The Godson Read Online Free

a permanent twinkle in them and the slightly crooked mouth all added up to make him a political cartoonist’s delight. With his head characteristically tilted to one side when he spoke and his paunch and rolling gait, he ambled across the room to Price.
    â€˜Price, you old bastard,’ he grinned. ‘How are you, mate?’
    â€˜Not too bad, you thieving old shit,’ replied Price, returning the grin. ‘How’s yourself?’
    â€˜Fantastic.’
    They shook hands then hugged each other in a warm embrace.
    Yvonne gave a discreet cough. ‘I’ll be in the study if you want me, sir.’ O’Malley nodded; she gave Price a brief smile then left them alone.
    â€˜By God it’s good to see you, Price.’
    â€˜Yeah. You too, Loz. Bad luck we can’t get together more often.’
    â€˜Yes,’ sighed the Attorney General. ‘But I don’t think the public would like it very much.’
    â€˜No. But I’m sure those grubs on the newspapers would.’ Price removed his jacket, cap and gloves and placed them on the back of one of the lounges. ‘So what’s doing, Loz, old pal? What’s the strength of dragging me away from my nice, warm, illegal casino down to this cold, rotten prick of a joint? Do you need some of my money to help balance your shitty budget?’
    â€˜No, nothing like that,’ laughed O’Malley. ‘But Christ almighty, Price. Let’s have a drink first. Then we can discuss what I told you over the phone.’
    Price rubbed his hands together and stood in front of the fire. ‘I certainly won’t say no to that, old son.’
    The Attorney General produced a bottle of Bowmore and a soda syphon from a bar in a corner of the room. He tinkled some ice into two crystal tumblers, gave them each a goodhit of Scotch and a splash of soda water and handed one to Price.
    â€˜Here’s to Balmain,’ he grinned.
    Price clinked his glass against O’Malley’s. ‘Yeah. Good old Tiger Town.’
    They sat on opposite lounges and got stuck into the beautiful Scotch while they talked about their larrikin past like old mates who have made good in the world are apt to do. An hour and a half flew by — most of the Bowmore was gone, and if the Attorney General of Australia and one of the leading members of the Sydney underworld weren’t half-pissed, they were making an excellent imitation of it.
    â€˜Anyway,’ said Price, taking an unsteady turn at topping up their glasses. ‘So much for crab-pots in Birchgrove and hanging around the Kodocks Club. What’s the story with this pommy kid?’
    O’Malley eased back against the lounge and closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Righto,’ he said. ‘This pommy kid happens to be my godson.’ Price raised his eyebrows slightly. ‘I got to be very close friends with his father when I was doing my law degree at Cambridge. His name is Peregrine Normanhurst the Third. He’s a baronet and in line to the throne, sort of. His father is Lord Armitage Normanhurst. An ex-admiral of the fleet and the third Duke of Orange. They’re an old naval family.’
    Price nodded dryly. ‘Sounds like this kid comes from a long line of naval oranges.’
    â€˜Price … please.’ The Attorney General held up one hand. ‘Anyway, Peregrine’s a nice enough kid, from what I can remember. But evidently he’s now turned into a shocking Hooray Henry. He’s filthy rich and he hangs around with all these other rich kids in Sloane Square in London. Sloane Rangers, they call them. The so-called upper class. All they do is spend money and make complete arseholes of themselves, and their parents always bail them out.’
    Price nodded. ‘I know a few like them in Double Bay. Nothing a good kick fair in the arse wouldn’t fix up.’
    â€˜I agree. Anyway for a dare, silly bloody Peregrine has jumped in his Aston Martin