A Window into Time by Peter F. Hamilton

Author:Peter F. Hamilton [Hamilton, Peter F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2016-07-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Off to the Office

Spain wasn’t as bad as I’d been expecting. Actually, I got quite a surprise out there, and what made it even more remarkable was that it came from Barney.

Dad and Rachel went out clubbing every night. But three evenings, we all went out to dinner together first. Going plush, Gran called it. We got taxis down to Puerto Banus each time. Barney said it was the posh end of Marbella. I think he was right. The streets were so full of supercars it was like being on the set of Top Gear. People wore clothes that you normally only saw on mannequins in windows of exclusive shops. And all the white people were so dark—either murky orange or a really weird brown like their skin was coffee-stained. The older they were, the darker the shade and the more wrinkles they had—same as Barney.

There were whole streets that were mostly bars and restaurants and clubs. Everything was so much cleaner and smarter than back home. I kind of saw why my grandparents liked living here, and the warmth was supposed to make it easier if you had arthritis—which all old people have.

We went to Cono’s on the first night. It had a huge open courtyard in the middle, with a fountain right at the center. The vines overhead were combined with tiny lights, like bright stars in the leaves. It was kind of cool, and Barney got all excited when he saw some Premier League footballers at a table down the other end. The girls sitting with them had dresses a lot shorter than the one Rachel wore. And I’d thought that was small enough. They were younger than Rachel, too, like they could’ve been senior pupils at St. George’s.

“You going to have a beer then, lad?” Barney asked me with a laugh as we sat down.

“You leave Jules alone,” Gran told him.

“No thanks,” I said. “I don’t like beer.”

“You’ve tried some then, lad? Good on you.”

“I don’t like the smell,” I told him. “Olfactory response is a strong indicator of taste.”

“Blimy. A Proctor who doesn’t like beer. Can’t have that. We’ll have to break you in slowly, eh, lad? Start you off on some ladybeer.”

“On what?”

“Ladybeer: a shandy, lad. A shandy.”

“Oh.”

“He’ll be all right,” Dad said to Barney.

“Now, you make sure you order a starter as well as a dessert,” Gran told me. “I still think you’re too thin.”

I opened the menu. It was huge, and mainly fish, which is the biggest cause of food poisoning (apart from rice in takeaways), but fortunately all the dishes had an English translation underneath so I could avoid the really dangerous bits.

Barney clapped his hands loudly. “Come on, come on, garson; a man can die of thirst in here.”

“Behave,” Gran said in a sharp voice.

“It’s all right, girl; they all know me in here. They should mind.” He turned to me, suddenly solemn. “I knew what it was like here before they built this town.”

“Do you?”

“Ooh, Jules,” Gran said, patting my hand.

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