"Picnic At Lac Du Sang" - читать интересную книгу автора (Masterton Graham)

'Well, I'll meet her, okay?' Vincent agreed. 'But whether I do anything
else - '
Baubay took him by the elbow as if he were a blind man and propelled him
to the opposite sidewalk. The morning was glazed and warm and there was
hardly any traffic. The house stood in the older part of St
Michel-des-Monts, in a street which was still respectable but which was
suffering from obvious neglect. The house next door was empty, its windows
shuttered and its front door hoarded up, its garden a tangle of weeds and
wild poppies. Behind the houses, through a blueish haze, Vincent could see
the mountains of Mont Blanc, Mont Tremblant, and beyond.
They climbed the stone steps to the front door and Baubay gave a smart,
enthusiastic knock. The door was painted a sun-faded blue, and the paint
had cracked like the surface of an old master. The knocker was bronze, and
cast in the shape of a snarling wolf's head.
'See that?' said Baubay. 'That was supposed to keep evil spirits at bay.
They're quite rare, now.'
They waited and waited and eventually Baubay knocked again. After a while
they heard a door open and piano music, Mozart, and a woman's voice.
Vincent felt butterflies in his stomach, and he had a ridiculous childish
urge to run away. Baubay winked at him and said, 'This'll be Madame Leduc
now.'
The front door was opened by a tall, ash-blonde woman with her hair
braided on top of her head. She was wearing a long silk negligщe in pale
aquamarine, trimmed with lace. She must have been 45 at least but she was
extraordinarily beautiful, with a fine, slightly Nordic-looking face, and
eyes that were such a pale, washed-out blue that they were scarcely any
colour at all. Her negligщe was open almost to her waist, revealing a deep
cleavage in which a large marcasite crucifix nestled. Judging by the way
her breasts swung, she must have heen naked underneath.
'Francois, what a pleasure,' she said. Her accent was faintly Quщbщcois,
very precise and refined. 'And - how exciting! You've brought your friend
with you today.'
'I couldn't keep you all to myself, could I?' asked Baubay. 'Violette,
this is Vincent Jeffries. He's a very talented man. A great musician.
Like, eat your heart out, Johann Sebastian Bach.'
Mme Leduc held out her hand so that it slightly drooped, and Vincent
realised that she expected him to kiss it. He did so, and when he lifted
his eyes he saw that she was smiling at him in amusement. Baubay said,
'Let's go inside. I could do some serious damage to a bottle of cold
champagne.'
They stepped into the hallway and Mme Leduc closed the door behind them,
blotting out the sunshine. 'The tall one and the short one,' she remarked,
and then she gave a brittle, tinkling laugh. Baubay laughed too, like a
dog barking, and gave her a pat on the bottom. His shortness had never
given him any trouble with wommen, or so he said, and Vincent believed
him, because he was always packed with energy and he was quite handsome in
a roughly-cut, unfinished way, with a square jaw and thick eyebrows and
thick black curls. Apart from being taller, Vincent was much thinner and
quieter, with blondish combed-back hair and a narrow, rather aquiline
face, and a way of peering at people as if they were standing six or seven