"Smith, Guy N - The Slime Beast" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Guy N)

'Same goes for me. Besides, Uncle Jack really is a bit of a daydream. He needs somebody around to keep reminding him that he's still living in the twentieth century.'

They worked in silence. Eventually she lit the primus-stove and placed a kettle of water on it.

'I suppose I'd better think about preparing some tea,' she said. 'No doubt Uncle will prefer to eat in his own little den. He never does like company at meal-times.'

Gavin Royle was relieved at this prospect but refrained 7

from saying so. The more time he had Liz to himself the better he would like it.

They washed up in silence. Apart from the clinking of crockery the only other sound was the constant scraping of matches on emery paper as Professor Lawson lit and relit his massive blackened briar pipe.

'It'll be light for another hour yet,' Gavin commented as he dried the last of the plates. 'What say we go for a stroll along the sea-wall? It's a nice evening. Too good to waste sitting in here.'

'Fine.' She smiled with enthusiasm. "There's no point in telling Uncle. He won't miss us anyway.'

The air was fresh and clean, spiced with the smell of the sea. For some time they walked in silence. High above them small skeins of wild geese honked as they headed back to their roosting grounds on the distant mud-flats.

'Do you really think there's any chance of ever finding this treasure?' Gavin shook his head.

'Who knows?' The Wash is an awfully big area. Half of it you can't get at anyway, shifting mud and tides can cover up things for centuries.'

The sun was dipping behind the horizon and suddenly it seemed much colder, reminding them that it wasn't summer any more. They began to retrace their steps.

Gavin glanced at Liz. He began thinking about her again. He wondered if she had a chap back at the university. Most girls there had, and for a variety of reasons.

He dropped his hand and felt for hers, closing his fingers over hers, gently, casually, as if it were the most natural thing to do. It was. His heart pounded. He half expected her to draw herself away, embarrassed, but she didn't. For some time she did nothing. Then, as if she had been deliberating on a course of action her small delicate fingers jostled for a position of more comfort and squeezed her reply. Two hundred yards further on he released his hold and slipped an arm about her waist Her body nestled against his. Neither of them spoke,

Dusk was falling when they arrived back at the blockhouse. They paused at the entrance facing each other. Neither of them could think of anything to say. Words seemed superfluous. Gavin drew her towards him and they kissed. Gently at first. Then more fiercely as they pressed their bodies together. Gavin thought about his hardness which was boring against her thighs. He longed to caress the curves beneath her sweater but managed to control himself. A step at a time. At the moment he was doing just fine.

'Liz!' Professor Lowson's voice caused them to spring apart. 'Liz! How about lighting these lamps?'

They sighed with sudden relief. The old boy had only just noticed that it was getting dark. He obviously had not even left his quarters during the whole time they had been away.

'Coming.' Liz called and went inside to look for the matches.

Gavin and Liz tried to read for a while, gave it up and made some coffee. Concentration seemed impossible, so they sat and talked.

A sudden pounding on the improvised door crashed through the quietness.

Liz was trembling a little. "This isn't exactly the place where one would expect callers. And we don't know a soul, round here. Whoever can it be?'

'Well, there's only one way to find out,' Gavin Royle's smile reassured her as he got to his feet and made for the door. He tugged at the wooden framework and with a grinding and screeching it was forced open.

'Good evening.'

The man on the threshold was tall and austere-looking, with an aquiline face with bushy eyebrows and a moustache which suggested he had been in military service at some time or other. The completely bald head seemed to add a sinister aspect, yet his tweed jacket, plus-fours and Wellington boots were in keeping with the surroundings.

'Do I have the honour of addressing Professor Lowson?' His voice was cultured, firm.