"Ивлин Во. Экскурсия в жизнь (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

In the intervening time Simon fell asleep again. Then the bell woke him
once more and the same impersonal voice addressed him.
'Mr Lent? I have spoken to Sir James. His car will call for you at
eight forty-five.'
Simon dressed hastily. Mrs Shaw had not yet arrived, so there was no
breakfast for him. He found some stale cake in the kitchen cupboard and was
eating it when Sir James's car arrived. He took a slice down with him, still
munching.
'You needn't have brought that,' said a severe voice from inside the
car. 'Sir James has sent you some breakfast. Get in quickly; we're late.'
In the corner, huddled in rugs, sat a young woman in a jaunty red hat;
she had bright eyes and a very firm mouth.
'I expect that you are Miss Harper.'
'No. I'm Elfreda Grits. We're working together on this film, I believe.
I've been up all night with Sir James. If you don't mind I'll go to sleep
for twenty minutes. You'll find a thermos of cocoa and some rabbit pie in
the basket on the floor.'
'Does Sir James live on cocoa and rabbit pie?'
'No; those are the remains of his supper. Please don't talk. I want to
sleep.'
Simon disregarded the pie, but poured some steaming cocoa into the
metal cap of the thermos flask. In the corner Miss Grits composed herself
for sleep. She took off the jaunty red hat and laid it between them on the
seat, veiled her eyes with two blue-pigmented lids and allowed the firm lips
to relax and gape a little. Her platinum-blonde wind-swept head bobbed and
swayed with the motion of the car as they swept out of London through
converging and diverging tram lines. Stucco gave place to brick and the
facades of the tube stations changed from tile to concrete; unoccupied
building plots appeared and newly-planted trees along unnamed avenues. Five
minutes exactly before their arrival at the studio Miss Grits opened her
eyes, powdered her nose,
touched her lips with red, and pulling her hat on to the side of her
scalp, sat bolt upright, ready for another day.
Sir James was at work on the lot when they arrived. In a white-hot
incandescent hell two young people were carrying on an infinitely tedious
conversation at what was presumbly the table of a restaurant. A dozen
emaciated couples in evening dress danced listlessly behind them. At the
other end of the huge shed some carpenters were at work building the facade
of a Tudor manor house.* Men in eyeshades scuttled in and out. Notices stood
everywhere. Do not Smoke. Do not Speak. Keep away from the high-power cable.
Miss Grits, in defiance of these regulations, lit a cigarette, kicked
some electric apparatus out of her path, said, 'He's busy. I expect he'll
see us when he's through with this scene,' and disappeared through a door
marked No admittance.
Shortly after eleven o'clock Sir James caught sight of Simon. 'Nice of
you to come. Shan't be long now,' he called out to him. 'Mr Briggs, get a
chair for Mr Lent.'
At two o'clock he noticed him again. 'Had any lunch?'
'No,' said Simon.
'No more have I. Just coming.'