Free The Godson by Robert G. Barrett Page A

Adam Pratt accosted him for an interview. One word led to another and I’m told the bolstered baronet nutted Pratt with an absolutely splendid head butt one would expect to find more amongst Liverpool dock-workers than the fun-loving Royal Family. No one knows who started the set-to at the Sebel, but on Sir Peregrine’s request, ashen-faced staff were forced to remove Pratt. And seeing as Sir P. is gladly forking out $700 a night to stay in The Sir Robert Helpmann Suite at The Sebel, Pezza’s request held a lot more sway than the black clad, media star who was flung out into the cold forthwith. Sebel staff are as usual tight-lipped about the whole affair, but be assured, gentle readers, your scribe will keep digging. Incidentally, that rattling sound you’re hearing is Sir Robert Helpmann rolling over in his grave.
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    Norton quickly read it again then let out one word. ‘Shit!!!’ He dropped the paper and what he was eating and hurried to the phone dreading the thought of making the call. It rang just as he got there. Ohh Jesus, thought Les, his heart sinking, I’ll bet this is him now. It was.
    â€˜Les! Have you seen this morning’s paper?’ howled Price.
    â€˜Yeah. I just read it.’
    â€˜Well, what bloody happened?’
    â€˜Didn’t you get my message?’ swallowed Les.
    â€˜Yes. And why wouldn’t he stay at your place?’
    â€˜Dunno,’ lied Norton. ‘Me and Warren done the room up for him. Got new sheets for the bed. Even put some flowers in there. He just wanted to stay at the Sebel. I couldn’t stop him. What was I gonna do? Put a headlock on him?’
    â€˜Christ! Wait till O’Malley sees this. He’s going to have a stroke.’ There was a pause on the line through which Les could hear Price’s laboured breathing. ‘What are you doing now?’
    â€˜Nothing,’ replied Norton. ‘I only just read the paper and I was about to call you.’
    â€˜Right. Well go straight up to the Sebel Town House and keep an eye on this prick. And don’t let him out of your sight. I can’t put my head into it, but ring me as soon as you get up there.’
    â€˜Righto, Price. See you then.’
    Norton hung up and looked at the phone for a moment. I suppose I’d better ring Lord Beaverbrook up, tell him I’m on my way and make sure he waits for me. He began thumbing through the phone-book.
    The receptionist at The Sebel was polite, but firm. Sir Peregrine had left strict instructions that he was not to be disturbed before twelve noon. No phone calls, nothing. Sorry, Mr Norton, but those are my orders. Thank you, sir. Shit! fumed Norton. He rang Price again who angrily debated whether Les should go up and kick the door in. But he figured that with the hotel security on the job Peregrine should be safe enough. He told Les not to worry, just be at The Sebel at twelve and go straight to Peregrine’s room.
    Norton hung up once more and looked at his watch; it was getting on for ten. What to do till twelve? Well, I can finish my breakfast for a start, he thought, moving back to the kitchen. Then start packing a bit of gear for the trip, and I’ll pick up that car this afternoon. I’ll take His Highness out with me. The tea was still warm, Les poured himself a cup and began flicking through the paper again, subconsciously turning to T’aime’s column on page six. Somehow the sight of Pratt being flung out of the Sebel and the Hooray Henry waving the bottle of champagne in the air managed to take the flavour right out of Norton’s toasted ham sandwiches.
    T HE ATTRACTIVE, WELL-GROOMED public relations lady at The Sebel had to be the most polite person Les had ever come across in his life. She introduced herself as Katherine, rang Peregrine’s room and escorted Les up in the lift. By the time they’d reached the tenth floor Norton was sure she had a black belt in manners and a degree