"Shaun Hutson - Stolen Angels" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hutson Shaun)

Very nice.
Now, which size?
Oh, shit. Ten or twelve? Or maybe even fourteen?
No, if he took a fourteen home she'd go crazy. She
wasn't that big, he was sure of it. A twelve should do it.
He selected a pair of knickers to go with the top, and crossed to the cash
desk, laying the garments beside the till, reaching for his wallet.
The assistant dropped them into a bag and took his money, watching as he
slipped the underwear into his briefcase.
She smiled at him and then he was gone, once more part of the crowd heading
towards the escalators like some immense amoebic mass.
As Hyde stepped onto the escalator he glanced at his watch. He had arrived
back in London earlier than he'd expected. For once the train from Birmingham
had been on time and the meeting he'd attended there had finished two hours
earlier than scheduled. Maggie would be surprised to see him. He glanced down
at his briefcase, amused by the thought of its secret silk contents, and
wondered what her reaction would be to his little present.
As he stood on the crowded moving stairway, he smiled to himself, picturing
her in the flimsy attire. All around him, stern faces met his gaze, and Hyde
felt he was the only one who looked happy. Two or three men were attempting to
read newspapers as the escalator carried them deeper into the bowels of the
earth. He glanced across to his right and saw several people pushing their way
hurriedly towards the top of the up escalator. Late for a train, Hyde
reasoned, or perhaps simply rushing out of habit.
The ticket area was even more crowded.
He moved as swiftly as he could through such a dense mass, and headed for the
next set of escalators, glancing back to see a man trying to push his suitcase
through the automatic gates, ignoring a porter's attempts to help him.
Hyde didn't stand on the next set of steps: he followed the line of hardier
souls who had decided to walk down.
At the bottom he turned to the left, and was hit by the warm air of the
subterranean cavern. The familiar stale smell, tinged with what he recognised
as the smell of scorched rubber, clawed at his nostrils.
He made his way down onto the platform, groaning inwardly as he saw how
crowded it was. It was going to be sardines all the way to East Finchley, he
thought. He'd left his car at the station there; it was a short drive from the
tube once he got there. Hyde wondered if the Northern Line would be plagued by
its usual delays. He moved down the platform a little way, pushing past a tall
man wearing a Walkman and tapping his fingers on his shoulder bag in time to
the inaudible rhythm. Close by, another man was reading his strategically
folded broadsheet. Somewhere further along the platform, Hyde could hear a
baby crying, its shrill calls echoing around the cavernous underworld. He
decided to head back the other way: he didn't fancy making his journey crushed
up against some howling infant.
A couple in their early twenties were kissing passionately, oblivious to the
dozens of eyes turned in their direction, which quickly turned away again when
the couple paused for breath. Hyde ducked past them, glancing back
momentarily.
The girl was pretty. Tall, dark hair.
A little like his Maggie, only not as good looking.