"Paul J. McAuley - Inheritance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mcauley Paul J)

That afternoon, his stomach comfortably distended by steak and kidney
pie,
his anger tempered by several pints of bitter, Tolley returned to his
hotel, intending to take a nap. But when he pushed open the door of his
room, it stuck halfway. Something was lying on the floor behind it; the
case he'd set on the folding frame. He reached around and shoved until
the
door opened far enough for him to be able to squeeze through. And then
the
smell hit him: a dense stench of burning, thick as molasses. Yet there
was
no smoke. His case and its contents, mostly underwear, lay on the floor
behind the door, and the quilt and sheets had been pulled off the bed.
Tolley opened a window to get some fresh air, and dialled the reception
desk. His first thought was that the room had been burgled; but his
camera
was sitting on the night table, next to his Walkman and Bach tapes. And
then he noticed the carpet. Scraped into the pile were the letters O
and
R, linked in just the same way they had been on the Beaumont's kitchen
window. Just then the clerk answered, and Tolley set the 'phone down.
There were two explanations, he thought, as he drove the rental car up
the
Banbury Road out of Oxford. Either the Beaumonts were hounding him for
whatever crazy reason, had broken into his hotel room, even bribed the
photographic shop to ruin his film . . . either that, which was so
utterly
unlikely, or what Marjory Beaumont had told him was true. And he
couldn't
believe that, either. But he wanted to go back to Steeple Heyston: in
full
daylight this time, and preferably not alone.
Gerald Beaumont looked surprised when he opened the door, but after
Beaumont had ushered Tolley inside, his wife came out of the lounge and
said, "I thought you might be back, Professor."
Tolley managed a polite smile, told them that his camera had broken and
couldn't be repaired here . . . but he would like some pictures of
steeple
Heyston, and wondered if Gerald Beaumont would mind . . . ? He'd
thought
this up as he had navigated the country lanes, not a great excuse, but
better than telling the whole truth. If the couple was behind this,
perhaps he could lull them; perhaps they'd commit some obvious error.
Marjory Beaumont said, "Is this important to you?"
"Well, I promised myself I'd take back some pictures of the old
ancestral
home. I'll pay whatever it costs, of course."
"I'd be delighted," Gerald Beaumont said. "We'd best hurry to catch the
light."
Tolley saw the look his wife gave him, stern yet at the same time