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Драматургия
Фольклор
Военное дело
The Seventh Scroll - Smith Wilbur - Страница 105
arrivals hall for a place in the queue at the taxi rank outside, it
seemed that the temperature difference from Cairo was at least fifteen
degrees. Her train arrived at York in the damp misty cold of late
afternoon. From the railway station she phoned the number that Nicholas
had given her.
"You silly girl," he scolded her. "Why didn't you let me know you were
on your way? I would have met you at the airport."
She was surprised at how pleased she was to see him, and at how much she
had missed him, as she watched him step out of the Range Rover and come
striding towards her on those long legs. He was bare-headed and
obviously had not subjected himself to a haircut since she had last seen
him. His dark hair was rumpled and wind-tossed and the silver wings
fluffed over his ears.
"How's the knee?" he greeted her. "Do you still need to be carried?"
"Almost better now. Nearly time to throw away the stick." She felt a
sudden urge to throw her arms around his neck, but at the last moment
she prevented herself from making a display and merely offered him a
cold, rosy brown cheek to kiss. He smelt good - of leather and some
spicy aftershave, and of clean virile manhood.
In the driver's seat he delayed starting the engine for a moment, and
studied her face in the street light that streamed in through the side
window.
"You look mighty pleased with yourself, madam. Cat been at the cream?"
"Just pleased to see old friends," she smiled, "but I must admit Cairo
is always a tonic."
"No supper laid on. Thought we would stop at a pub.
Do you fancy steak and kidney pud?"
"I want to see my mother. I feel so guilty. I don't even know how her
leg is mending."
"Popped in to see her day before yesterday. She's doing fine. Loving the
new puppy. Named it Taita, would you believe?"
"You are really a very kind person - I mean, taking the trouble to visit
her."
"I like her. One of the good old ones. They don't build them like that
any more. I suggest we have a bite to eat, and then I will pick up a
bottle of Laphroaig and we will go and see her."
It was after midnight when they left Georgina's cottage. She had
dispensed rough frontier justice to the malt whisky that Nicholas had
brought and now she waved them off, standing in the kitchen doorway,
clutching her new puppy to her ample bosom and teetering slightly on her
plaster-cast leg.
"You are a bad influence on my mother," Royan told him.
"Who's a bad influence on whom?" he protested. "Some of those jokes of
hers turned the Stilton a richer shade of blue."
"You should have let me stay with her."
"She has Taita to keep her company now. Besides, I need you close at
hand. Plenty of work to do. I can't wait to show you what I have been up
to since you went swanning off to Egypt."
The Quenton Park housekeeper had repared her a bedroom in the flat in
the lanes behind York Minster.
As Nicholas carried her bags up the stairs ripsaw snoring came from
behind the door of the bedroom on the second landing, and she looked at
Nicholas enquiringly.
"Sapper Webb," he told her. "Latest addition to the team. Our own
engineer. You will meet him tomorrow, and I think you will like him. He
is a fisherman."
"What's that got to do with me liking him?"
"All the best people are fishermen."
"Present company excluded," she laughed. "Are you staying at Quenton
Park?"
"Giving the house a wide berth, for the time being." He shook his head.
"Don't want it bruited about that I amback in England. There are some
fellows from Lloyd's that I would rather not speak to at the moment. I
will be in the small bedroom on the top floor. Call if you need me."
When she was alone she looked around the tiny chintzy room with its own
doll's house bathroom, and the double bed that took up most of the floor
area. She remembered his remark about calling if she needed him, and she
looked up at the ceiling just as she heard him drop one of his shoes on
the floor.
"Don't tempt me," she whispered. The smell of him lingered in her
nostrils, and she remembered the feel of his lean hard body, moist with
sweat, pressed against hers as he had carried her up out of the Abbay
gorge. Hunger and eed were two words she had not thought of for many
years. They were starting to loom too large in her existence.
"Enough of that, my girl," she chided herself, and went to run a bath.
Nicholas pounded on her door the next morning on his way downstairs.
"Come along, Royan. Life is real. Life is urgent."
It was still pitch dark outside, and she groaned softly and asked, "What
time is it?" But he was gone, and faintly she could hear him whistling
"The Big Rock Candy Mountain'somewhere downstairs.
She checked her watch and groaned again. "Whistling at six-thirty, after
what he and Mummy did to the Laphroaig last night. I don't believe it.
The man is truly a monster."
Twenty minutes later she found him in a dark blue fisherman's sweater
and jeans and a butcher's apron, working in the kitchen.
"Slice toast for three, there's a love." He gestured towards the brown
loaf that lay beside the electric toaster.
"Omelettes coming up'in five minutes."
She looked at the other man in the room. He was middle-aged, with wide
shoulders and sleeves rolled up high around muscular biceps, and he was
as bald as a cannonball.
"Hello," she said, "I am Royan Al Sirnma."
"Sorry." Nicholas waved the egg-whisk. "This is Danny Daniel Webb, known
as Sapper to his friends."
Danny stood up with a cup of coffee in his big competent-looking fist.
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Al Simma. May I pour you a cup of coffee?"
The top of his head was'freckled, and she noticed how blue his eyes
were.
"Dr Al Simma,'Nicholas corrected him.
"But please call me Royan," she cut in quickly, "and yes, I' love a
cup."
There was no mention of Ethiopia or Taita's game during breakfast, and
Royan ate her omelette and listened respectfully to a passionate
dissertation on how to catch sail fish on a fly rod from Sapper, while
Nicholas heckled him mercilessly, calling into question almost every
statement he made. Very obviously they had a good relationship, and she
supposed she would become accustomed to all the angling jargon.
As soon as breakfast was over, Nicholas stood up with the coffee pot in
one hand. "Bring your mugs, and follow me., He led Royan to the front
sitting room. "I have a surprise for you. My people up at the museum
worked round the clock to get it ready for you."
He threw open the door of the sitting room, with an imitation of a
trumpet flourish, "Tarantara!'
On the centre table stood a fully mounted model of the striped dik-dik,
crowned with the pricked horns and clad in the skin that Nicholas had
smuggled back from Africa. It was so realistic that for a moment she
expected it to leap off the table and dash away as she walked towards
it.
"Oh, Nicky. It's beautifully done!" She circled it appraisingly. "The
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