"Innes, Hammond - The Doomed Oasis" - читать интересную книгу автора (Innes Hammond)

"You couldn't have known he'd have a stroke,' I told him.

He turned on me then. 'You don't understand.' The tears were standing in his eyes. 'He and I - we hated each other's guts. I can see why now. But at least he stood by us, poor sod.' And he added viciously, 'He was a damn' sight better than my real father. If I can ever lay my hands on that bastard--' He checked there and gave an odd little laugh. 'Bastard! That's funny, isn't it, me calling him a bastard.' He turned away then, brushing the back of his hand across his eyes. 'I wish I hadn't hit him,' he said quietly.

'He'll be all right.'

'You think so?' But then he shook his head. 'No, he's going to die. That's what the doctor said. He was the only father Sue and I ever knew,' he added, 'and now I've killed him.'

'Don't talk nonsense. It's not as dramatic as that. He's had a stroke - and anyway you're entitled to defend your mother when a man hits her.'

He looked at me. 'Did she say that?' And then he laughed, a little wildly. And after a moment he said, 'Yes, that's right - he hit her.' And he added, 'Christ! What a bloody mess!' The door of the ambulance banged in the street outside and he turned to stare out of the window. The engine started and it drove off. As though its departure had started an entirely new train of thought, he swung round on me. 'You're Whitaker's lawyer, aren't you?'

The name meant nothing to me, but then no doubt Mrs Thomas's allowance had been arranged by Evans years ago and it would be handled by my clerk as a matter of routine. 'Whitaker is the name of your father, is it - your natural father?'

'That's right. My natural father.' He spoke the word slowly, savouring it for the first time. And then he said, 'I want his address.'

'Why?'

'Why the hell do you think?' He was back at the window again. 'A bloke's got a right to know where his father lives, hasn't he?'

'Maybe,' I said. 'But I'm afraid I don't know his address.'

'That's a lie.' He came back to me, his eyes searching my face. 'Well, you've got it on your files, haven't you? You could look it up.'

'If he's a client of mine, then I'm not at liberty to disclose--'

'Not even to his son?'

'No, not even to his son.' I hesitated. The boy's temper would cool and after all he'd a right to know where his father was. 'If I've got his address,' I said, 'then I'll write to him if you like and get his permission--'

'Oh, don't give me that crap. You know bloody well where he is.' He caught hold of my arm. 'Come on. Arabia, it is - somewhere in Arabia. Tell me, for Christ's sake.' He saw it was no good then and began to plead: 'Please, I haven't much time and I got to know. Do you hear? I got to know.' There was a desperate urgency in his voice. And then the grip on my arm tightened. 'Let's have it.' I thought he was going to hit out at me and my muscles tensed, ready for him.

'Dafydd!'

Mrs Thomas was standing in the doorway, her hands plucking again at the apron. 'I can't stand any more.' There was an edge to her voice that seemed to get through to him and he relaxed slowly and stepped back from me. 'I'll come for that address,' he muttered. 'Sooner or later I'll come to your office and get it out of you.' He was back at the window again, looking out. 'I'd like to talk to my mother now.' He stared at me, waiting for me to go.

I hesitated, glancing at Mrs Thomas. She was still as stone, and her eyes, as they stared at her son, were wide and scared-looking. I heard the slow intake of her breath. 'I'll go and make some tea,' she said slowly, and I knew she wanted to escape into her kitchen. 'You'd like a cup of tea, wouldn't you now, Mr Grant?'

But before I could reply and give her the excuse she needed, her son had crossed over to her. 'Please, Ma.' His voice was urgent. There isn't much time, you see, and I got to talk to you.' He was pleading with her - a small boy now pleading with his mother, and I saw her weaken at once. I got my hat from the roll-top desk where I'd left it. 'It's all right, Mrs Thomas,' I said. 'I'll leave you now.'There was a phone on the desk, an old-fashioned hook-up instrument standing amongst a litter of books on greyhounds and racing form. 'You can always phone my office if you want me.'

She nodded dumbly. She was trembling slightly and I could see she was dreading the moment when she'd be left alone with him. But there was no point in my staying. This was something that lay between the two of them, alone. 'Take my advice,' I told him. 'When the police arrive, be a little more co-operative with them than you have been with me if you want to avoid trouble. And stick to your mother's story.'

He didn't say anything. The sullen look was back in his face. Mrs Thomas showed me to the door. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'He's upset.'

'It's not unnatural.' I was remembering how I'd felt when I learned that my parents were divorced. I'd heard it first from a boy at school and I'd called him a liar and half murdered the little swine. And then when I discovered it was true, I'd wanted to kill my father and had had to content myself with a letter, which for sheer brutality had been inexcusable. 'It's a pity you didn't tell him before.'

'I always meant to,' she said. 'But somehow--' She shrugged, a gesture of hopelessness, and as I went out to my car I was wishing I could have done more to help her.

As I turned out of Everdale Road a squad car passed me. There were four of them in it, including Sergeant Mathieson of the Cardiff CID. It seemed an unnecessarily large force to answer Dr Harvey's call, but I didn't go back. It was past five already and Andrews would be waiting to clear the day's business.