"Edward L. Ferman - Best From F&SF, 23rd Edition" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ferman Edward L)

for our order we could walk around the cafe looking at the paintings and sculpture on exhibition by local
artists.
"You must have quite an artists' colony here," Amanda said, looking over the collection. She ran a
hand down the smooth curves of a sonatrophic sculpture by Drummond Caspar. The trope leaned
toward the sound of her voice.
"We do. Between them and our celebrity citizens, shopkeepers and simple businessmen like me are a
minority group. Aventine is really a village with a large population."
"Then what are the sights you mentioned?"
"The most unique collection of architecture in the world."
Her goldstone eyes widened in disbelief. "Architecture?"
I grinned. "I, somewhat naturally, am a connoisseur of buildings, and I promise you, Miss Gail, that
nowhere else will you find such a free exercise of idiosyncrasies in home design."
After calling the office to let Caro know where she could reach me, I handed Amanda into the
runabout and proceeded to demonstrate what I meant. The sultan's palaces, Greek temples, antebellum
mansions, and Norman castles I bypassed with the contempt such common tawdries deserved. Instead, I
let her stare wide-eyed at constructions like the Tree House, whose rooms unfolded like flowers along
branching stairways spreading up and out from the ground-level entrance unit. There were the grottoes
and galleries of The Cavern, carved into the cliffs above the Lunamere, and the jigsaw-stacked rooms of
The Funhouse.
 "It's marvelous," Amanda said. "And people actually live in them?"
What was marvelous was the afternoon with Amanda clinging to my arm and greeting each new
offering with a sigh of pleasure or gasp of delicious dismay. In the course of it she stopped calling me Mr.
Gordon, too, and began saying Matthew. I would have preferred Matt, but when I brought that up she
dropped her eyes and said:
"If you don't mind, I prefer some formality. As my father says, this modern rush to intimacy promotes
sex but prevents conversation and understanding."
I did not feel ready to dispute Senator Gail. "Then I take it you don't want me to call you Mandy?"
"No!" Her vehemence startled me. She quickly lowered her voice and went on: "My friends call me
Amanda,"
I tried to extend the day by inviting her out for dinner as I was driving her back to her cabin.
She declined with a smile. "I really should finish unpacking."
"I can help."
She shook her head. "Thank you, anyway."
I did extract a promise that she would let me show her more houses another day; then I made myself
leave. I drove home reflecting what pleasant and restful company she was. A man could do far worse
than her for a companion. I wondered, too, when I might see Selene again.
There was a note from her on my door the next morning.

Gordy,
You should have insisted on dinner last night. Playing hostess for the Senator
never included kitchen duty. Help Mandy get a meal subscription.

It was unsigned and the writing was more careful than I would have expected of Selene, but I could
not imagine anyone else writing it
I called Amanda at noon. Without mentioning the note, I asked about her cooking.
After a short pause she said, "I just throw things together."
I shuddered. "You need more than that I'm going to call a food service in Gateside and take out a
subscription for you; then I insist you have your meals with me, either out or cooked by me, until your
first week's supply of meals is delivered."
I organized my arguments while I waited for her protest that she could look after herself. To my