The Thief of Time by John Boyne

Author:John Boyne [BOYNE, JOHN]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780312378042
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

Chapter 16

Missing Dominique

Nat Pepys was not a handsome man but from the way he carried himself it was easy to see that he had the self-confidence of a man completely at ease with both his appearance and his status in the world. He strode around the grounds like a peacock, his legs stretching further ahead of his body than seemed entirely natural; his neck bobbing back and forth like a consumptive turkey. He arrived at Cageley House alone one Tuesday afternoon, riding his horse so hard down the driveway that when he pulled up in front of us at the stables, the poor creature had to call on all its reserves to stop itself from falling over. The damn fool might have been thrown head forwards where he would have undoubtedly broken his neck and I could see the horse’s face break into an expression of surprise and pain and I felt sorry for her; although I had never met Nat before, Jack had already filled my head with his contempt for the man and I was quick to resent his behaviour.

It was a drizzly afternoon and, as he jumped off his horse, he looked up towards the heavens as if one cold stare at the skies above would piece the clouds back together above his head. I watched as he strolled towards us without a care in the world, sniffing the air as if he owned it and was pleased to come back to Cageley to claim it as his own. He was not as tall as either Jack or I – standing in his riding boots he commanded no more than five foot seven or eight – and although it was only his twenty-first birthday upon him, his long brown hair was falling out to reveal great clumps of empty scalp beneath. His face bore the scars of an adolescent acne, although his eyes were of a deep blue colour and were the first thing one noticed about him; perhaps his only attractive characteristic. Above his lip was a pencil thin moustache which he pressed flat every so often, as if he suspected it might have fallen off during the ride.

‘Hello, Colby,’ he said, ignoring me completely as he strode towards Jack, who stopped shovelling out the stables for a moment and leaned on his pitchfork instead, squinting at Nat with barely concealed distaste. ‘Doing all right, are you?’

‘It’s Holby, Mr Pepys,’ said Jack in a cold tone. ‘Jack Holby. Remember?’

Nat shrugged and smiled up at him in a condescending manner. The differences between them were obvious; Jack was tall, strong and handsome, his fair hair glistened in the sun, his whole body testified to the fact that he spent most of his time outdoors; Nat was none of these things. His complexion was sallow, his build slight. It would have been clear to anyone which of these two boys, not far separated in age, had worked throughout his youth and which had not. Knowing Jack’s dislike of

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