"Folsom, Allan - The Day After Tomorrow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Folsom Allan)

Shaving cream covered half his face and he was wiping steam from the
mirror when the phone rang.

"Yes," he said directly, expecting Jean Packard with a forgotten detail.
It wasn't Jean Packard. Vera was downstairs in the lobby. was it
permissible for her to come to his room? Or was he with someone else,
or had he other plans? She was like that. Polite, considerate, almost
innocent. The first time they'dd made love shed even asked permission
before touching his penis. She had come, she said, to say goodbye.

He wore only a towel when he opened the door and saw her there in the
hallway, trembling, with tears in her eyes. She came in and he closed
the door, and then he kissed her and she kissed him back and then they
were in each other's arms. Her clothes were everywhere. His lips were
on her breasts, his hand in the darkness between her legs. And then she
spread her legs and he came joyously into her and everything was
laughter and tears and unthinkable desire. Nobody said goodbye like
this. Ever had, ever would. Nobody.

HER NAME was Vera Monneray. He'dd met her in Geneva when shed come up
to him shortly after he'dd presented his paper and introduced herself
She was a graduate of Montpellier medical school and in her first year
of residency at the Centre Hospitality Ste.-Anne in Paris, shed told
him. She was alone and celebrating her twenty-sixth birthday. She
hadn't known why she was being so forward, except that he'dd caught her
attention the moment his speech began. There was something about him
that made her want to meet him. to find out who he was. to be with him
for a little while. At the time shed had no idea if he was married or
not. She didn't care. If he'dd said he was married and with his wife,
or if he'dd simply said he was busy, she would have shaken his hand,
told him she admired his paper. And that would have been that.

But he hadn't.

They'dd gone outside and crossed the footbridge over, the Rhene to the
old city. Vera was bright and filled with life. Her long hair was
almost jet black, and she swept it to one side and tucked it behind her
ear in a way that no matter how animated she became, it stayed where it
was without coming loose. Her eyes were nearly as dark as her hair and
were young and eager for the long life still ahead of her.

No more than twenty minutes after they'dd met, they were holding hands.
That night they had dinner together-,r in a quiet Italian restaurant
just off the red-light district. It was curious to think of Geneva as
having a row for prostitutes. Its reputation for chocolate and watches
and its aura of sobriety as an internalional finance enter somehow
didn't play against the skintight, thigh-slit skirts of street hookers,
but there they were anyway, populating the few odd blocks allotted them.
Vera watched Osborn carefully as they walked past them. was he