"Improper English" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacAlister Katie)

УThe second floor has two women, Miss Bent and Miss Fingers, and Mr. Aspertame. Philippe is from the Bahamas.Ф

I watched as she fussed briefly with a hideous yellow-cracked vase full of wilting daisies, and wondered when she was going to leave so I could quietly collapse on the small daybed that lurked in the corner. УFingers. Aspertame. Bahamas. Fascinating.Ф

Isabella pushed back the beads that hid the entrance to the cubbyhole of a kitchen while I sent a brief glance of pronounced longing toward the bed, but as she showed no signs of leaving, I stiffened my knees against the jet lag that was threatening to make them buckle, and tried to pay attention to what she was saying.

УYouТll be careful with this gas ring?Ф

I nodded my agreement. Honestly, I was willing to forgo ever using the bloody thing if sheТd just leave me alone.

УThe third floor consists of this flat, and across from you are two university students, Mr. Skive and Miss Goolies. TheyТre very quiet, so you need have no worry about late-night parties, loud music, or any other violations of the house rules. You did say you were looking for a quiet flat?Ф

I maneuvered all the muscles necessary into a smile, but I was sure the result was less than pretty. IsabellaТs startlingly blue eyes quickly slipped away as I confirmed that I was indeed seeking quiet to work on a personal project.

УMr. Block and I share the upper floor,Ф she said smoothly as she opened a battered wardrobe and wrinkled her nose at the musty smell. УYou should air this out before you hang your clothes in it.Ф

УThank you,Ф I said firmly as I sidled toward the door. УIТm sure everything will be perfect, and IТll fit right in.Ф

УMmm.Ф She looked rather disbelieving as she glided past me and out the opened door. I kept the tepid smile on my face for the count of ten, then closed the door softly, took a proprietorial look around the small flat, and headed straight for the bed.

By the time ten days had elapsed I had met most of my neighbors and felt happy in my new digs, happy enough to smile at IsabellaТs ridiculous offer before trotting out to do a little research for my book. It was a Regency romance, and I wanted to be sure to have all of the twiddly bits rightЧdescriptions of Rotten Row, Kensington Park, WhiteТs, and other such landmarks. I spent an agreeable hour getting a readerТs card at the British MuseumТs new library, returning home in a most satisfied state of mind. Satisfied, that is, until I came face to face with my nemesis.

IsabellaТs house wasnТt really what we West Coast Americans think of as a houseЧit was part of a long line of connected buildings that ran the length of one side of the square. Made of white stone, each house had nearly identical black metal railings, white stone steps, and white net curtains at all of the front windows. Our house had a rich mahogany-colored door that I swore came straight from the depths of hell. That door hated meЧ or rather, the lock did. IТd seen it work for other tenants, so I knew it wasnТt defective, but let me approach it with my arms full of shopping, and it would turn its face away as if it couldnТt bear to allow me across the threshold.

УSo, youТre in that sort of a mood today,Ф I muttered as I jiggled the key in the lock, twisting it back and forth in an attempt to engage the mechanism. УWell, my steely friend, I have news for youЧI have a little something here guaranteed to make you see the error of your ways!Ф

I set down a stack of paperbacks IТd picked up at a mystery bookshop, my bag of groceries, and a small spiky plant IТd bought off a street vendor. УAha!Ф I cried, flourishing the small metal awl I had found in a jar with a bunch of StephanieТs ceramics tools, and subsequently had placed in my purse for just such a moment. УVengeance is mine, you little bastard!Ф

I set to work poking the awl into the lock and muttering imprecations under my breath. УWeТll just see how you like to be gutted,Ф I said with a particularly vicious jab at its inner workings. УWonТt open up to me, will you? Ha! No lock can keep me out, IТm ...Ф I struggled with the tool and leaned my weight into it. The metal in the lock squealed against my prodding. УIТm ...Ф A slight metallic snap sounded. Sensing victory, I gnawed on my lower lip and jabbed the awl in at a different angle. УIТm...Ф

УBreaking and entering is, I believe, the term youТre looking for.Ф

УBugger and blast,Ф I swore, and whirled around with the awl still clenched in my hand. The man standing on the steps leading up to the house wasnТt familiar, so I assumed he was there to visit one of the residents. I stared for a minute into the loveliest pair of green eyes IТve ever seen on a man, and let my gaze trail upwards, over a forehead with a few faint frown lines etched in it, up higher to gorgeous chestnut hair with just a hint of curl hanging over his forehead, then back down over his nice cheekbones, long nose, lips that were thinned with annoyance, and a gently blunted chin. I made a concerted effort to pull myself together and tried not to think about what his lips would look like if they werenТt mashed together in a thin line.

УUm ... the lock doesnТt work.Ф

He looked again at the awl in my hand, and one dark chestnut-colored eyebrow rose in question. I felt a little blush moving upwards from my neck. УI have a key, it doesnТt work, so I thought IТd try this and see if I couldnТtЧФ

УЧpersuade the lock to open. Yes, I heard you.Ф He looked me up and down in an arrogant manner and shifted a leather satchel from his right hand to his left. From his pants pocket he pulled out a key ring and without so much as a by-your-leave, shouldered me aside and fitted a key. The bloody door opened without a peep.

УIt hates me,Ф I muttered as I gave it a good glare, then stooped to pick up my belongings.

УOne moment, if you please,Ф said the green-eyed locksmith, holding up a restraining hand. He stood rigidly, clutching his satchel and keys, a faint sheen of perspiration beading on his forehead. It had to be at least eighty, and this joker was decked out in a black and charcoal suit, looking like a hot, mildly pissed lawyer. He reached behind him and pulled the door shut.

УHey! You can just open that again.Ф I reached into my bag of groceries and pulled out a loaf of French bread, waving it in what I hoped was a suitably threatening manner. His eyes narrowed as I took a step closer, ignoring the whiff of spicy cologne that curled around me in an intoxicating manner. УYou open that door up again, or IТll bop you on the head with my bread, and I just bet you wouldnТt like a head full of crumbs! They might get on your suit!Ф

His eyes widened in surprise. УAre you threatening me, madam?Ф he asked in a low, rich voice that reminded me of Alan Rickman, the dishy English actor.

УYou got that right. I live here, buster. See, I have a key!Ф I showed him the key clenched in my palm, along with the straps of the shopping bag, the awl, and the three paperbacks. I hefted my fresh-baked weapon a bit higher. The man was a good four inches taller than me, but even though he was on the step above me, I figured that if push came to shove, I could beat him about the head and shoulders with my bread until he opened the door.