"Kilby, Joan - Temporary Wife" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kilby Joan)

"Nobody would ever call you plain, Lillian," he said, hoping she
wouldn't notice he hadn't answered her question.

He shrugged out of his coat and slung it over his arm. The cuffs of
his long-sleeved navy cotton sweater and his black denim pants were
damp, as were the socks inside his black Rockports. He ran a hand
through his short hair and flattened the annoying cowlick that curved
over his right brow.

"Is Murphy in yet?" Grief, briefly suspended, resurfaced in a frown.
He hated having to deal with this now, but he couldn't rest while the
future of his documentary was uncertain.

"He just went up." Lillian peered at Burton over the rims of her
half-glasses, her gray wisps of eyebrows knitting in concern.

"Is something wrong?"

There was no reason to keep Granddad's death a secret, except that it
hurt like hell to talk about it, and Lillian had an attentive way about
her that drew a person out.

"My grandfather died on Saturday."

"Oh, Burton. I'm so sorry." Lillian discreetly punched a button to
save the spreadsheet on her computer screen.

"Thanks, Lil, it's okay--" He stopped, wiping a hand across his eyes.

"Actually, it's not okay, but I can't do anything about it."

Intentions, good or bad, never did anything.

Lillian shook her head gently, watching his face.

"Very upsetting. Was it unexpected?"

"Yes." His voice sounded harsh and suddenly he found he couldn't talk
about it, after all.

Lillian's gift lay in knowing when to offer sympathy and when to offer
a distraction. She touched his hand.

"Ernest has arrived."

Ernest?

"Your new production assistant. He's setting up his desk in Jim's old
spot."