"Katherine Kurtz - Adept 01 - The Adept" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kurtz Katherine)

He parked the Jaguar next to a car he did not remember having seen at Kintoul House before: a Morris Minor
Traveller, with dark green paintwork and recently refmished timber on the sides. The backseat had been
folded down to accommodate several large canvases, all of them blank so far as Adam could see. As he took
off his gloves and briefly ran a comb through his hair, he wondered briefly who the owner might be, but he put
the curiosity aside as he mounted the steps to the Kintoul side door.
The bell was answered by a liveried manservant Adam had never seen before. As he conducted Adam into
the vestibule, they were joined by Anna Irvine, Lady Laura's personal maid and sometime secretary.
"Sir Adam, it's good to see you," she said, welcoming him with a strong handshake and a smile that was
tinged with worry. "Her ladyship is in the long gallery. I'll take you to her, if you'll just follow me."
The gallery ran the full length of the north wing - a narrow, chilly chamber, more like a hallway than a room. A
handsome Persian carpet stretched along its length, boldly patterned in rose and peacock blue, but because
it was little used as a living area, the furniture consisted mainly of a row of delicate, spindle-legged chairs
arranged along the interior wall, interrupted by the occasional sideboard or hall table. In its heyday, the
gallery had been intended to provide the occupants of the house with space for indoor exercise during times
of inclement weather. Nowadays, it served mainly as a corridor connecting the other reception rooms on the
ground floor, except when summer visitors came to view the Kintoul collection of family portraits.
Today, however, the far end of the gallery had been transformed into something resembling a stage set. As
they approached it, Adam recognized several pieces of furniture from other parts of the house - a settee, a
wing-backed chair, an ornamental screen - brought together to create the illusion of a much smaller room.
Set in profile in the midst of this artificial setting, regal as a porcelain costume doll, stood a pert, elderly
woman in a floor-length white ballgown. A length of tartan sash was brooched to one shoulder and across her
breast, its silken fringes bright against the gown's brocade, and a diamond tiara glittered like a crown of ice
crystals on her soft, upswept white hair.
As the maid led Adam nearer, he saw that a large canvas had been mounted on a tall standing easel
positioned a few yards back from the composed little scene. He caught the piney smell of turpentine, and
then just a glimpse of someone moving behind the easel. Before he could gain any clear impression of the
artist, the woman in the tiara turned her head and saw him, her face lighting in a delighted smile. "Adam! My
dear!" she called. "Stay where you are, and I'll be right with you."
With an apologetic wave in the direction of the artist, she abandoned her pose in front of the screen and came
eagerly down the gallery to meet him. Watching her with the critical eye of a physician, Adam was reassured
to see no signs of weakness or hesitation in her bearing. She held out two thin, blue-veined hands to him as
the distance between them closed. Adam bent down as he took them, and received a swift, motherly kiss on
one cheek.
"Adam, I can't tell you how delighted I am to see you," Lady Laura said, as he, in turn, kissed both her
hands. "It was so good of you to come."
"Did you really think I could ignore an invitation from my favorite lady?" he said with a smile. Then his
expression sobered. "How are you, my dear?"
Lady Laura dismissed the question with a small shrug, also waving dismissal to the maid.
"I'm as well as can possibly be expected, given the conditions of my age," she said easily. "Never mind me.
How are you getting on, with your latest covey of student-doctors?"
"Not too badly - though life would be much simpler if I could persuade them not to go baring off after every
new theory that comes along, with nary a second thought for common sense." He gave her a rueful grin.
"There are days when I feel strongly akin to a sheepdog."
"Ah, and you know you love it!" she scoffed, with a knowing twinkle in her eyes.
"Yes, I suppose I do, or I wouldn't keep at it." Adam stood back and surveyed his hostess appraisingly. "But
you - Laura, you look positively splendid in all your regalia! You really ought to have your portrait painted more
often."
"Perish the thought!" The Dowager Countess of Kintoul rolled her china blue eyes in mild dismay. "This is
only my second sitting - or standing, as I suppose I should say - and I assure you that the novelty of the
whole experience is already beginning to wear quite thin. I can only hope that Peregrine won't insist on too