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

"Good. I'll see him in a few minutes. First I've got to talk to
Murphy."

"Yes, of course. Lost Harvest." Lillian had instantly understood the
ramifications of his grandfather's death.

Burton nodded, one hand clenching into a fist. Everyone at the station
knew how much this project meant to him. Maybe some didn't know it was
a tribute to the man who'd been his greatest influence, but they were
aware it would be the first piece he'd written, as well as produced.

The phone rang.

"Good morning, Channel Seven," Lillian said in her well-modulated
telephone voice. She listened a moment, then glanced up at Burton.

"Your mother," she whispered, a hand over the receiver. I'll put her
on line one."

Burton nodded and started down the corridor. He could hear Lillian
gently murmuring her regrets over his mother's recent loss. He was
worried about Mother; she and Granddad had been very close. Her grief,
like Burton's, was as fresh and deep as a newly dug grave.

The key ready in his hand, he unlocked his office door and swung it
open in one motion. The space was a scant ten-by-twelve, mostly taken
up by shelves lined with rows of boxed videotapes. The file cabinet in
the corner was stacked high with more videos. Three walls were covered
with photos, mostly black and white, relics of his early years as a
photojournalist. On the fourth wall was a window that overlooked a
parking lot. Burton didn't care about the view, or lack of it. He had
a highly developed inner vision that lent color and shape to his world,
and provided him with abundant mental images. Sometimes more than he
could cope with.

Kicking the door shut, he rounded the desk, scooped up the telephone
receiver and punched line one.

"Hello, Mother," he said, sinking into his chair.

"How are you this morning?"

"I'm fine, Burtie dear," Catherine O'Rourke replied, her voice clear
and high.

"Just fine."

Anyone else would think she sounded like her normal cheerful self. But
Burton heard the note of strain, knew she was barely hanging on to her