"Simon R. Green - Nightside 1 - Drinking Midnight Wine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Simon R)

yawn behind one elegant hand, and picked up the post and the morning papers from the welcome mat.
The post was the usual junk mail and a handful of bills. Didn't these people have anything better
to do than pester her for the few paltry sums she owed them? Wasn't there a law against demanding
money with menaces? She'd get round to them. Eventually. When she damned well felt like it. And as
for the entirely unsolicited junk mail: You may already have won a major prize! How about: You may
already have felled irreplaceable rain forests, just to make the paper this crap is printed on,
dickhead? God help you if the South American Indians ever discover voodoo. Maybe she should send
them a few useful instructional books on the subject... They really liked the last one, on how to
make explosives out of everyday kitchen products. She still got letters. Gayle sighed, and dropped
the lot into a nearby waste-basket.
She took a quick look at the main headlines in the morning papers. Gayle took The Times, the
Guardian, and the Independent, covering the main political positions. She had no use for tabloids.
She wanted information, not gossip. If she really wanted to know who was sleeping with whom, she'd
ask Carys Galloway. The headlines were surprisingly quiet for once. Most of them were still
wittering on about the continuing weird weather, that might or might not be the result of
disturbances on the sun's surface. Gayle folded the Independent and tucked it under her arm, and
laid the others on the side table for later.

First things first. She went into the downstairs toilet, undid her wrap and settled herself
comfortably on the porcelain throne. (One good thing about not living with a man; you didn't have
to keep checking whether he'd left the seat up.) She opened the newspaper to the political pages,
supported the weight of the paper on her thighs, and sighed contentedly as she felt the first
stirrings in her bowels. Ah... Quality Time.
Afterwards, she considered breakfast. Normally all her meals were lengthy affairs. Gayle liked to
cook and she liked to eat, and breakfast was, after all, one of the most important meals of the
day. Everyone said that. Maybe sausage, bacon and eggs; a cholesterol special. But the more she
thought about it, the more she thought she'd better get dressed first. She wasn't expecting
anyone, but she had a strong feeling company was coming.
So, back to the bedroom. Gayle chose a long, dark green dress with a white leather belt;
comfortable, but still presentable. Flat shoes, no tights. It was Saturday, after all. Slap on
some basic make-up (heavy make-up was for women with no faces of their own), and then attack her
hair with a hairbrush until it sulkily assumed some shape and sense. She looked in the mirror. She
looked good. In fact, for this early on a Saturday morning, she looked damned good. Relaxed,
informal, chic. Heartbreaker, even. She laughed, blew a kiss at the mirror and went downstairs
again, humming an old Jacobean protest song. Whoever was coming to see her, they'd better be worth
it. By her own choice, Gayle didn't get many visitors. If she needed to see someone, she paid them
a visit, whether they wanted to see her or not. Humming quite loudly now, she floated around her
kitchen putting together a hearty, organic, free-range breakfast. She laid the table for two,
using the good crockery, and remembered to put the milk in the milk jug. She made a good strong
pot of tea, and stirred it briskly with the end of a spoon. (Stir with a knife, stir in strife.)
She stood back to take a look, and the doorbell rang, right on cue. Gayle went to answer the door.
Whoever it was, they'd better have a really good reason for needing to see her.
Outside the front door, Toby was in serious danger of hyperventilating. His heart was hammering in
his chest, his breathing was short and rapid, and the butterflies in his stomach were kicking the
hell out of each other. He just hoped he wasn't sweating as well. Toby always found meeting new
people socially rather difficult. Especially if they were women. Really attractive women he'd only
worked up the courage to talk to yesterday. It didn't help that she was, apparently, a for-real
magical creature of great significance to one and all, and that he and she were destined or fated
or cursed to become involved with each other. Toby wasn't at all sure how he felt about that. His
life might not be much, but he liked to believe he was in charge of it. He'd stopped along the way