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

"Well, it's so dark. Just because I live here, I don't have to like it."
Their father came out into the hall to welcome them. He was
wearing a tweed suit that had seen better days, a shirt with an old-
fashioned stand-up collar. His grey hair—once as red as Maddy's—
was thinning and his white moustache was stained yellow on the
tips by tobacco. Charlotte loved him, respected him, was sometimes
afraid of him; it shocked her that Madeleine could be downright
rude to him, and not be cowed by his anger. Yet now it was Maddy
who ran to kiss him, not Charlotte. She had never been
demonstrative.
"Had enough of London at last?" he said, patting her arms
awkwardly.
"No, never," said Madeleine. "We had a marvellous party last night."
"Hm? Was your aunt at this party?"
"No, she went back to Parkland Hall last week. You knew that."
He shook his head, torn between pleasure at seeing his daughters
and entrenched disapproval of their gallivanting about in London.
"She is supposed to be chaperoning you."
"Oh, Father, don't be so old-fashioned. We were at Fleur's last night,
not an opium den."
He glowered at her, but Madeleine took no notice. "I didn't really
want to come home, but Fleur chucked us out because she wanted to
paint. Can you believe it?"

file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Freda%20Warrington%20-%20A%20Taste%20of%20Blood%20Wine.html (35 of 711)28-12-2006 21:38:58
A Taste



"Oh, well, the Season's over anyway, isn't it?" He glanced
meaningfully at Charlotte. "Time to do some useful work."
They were walking into the drawing room as they spoke, a dimly-lit
room that was all brown and crimson and ivory, the air busy with
the ticking of clocks. Their father was fascinated by the workings of
clocks and watches.
"Not me," said Madeleine, stretching out on the sofa. "I've been
invited to lots of weekend parties in the country."
"Have you indeed? I shall have to consider that. You are not going
on your own."
"Well, I'm sure Charlotte's not coming with me." Madeleine
removed her shoes and flexed her silk-stockinged feet. She seemed
oblivious to her father's stern tone; somehow she contrived to slide
beyond his discipline like a fish through soapy hands. But Charlotte
was enmeshed by his authority, could not bear to incur his
disapproval. "Don't be grumpy as soon as we've arrived home."
"I'm not in the slightest bit grumpy, young lady. We'll discuss it
after lunch." He looked at Charlotte. "And how did you enjoy all
this debutante nonsense?"
She didn't know what to say. He must have guessed from her face
that she'd hated it, but she couldn't bring herself to admit it, not in