"The Sphinx" - читать интересную книгу автора (Masterton Graham)

"All right. I'm Lorie Semple."
Gene frowned. "Semple? Wasn't your fatherЧЧ**
"Jean Semple, yes, the French diplomat"
Gene squeezed her fingers gently. "I was sorry to hear about that. I never met him, but a few of my friends said he was a terrific guy. I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be. He always knew that he was living dangerously. My mother says that he is probably more fulfilled now than he ever was."
Gene managed to catch the sleeve of a passing
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Хwaiter, and say "vodkatini" before the man dashed off. Then he turned back to Lorie.
"Are you sure I can't persuade you to come and lave dinner? I've been meaning to test my teeth on the gigot at the Montpellier for months." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Gene."
"I don't understand why," he said. "I may not be Rock Hudson, but I'm still pretty chunky. Chunky guys like me are hard to find in politics. You want to go out with bespectacled weeds from the Treasury all your life?"
"Gene," she said, and he caught the strong scent of her perfume, "I don't meant to be rude. I don't want to hurt your feelings, either. But I. came because my father was invited here before he died, and I thought it would be polite. Once I have said all the right things to all the right people, I must go."
"You're not wearing black," he said, quite suddenly.
"No," she said. "In my family, for generations, the death of the male has been regarded asЧwell, a cause for celebration. I am celebrating because my father has fulfilled his duty in this world, and is now at peace."
"You're celebratingT Gene asked.
Lorie lifted her head to stare straight into his eyes. "It is the way of our kind. It is the way we are. It is the way we have always been."
Gene was still trying to work this out when the Waiter brought his drink. He tipped the man a dollar, and then said unsteadily, "Lorie, I don't mean to pry, but I've never met a family that celebrates death before."
She turned away. "I shouldn't have mentioned it. I know it shocks some people. We just feel that when a man's life is over, he has finished his work, and that in itself is cause for pleasure."
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"Well, Til be damned," he said, and sipped his ice-cold drink.
Lorie turned. "I have to leave now."
"Already? You've only been here a few minutes. This bash is going to go on till three. You wait till Mrs. Marowsky starts her stripping act. Once you've seen that, anything you ever thought about morality is going to go right out of the window."
"Don't mock me, Gene," Lorie said.
"Honey, I'm not mocking you. I just don't want you logo."
"I know. Fm sorry. But I have to."
Quietly, impossibly, as if he had been materialized by Star Trek tele-transportation beam, a tall, swarthy man in a black chauffeur's uniform appeared at Lorie's side. He had a black beard, trimmed with obsessive neatness, and he wore Slack leather gloves. He said nothing, but stood just behind her, his hard expression giving Gene no doubts at all that it was going-home time, friends, and anyone who thought otherwise could lump it. He could have been an Arab, or a Turk, but whatever he was he was silent and hard and protective, and Lorifc Semple retreated into his protectiveness at once.
"Goodbye, Mr. Keiller. It's been good to meet you."
"LorieЧЧ"
"Really, I have to go now. Mother will be expecting me."
"Well, let me drive you home. That's the least I can do."
"It's quite all right. This is my chauffeur. Please don't bother."
"Lorie, I insist. I'm a hot-shot politician at the Department of State, and I absolutely insist."
Lorie bit her lip. She turned to the hard-faced chauffeur standing beside her and said, "Could I?."
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There was a long silence. Gene was aware that Senator Hasbaum and several other friends of his were
Хwatching, but he was too busy with this extraordinary relationship between Lorie and her silent chauffeur to
Хworry about them. He looked evenly and confidently at the chauffeur, and in his turn, the chauffeur scrutinized him.
Finally, the chauffeur nodded. It was an auction-bidder's nod, almost imperceptible if you weren't watching for it. Lorie smiled, and said, "Thank you, Gene. I'd love to,"
"That's the first sensible thing you've said all evening." Gene said. "Just give me a minute to say goodbye to the Secretary."
Lorie nodded. "All right. Til see you outside."
Gene winked at Senator Hasbaum as he pushed his way through the cocktail guests to find Henry Ness. As usual, the young and dynamic Secretary of State was surrounded by a crowd of women, burbling like doves
Хin a dovecot over every platitude that fell from his lips. His new fiancee, Reta Caldwell, was clinging on to his arm in a ruby-red evening dress that made her bulge out in all the wrong places, and it would have taken bolt-cutters to get her away.
"Henry," called Gene. "Hey, Henry!"
Henry Ness turned around, his smooth Clark Kent face fixed in the confident smile that experienced politicians automatically stick on their faces when anybody says "Hey!" It could, after all, be a photographer, and after Nixon's notorious scowls there was a kind of frenetic nervousness in the Democratic camp that everyone should always look joyful.
"Gene, how are you?" said Ness. He reached over the head of a diminutive woman and shook hands. "I hear good reportsof your Mexican file."
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"Well, it's shaping up fine," said Gene. "But I guess you're shaping up better. Congratulations on your engagement, Henry. You too, Reta. You're looking swell."
Reta glared at him. He had known her before, years ago, when he was a young and inexperienced campaigner on the State assembly circuit, and she probably remembered that he had seen her paralytically drunk at a campaign party, slobbering kisses over acutely embarrassed party chiefs.
"Henry, I have to leave now," said Gene. "Pressures of stateЧyou know how it is. But truly, Henry, all my best wishes for the future. I hope you're both going to be very happy."
Henry shook his hand again, smiled unconvincingly, and then turned warmly back to his swooning audience of Washington ladies. Henry liked talking to women, Gene considered, as he elbowed his way out of the party toward the door. They didn't answer back, and they didn't ask awkward questions like what the hell are we going to do about multiple-warhead missiles on Turkish soil, and are we going to let the Communists continue to infiltrate black Africa unchecked? All women wanted to know was what he wore in bed, or preferably what he didn't.
Gene collected his raincoat and walked across the polished marble hallway of the Schirra's grandiose house toward the open front doors. It had stopped raining, but the streets and the sidewalks were still wet, and there was a warm breeze blowing that promised more showers before the night was out. Lorie and her chauffeur were standing on the steps, and as Gene came nearer, it seemed that she was leaning close to the chauffeur's ear and whispering something. Gene hesitated for a moment, but then Lorie turned and saw