"Karl Glogaver - 02 - Breakfast In The Ruins" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moorcock Michael)

seemed to have a significant meaning.

"That's fine." The photographer looked up. He narrowed his eyes against the
sunlight. "Just one more. I'm over here from Nigeria for a few days.
Unfortunately it's more of a business visit than a pleasure trip: trying to get
your government to pay a better price for our copper. What do you do?"
Karl waved a hand. "Oh, nothing much. Look here, I must..."
"Come now! With a face as interesting as yours, you must do something equally
interesting!"
"I'm a painter. An illustrator, really." Again Karl was flattered by the
attention. He had an impulse to tell the man anything he wanted to know - to
tell him far more, probably, than he was prepared to listen to. Karl felt he
was making a fool of himself.

"An artist! Very good. What sort of things do you paint?"
"I make my living doing military uniforms, mainly. People collect that sort of
thing. It's a specialized craft. Sometimes I do work for the odd regiment
which wants a picture to hang in the mess. Famous battles and stuff. You know"
"So you're not a disciple of the avant-garde. I might have guessed. Your
hair's too short! Ha ha! No cubism or action painting, eh?" The Nigerian
snapped the case back on his camera. "None of your 'which way up should I stand
to look at it'?"
Karl laughed outright for the first time in ages. He was amused partly by the
man's somewhat old-fashioned idea of the avant-garde, partly because he actually
did paint stuff in his spare time which would fit the Nigerian's general
description. All the same, he was pleased to have won the black man's approval.

"Not a revolutionary," said the man, stepping closer. "You're conventional, are
you, in every respect?"
"Oh, hardly! Who is?"
"Who indeed? Have you had tea?" The black man took his arm, looking around him
vaguely. "I understand there's a cafe here."
"A restaurant. On the other side."
"Shall we cross?"
"I don't know ..." Karl shivered. He didn't much care for people holding him
like that, particularly when they were strangers, but a touch shouldn't make him
shiver. "I'm not sure ..." Normally he could have walked away easily. Why
should he mind being rude to a man who had so forcefully intruded on his
privacy?
"You must have tea with me." The grip tightened just a little. "You have a bit
of time to spare, surely? I rarely get the chance to make friends in London."
Now Karl felt guilty. He remembered his mother's advice. Good advice, for a
change. "Never have anything to do with people who make you feel guilty". She
should have known! But it was no good. He did not want to disappoint the
Nigerian. He felt rather faint suddenly. There was a sensation in the pit of
his stomach which was not entirely un-pleasurable.

They walked together through part of the Tudor Garden and through an archway
which led into the Woodland Garden and there was the restaurant with its white
wrought-iron tables and chairs on the veranda, its curve of glass through which