"Freda Warrington - A Taste of Blood Wine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Warrington Freda)

The look flatly terrified her. She fled up the stairs, hoping and
praying that she would never see him again.

***
"Who is he?" Madeleine asked at the breakfast table the next
morning, wilting over a plate of toast. Her tiredness had the charm
of a sleepy kitten, and her red hair was aglow in the flat grey
daylight.
Fleur was not really listening to Madeleine's chatter, Charlotte
observed, but kept gazing distractedly into the conservatory, where
her easels and canvasses stood amid a tangle of greenery. Fleur had
always been creative; her paintings were landscapes, flower studies,
and portraits of friends, freely worked in delicate colours. Clive
affected to belittle her talent, which infuriated Charlotte. Although
Fleur serenely took no notice, it was such a foolish habit, to
disparage everything for the sake of it. Now Clive sat behind a
newspaper as if in silent disapproval of his wife's sisters. Madeleine

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A Taste


didn't care, of course, but his presence made Charlotte uneasy.
"Who is who?" said Fleur.
"Karl von Wultendorf, of course."
"I don't know. A friend of a friend… all sorts of odd people get
dragged along to my parties, I never know who half of them are
anyway."
"They're brought along for their novelty value," Clive said from
behind The Times. "Anyone strange or foreign, preferably with a
tide, and we're supposed to find them entertaining… bloody
ridiculous. Don't know why we have to put up with them."
"Don't be such a misery, dear," Fleur said mildly. "Even if he gate-
crashed, he was too lovely to turn away. I should love to paint him."
Clive gave a disapproving grunt. Fleur didn't react. She was so
uncharacteristically listless and pale that Charlotte was worried
about her. It seemed more than tiredness or the after-effects of drink.
"Well, I'm in love," Madeleine declared. "If I find out he's married, I
shall die. He isn't, is he?"
"For goodness' sake, Maddy, I don't know!" said Fleur.
"Don't snap at me! Is your hangover that bad? I expect Charlotte to
be miserable and boring, but not you!"
Charlotte toyed with a boiled egg. Maddy's remarks were
thoughtless rather than malicious. They were also accurate. She had
nothing to say to her sisters. She loved them, yet from childhood—
to her perpetual regret—she had seemed to have little in common
with them.


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