"Barker, Clive - Books of Blood 06" - читать интересную книгу автора (Barker Clive)

because of what he wrote. What you read you keep to
yourself. Swann was a legend. I don't want his memory
besmirched.'
14
'You should write a book,' Harry said. 'Tell the whole
story once and for all. You were with him a long time, I
hear.'
'Oh yes,' said Valentin. 'Long enough to know better
than to tell the truth.'
So saying he made an exit, leaving the flowers to wilt,
and Harry with more puzzles on his hands than he'd
begun with.
Twenty minutes later, Valentin brought up a tray of
food: a large salad, bread, wine, and the steak. It was
one degree short of charcoal.
'Just the way I like it,' Harry said, and set to
guzzling.
He didn't see Dorothea Swann, though God knows
he thought about her often enough. Every time he
heard a whisper on the stairs, or footsteps along the
carpetted landing, he hoped her face would appear at
the door, an invitation on her lips. Not perhaps the
most appropriate of thoughts, given the proximity of
her husband's corpse, but what would the illusionist care
now? He was dead and gone. If he had any generosity of
spirit he wouldn't want to see his widow drown in her
grief.
Harry drank the half-carafe of wine Valentin had
brought, and when - three-quarters of an hour later -
the man re-appeared with coffee and Calvados, he told
him to leave the bottle.
Nightfall was near. The traffic was noisy on Lexington
and Third. Out of boredom he took to watching the
street from the window. Two lovers feuded loudly
on the sidewalk, and only stopped when a brunette
with a hare-lip and a pekinese stood watching them
shamelessly. There were preparations for a party in
the brownstone opposite: he watched a table lovingly
laid, and candles lit. After a time the spying began to

15
depress him, so he called Valentin and asked if there
was a portable television he could have access to. No
sooner said than provided, and for the next two hours
he sat with the small black and white monitor on the
floor amongst the orchids and the lilies, watching
whatever mindless entertainment it offered, the silver
luminescence flickering on the blooms like excitable
moonlight.
A quarter after midnight, with the party across the