Let Me Rephrase That…

I’ve been weighing it up in my head for a while, whether to post up and give you all a taster of my novel or to keep it to myself and just tell you if it gets to the shelves. However, there are people who would like to have a read and I think I can post up a little without giving too much away. I want to keep you all guessing, of course!

It’s currently untitled and I can’t stand coming up with titles at the best of times and I don’t class myself as an author, mainly because I lack confidence in my writing abilities (I was hopeless at English at school), my grammar was, and probably still is, hopeless…but I’ve had an idea so I’m putting it onto e-paper.

Today I shall share with you the prologue. At least I think it’s the prologue, I haven’t decided yet. But this is a rough first draft, it will be tarted up at a later date when it’s closer to completion, this is merely to give you a small taster (and it may be rubbish). So here it is…

CHAPTER ONE/PROLOGUE
OCTOBER 2002 ~ LONDON, ENGLAND

The keypad on the sleek mobile phone was bathed in bright, tungsten lighting, making the operation of such a device much easier. When you can see the keys you’re pressing, it makes the composition process a whole lot faster. The operator sat quietly in the centre of the cold, well-lit room, gently stabbing away at the small silver device clamped between his hands. The eerie silence – the kind of nothingness only heard in a soundproofed room – broken only by the faint hum of the room’s cooling system and the click-click of the phone’s keys flashing up new characters on the screen.

After pausing mid-way through the email he extended his left arm and flicked his wrist to reveal his cherished IWC Spitfire Double Chronograph watch, a congratulatory present given to him many years ago by none other than himself, a treat to celebrate his first success in business. The hands on the beautifully crafted face showed there was less than twenty minutes left to wait, plenty of time to finish the email currently being drafted.

Half way through the next paragraph of email a metallic click was heard on the other side of the door, followed shortly after by another. A confirmation glimpse at the watch made the wearer smile. Fifteen minutes early, he thought to himself, traffic must have been light. The email would have to wait as the phone was slid carefully into his left inner jacket pocket with the keypad locked. It’s rude to greet the other parties in a business meeting while fixated on a mobile phone. If there’s one thing he hated it was rude people. Although, when it came to business he hated a lot more than that; rude people were the tip of the iceberg. ‘To be on time is to be five minutes early!’ His grandfather’s words rang through his head as his smile widened slightly. Renowned for his promptness and punctuality when it came to meetings, it amazed him the sheer number of people who couldn’t be bothered keeping to a simple schedule. The fact these men were fifteen minutes early showed their dedication so the meeting should go without any hitches.

Standing up, he brushed himself down, removed a sleek, black metal object from his briefcase and, so as not to appear too eager to see his guests, sat back down in the centre of the room. In these sorts of meetings relevant props were a welcome addition, it let the other party get a real feel for what was being presented to them. He softly laid the object beside him on top of the black leather briefcase, crossed his legs and withdrew his phone once more. The conversation on the other side of the door lead him to believe that he’d have to wait a little while longer before his guests were ready to enter. Whilst he would have preferred his guests to enter straight away so they could get down to business, meetings can’t be rushed through but if he didn’t leave in the next half hour, Andrea, his P.A., would be on the phone every five minutes enquiring as to his whereabouts. Tonight was the night of the first Alistair Farnsworth Charity Ball. One cannot possibly miss the opening of the engagement bearing one’s own name. No, this meeting would have to go smoothly and be wrapped up promptly.

With the finishing touches applied to the email, it was saved to the drafts folder and the phone returned to its pocket again. A final glimpse at the watch and the sounds from over the threshold of the door meant the meeting would shortly be under way. Reaching into the right-hand inner jacket pocket of his tailored charcoal suit, Alistair pulled out a pair of thin, neatly pressed gloves made from black synthetic leather; specifically designed to be breathable, tight but comfortable and thin enough to maximize feel and dexterity. After pulling on each glove and flexing his hands to seat them comfortably, he bent down and picked up the black metallic object from the briefcase, placing it gently in his lap and securely in his hands. With a deep breath and a confident sigh he flexed his shoulders in preparation for battle.