25. DUBLIN
  26. Chapter 17
  27. Chapter 18
  28. Chapter 19
  29. Chapter 20
  30. Chapter 21
  31. Chapter 22
  32. Chapter 23
  33. Chapter 24
  34. Chapter 25
  35. Chapter 26
  36. Chapter 27
  37. Chapter 28
  38. Chapter 29
  39. Chapter 30
  40. Chapter 31
  41. Chapter 32
  42. Chapter 33
  43. Chapter 34
  44. Chapter 35
  45. DONOSTIA
  46. Chapter 36
  47. Chapter 37
  48. Chapter 38
  49. Chapter 39
  50. Chapter 40
  51. Chapter 41
  52. Chapter 42
  53. Chapter 43
  54. Chapter 44
  55. Chapter 45
  56. DUBLIN
  57. Chapter 46
  58. Also by John Banville
  59. About the Author
  60. By the Same Author
  61. Copyright

Terry had come across Percy for the first time one foggy November night in the King’s Head in Putney. Afterwards it occurred to him that it hadn’t been a chance encounter at all, and that Percy had picked him out deliberately, as a lad likely to help him in the matter of his inheritance. When, coming up to closing time, Percy started telling him about his problem with ‘the Mater’ – he really did talk like that – and how he intended to go about solving it, Terry thought he was joking.

But it was no joke.

When they were saying goodnight outside the pub, their breath rising up in big dense puffs through the already dense pea-souper fog, Percy stuck two tenners into Terry’s breast pocket and suggested they meet in the same place at the same time the next night. Terry was in two minds whether to go, but go he did. When Percy saw him coming in the door he gave him a big smile, and treated him to a pint of pale and a dish of jellied eels, and whispered in his ear that he’d pay him a hundred pounds sterling to put a bullet in the old girl’s noggin.

A hundred quid! Terry had never expected to see that much money all in the one fist.

Two days later he shot Mrs Antrobus in Kensington High Street, in broad daylight, grabbing her bag to make it look like a common or garden snatch job done by some panicky kid. Percy had supplied the pistol – ‘Absolutely untraceable, laddie, I assure you’ – and arranged for it to be got rid of afterwards. This was how Terry discovered just how well connected the fat old poofter was. Untraceable heaters didn’t grow on trees.

Next morning the papers ran a big story on the old girl’s death, accompanied by ‘an artist’s impression’ of ‘the brutal killer’. Terrible likeness.

A few days after the funeral, Terry was treated by his new friend to a slap-up lunch at the Ritz. Terry was uneasy about them being seen together in such a public place, especially after the sudden demise of ‘the Mater’, but Percy gave him a slow wink and said it was all right, that he often came here with ‘handsome young chaps such as yourself’.