apartment was so big. Three doors were uniformly arranged along both side walls, which, in turn, were lavishly adorned with works of art and tapestries. Trey’s eyes were drawn to a giant tapestry in the centre of one wall: the scene sewn into its surface in silken thread showed mounted huntsmen that had cornered a white stag. A lance pierced the animal’s heart; the creature’s head was twisted in agony as it died at its pursuers’ hands.
In the centre of the room, encircled by large obsidian stones, burned a log fire, its smoke being gobbled up by a polished metal hood hanging from a suspended column in the ceiling.
Standing next to the fire, perfectly still and upright, was a tall, powerful-looking man. A large unsightly scar dominated the right side of his face, and it appeared to have healed poorly, the scar tissue pulling the flesh in on itself, giving it an ugly, puckered appearance. His hair was black, with hints of grey, and was cropped close to his head, lending him a distinctly military air. He was wearing a dark blue suit that, like Lucien’s, looked expensive, the cut of his clothing enhancing his muscular frame. He nodded at Trey, his head barely dipping in acknowledgement, before his gaze turned back to Lucien.
‘Welcome back, Lucien.’ The man spoke in a broad Irish accent. He strode across the room towards them, crossing the threshold of the lift, and Trey had to stop himself from taking a step backwards in response.
‘Nice to meet you, young man,’ he said in a voice that sounded as if he gargled with bleach every morning. He held out a hand in greeting.
Trey wasn’t at all surprised to find that the man’s hands were tough and callused: hands that had been used for hard work. He was, however, surprised by the warmth of the handshake, as his hand was gripped firmly and covered by the man’s other hand.
‘Trey, this is Thomas,’ Lucian announced, looking from one to the other. ‘He is my right-hand man and he helps, among a whole host of other things, to keep my businesses running smoothly when my attentions are elsewhere. He’ll do his best to make sure that you are comfortable here, and if there is anything that you need, I’m sure that Thomas would be happy to try to get it for you.’
‘You call me Tom,’ the Irishman said, glancing at the other man from under his eyebrows. ‘Thomas indeed! The first thing that’ll start to infuriate you about this great long streak of I-don’t-know-what is his unrelenting formality.’ He released Trey’s hand and stepped back, cocking his head to one side, his eyebrows raised high as if expecting an answer to some unspoken question. When none came, he turned his back on them, walking away and shouting over his shoulder, ‘Well, are the two of you coming in, or are you going to stand in the lift all night like a couple of eejits ? I suppose you’ll both be wanting something to eat?’ he said, disappearing into the furthest door set into the right-hand wall.
Lucien ushered Trey into the room and gestured towards a brown leather recliner facing the fire. ‘Make yourself at home, Trey. I shall go and ascertain what culinary delights our housekeeper, Mrs Magilton, has left for us. If you’d like to watch something on the television, feel free.’ He bent down towards the chair and picked up a remote control with a large blue LCD display which he handed to Trey. ‘If you press this button,’ he continued, ‘the TV slides up out of the floor over there.’ He gestured to an area on Trey’s left. ‘Beyond that, I really don’t have a clue how it works, but I’m sure that you’ll work it out in no time.’ He smiled and exited through the same door that Tom had just used, leaving Trey on his own.
Trey watched him leave before staring round again at his fabulous surroundings. The place screamed of money. Big money. It wouldn’t have looked out of place on a show he had seen on MTV about the houses of famous footballers and rap stars.
In the centre of the room, encircled by large obsidian stones, burned a log fire, its smoke being gobbled up by a polished metal hood hanging from a suspended column in the ceiling.
Standing next to the fire, perfectly still and upright, was a tall, powerful-looking man. A large unsightly scar dominated the right side of his face, and it appeared to have healed poorly, the scar tissue pulling the flesh in on itself, giving it an ugly, puckered appearance. His hair was black, with hints of grey, and was cropped close to his head, lending him a distinctly military air. He was wearing a dark blue suit that, like Lucien’s, looked expensive, the cut of his clothing enhancing his muscular frame. He nodded at Trey, his head barely dipping in acknowledgement, before his gaze turned back to Lucien.
‘Welcome back, Lucien.’ The man spoke in a broad Irish accent. He strode across the room towards them, crossing the threshold of the lift, and Trey had to stop himself from taking a step backwards in response.
‘Nice to meet you, young man,’ he said in a voice that sounded as if he gargled with bleach every morning. He held out a hand in greeting.
Trey wasn’t at all surprised to find that the man’s hands were tough and callused: hands that had been used for hard work. He was, however, surprised by the warmth of the handshake, as his hand was gripped firmly and covered by the man’s other hand.
‘Trey, this is Thomas,’ Lucian announced, looking from one to the other. ‘He is my right-hand man and he helps, among a whole host of other things, to keep my businesses running smoothly when my attentions are elsewhere. He’ll do his best to make sure that you are comfortable here, and if there is anything that you need, I’m sure that Thomas would be happy to try to get it for you.’
‘You call me Tom,’ the Irishman said, glancing at the other man from under his eyebrows. ‘Thomas indeed! The first thing that’ll start to infuriate you about this great long streak of I-don’t-know-what is his unrelenting formality.’ He released Trey’s hand and stepped back, cocking his head to one side, his eyebrows raised high as if expecting an answer to some unspoken question. When none came, he turned his back on them, walking away and shouting over his shoulder, ‘Well, are the two of you coming in, or are you going to stand in the lift all night like a couple of eejits ? I suppose you’ll both be wanting something to eat?’ he said, disappearing into the furthest door set into the right-hand wall.
Lucien ushered Trey into the room and gestured towards a brown leather recliner facing the fire. ‘Make yourself at home, Trey. I shall go and ascertain what culinary delights our housekeeper, Mrs Magilton, has left for us. If you’d like to watch something on the television, feel free.’ He bent down towards the chair and picked up a remote control with a large blue LCD display which he handed to Trey. ‘If you press this button,’ he continued, ‘the TV slides up out of the floor over there.’ He gestured to an area on Trey’s left. ‘Beyond that, I really don’t have a clue how it works, but I’m sure that you’ll work it out in no time.’ He smiled and exited through the same door that Tom had just used, leaving Trey on his own.
Trey watched him leave before staring round again at his fabulous surroundings. The place screamed of money. Big money. It wouldn’t have looked out of place on a show he had seen on MTV about the houses of famous footballers and rap stars.
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