Page 126 - Brokenclaw - John Gardner

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‘Well, come and breakfast with me. You hail from an old British family, I

understand, so you’ll enjoy my breakfast ritual here.’
Bond was ushered through the door to his left, conscious that it also stood
between bookcases and was directly opposite the door which led down to the
guest suite and its many corridors.
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This door also led to a similar short passageway, then down a long flight of
steps. He was convinced that they were going below ground. Then Brokenclaw
opened a door at the foot of the stairs on the right, and Bond found himself in a
long, low dining room. The floor was made up of polished boards which

looked very old, the walls were panelled, and the ceiling appeared to be held
in place by great beams, again old and irregular. The furniture was Jacobean,
Bond would have staked money on it. A polished table with at least thirty
matching chairs took up the centre of the room, while along one wall stood a
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tall, elaborately carved chest, which served as a sideboard. On the chest were
silver chafing dishes, and the table was laid for three.
In the wall opposite the long tall chest gaped an open fireplace, complete
with its iron basket and a set of fire tongs, poker and shovel. Above the

fireplace hung the only picture in the room – a large engraving showing, as it
said in lettering inside an ornamental oval at the top of the picture, the Great
Frost Fair on the Thames in London, 1683–4.
Two mullioned windows, leaded, with diamond-shaped panes, gave light

from the far end of the room, and even from just inside the doorway, Bond
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could see the view was of the same Blue Ridge Virginian mountains.
Brokenclaw stood by the makeshift sideboard, plate in hand. ‘Come, Peter
Abelard, there are good things here – bacon, sausage, eggs, kedgeree. All you

would expect in an old English country house.’
There was a knock at the door and an emaciated-looking Chinese entered,
carrying a large tray loaded with two silver coffee pots, sugar basin and cream
jug.

‘Ah, Peter, this is one of the few trusted men I allow to come here. He is
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known as Frozen Stalk Pu – a reference, I believe, to his amazing virility. He
does not look much, but I do assure you he can do things to men that would turn
your hair grey. This is Mr Abelard, Pu.’

Frozen Stalk Pu gave a little bow, placed the tray on the table and retired.
At Brokenclaw’s pressing invitation, Bond helped himself to bacon and two
eggs. It was not his usual, or indeed favourite breakfast, but eating with the

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