The Night Climbers
Contents (24)
About the Book
James, a new student at Cambridge, is overwhelmed by the thrill of opportunity and startled by his own hunger for friendship. He finds himself seduced by a covert and exclusive circle of friends – the ‘Tudor Night Climbers’ – who scale the university’s turrets after dark, transforming it into a dangerous playground of spiralling heights.
When he falls head over heels for the enigmatic Jessica, James finds himself in a fatal love triangle with the group’s reckless leader, Francis. But there is soon to be much more at stake when Francis dreams up a heist that will test their very souls.
Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Author’s Note
About the Author
Copyright
The Night Climbers
Ivo Stourton
For Miff Stourton, Clare Wagg and Jessica Lennard,
without whom I would be someone else.
1
THERE WERE SECURITY barriers in the foyer, thick glass turnstiles that fell open when you stuck the right card in the slot. The receptionists, however, were the real security. Their ‘Can I help you?’ and bright smiles were the modern equivalent of ‘Who goes there?’ It was a surprise, therefore, to find Jessica sitting in my black leather chair, waiting for me to return from the basement gym, where I had spent a cathartic lunchbreak pummelling my personal trainer, sweating out the last drops of the previous night’s whisky. I knew from the way she looked at me, tilting her head forwards and peering out from under her blonde fringe with a lopsided smile, that she had lied her way in. Her expression was just as I remembered, and pulled me back into the past with the force of a scent. At thirty-two she was already losing her looks. They were not going gracefully, with the haunting quality that briefly heightens doomed beauty. She had bags under her eyes and a spot on her chin where her make-up had formed a beige scab. I took no pleasure in this, but I did take pleasure from the fact that I didn’t care. Indifference, not feigned but genuinely felt, was a hard-won victory, and I prized it. I shook her hand and smiled.
She had been playing with the objects on my desk. My pens were scattered over the blotting paper.
‘How can I help you?’ I asked.
‘Don’t you want to know how I got in?’
‘I pretended to be from London Underground. I read about the deal you’re doing, turning public services private. You used to be so left wing. I’m your two-thirty.’ She grinned. ‘You look nice. And you look rich. Nice and rich.’ She leant across the desk and lifted one of the silver balls on my Newton’s cradle, letting it go to hit its fellow with a gentle click.