"Smith, Wilbur - The Diamond Hunters" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Wilbur)

I'm the General Manager." Before Benedict could reply, Johnny was
through the door.

One of the girls picked up her clothing from the floor and ran naked
into the bedroom passage. The other pulled a full-length caftan over her
head and glared at Johnny sulkily. Her hair was in wild disorder,
fluffed out into a grotesque halo of stiff curls.

"Nice party," said Johnny. He glanced at the movie projector on the side
table, and then at the screen across the room. "Films and all."

"Are you the Fuzz?"demanded the girl.

"You've got an infernal cheek, Lance." Benedict van der Byl was beside
him, tying the belt of his silk dressing-gown.

"is he Fuzz?" the girl demanded again.

"No," Benedict assured her. "He works for my father." With the statement
he seemed to gather self-assurance, drawing himself up to his full
height and smoothing his long dark hair with one hand. His voice
regained its polish and lazy inflection. "Actually, he is Daddy's
messenger boy." Johnny turned to him, but he addressed the girl without
looking at her.

"Beat it, girlie. Follow your friend." She hesitated.

"Beat it!" Johnny's voice crackled like a bush fire, and she went.

The two men stood facing each other. They were the same age, in their
early thirties - both tall, both dark-haired but different in every
other way.

Johnny was big in the shoulder and lean across the hips and belly, his
skin polished and browned by the desert sun.

The line of his heavy jawbone stood out clearly, and his eyes seemed
still to seek far horizons. His voice clipped and twanged with the
accents of the other land.

"Where is Tracey?" he asked.

Benedict lifted one eyebrow in a pantomime of arrogant surprise.

His skin was pale olive, unstained by sunlight for it was months since
he had last visited Africa. His lips were very red, as though they had
been painted, the classical lines of his features were blurred by flesh.
There were soft little pouches under his eyes, and a plumpness beneath
the silk dressing-gown that suggested he ate and drank often and
exercised infrequently.