"Colin Greenland - A Passion For Lord Pierrot (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Greenland Colin)

the
little boat that will take him back to the shore.
It is a boon, Lord Pierrot's little boat, a device of his own invention
quite indispensable for these nocturnal trysts. As it rows itself
noiselessly across the honey-coloured water, Lord Pierrot is able to
take
his ease and recoup some of his dissipated energies. He looks around at
the torpid, sultry night. In the reeds not a lizardfish, not a dabchick
is
stirring. The whole world, it seems, is still; still as if all Triax
were
barren, and the secret ways of life not yet pieced together there.
Lord Pierrot congratulates himself on the satisfactory conclusion of
another night's dalliance.
Back indoors, Lord Pierrot sheds his clothes and hands them to a
waiting
automaton, which trundles away to launder them. They will be fresh and
dry
by morning. Belting a poplin robe about him, Lord Pierrot steps into
the
shaft and allows it to carry him up past the dining hall, past the
libraries and laboratories, to the upper floor where both he and his
wife
have their apartments.
He looks in on his wife, the Lady Dove. She is still awake. She lies
propped on a great many pillows, reading a volume of the collected
correspondence of a grande dame of another age. Here, on this benighted
outpost of the empire where the Pierrots keep their family seat, few
letters reach them, and Lady Dove must make do with these printed
relics.
She looks at him over her glasses. 'What time is it, Pierre?'
She has her bedside console, and need only ask the house intelligence;
but
she prefers to ask him. Lord Pierrot stifles his irritation, making an
effort to construe this habit of his wife's as deference due to his
authority in the household. He tells her it is half-past eleven, or a
quarter to one, however they reckon these things on Triax. 'Time you
were
asleep, my dear,' he tells her, and pats her on the shoulder. Lady Dove
needs a great deal of sleep. She has grown colossally fat since he
found
it expedient to remove her ovaries. The slightest exercise fatigues
her.
'And you, Pierre, are you not going to bed?' she asks.
'Directly, my angel,' says Lord Pierrot; but first he will stay and
converse with her awhile, as is only mannerly. He looks around for a
chair, but they are all laden with clothing, books and female
impedimenta
that Lady Dove has been too weary to put away. Lord Pierrot averts his
eyes from a pile of her enormous underwear. He sits gingerly on the