"Christopher Priest - The Prestige" - читать интересную книгу автора (Priest Christopher)

Whenever incidents like this did not go smoothly, I blamed my lack of experience and motivation.
The other writers on the paper always seemed to know how to handle people like Mrs Holloway.
"Can I see whoever is in charge here?" I said.
"I am the head of administration. Everyone else is involved with the teaching."
I was about to give up, but I said, "Does my name mean anything at all to you?"
"Should it?"
"Someone requested me by name."
"That would have come from the Press Office, not from here."
"Hold on," I said.
I walked back to the car to collect the notes I had been given by Wickham the day before.
Mrs Holloway was still standing by the bottom of the stairs when I returned, but she had put down
her bundle of files somewhere.
I stood beside her while I turned to the page Wickham had been sent. It was a fax message.
It said, "To Mr L. Wickham, Features Editor, _Chronicle_. The necessary written details you
requested are as follows: Rapturous Church of Christ Jesus, Caldlow, Derbyshire. Half a mile
outside Caldiow village, to the north, on A623. Parking at main gate, or in the grounds. Mrs
Holloway, administrator, will provide your reporter Mr Andrew Westley with information. K.
Angier."
"This is nothing to do with us," Mrs Holloway said. "I'm sorry."
"Who is K. Angier?" I said. "Mr? Mrs?"
"_She_ is the resident of the private wing on the east side of this building, and has no
connection with the Church. Thank you."
She had placed her hand on my elbow and was propelling me politely towards the door. She
indicated that the continuation of the gravel path would take me to a gate, where the entrance to
the private wing would be found.
I said, "I'm sorry if there's been a misunderstanding. I don't know how it happened."
"If you want any more information about the Church, I'd be grateful if you'd speak to the
Press Office. That is its function, you know."
"Yes, all right." It was raining more heavily than before, and I had brought no coat. I said,
"May I ask you just one thing? Is everybody away at present?"
"No, we have full attendance. There are more than two hundred people in training this week."
"It feels as if the whole place is empty."
"We are a group whose rapture is silent. I am the only person permitted to speak during the
hours of daylight. Good day to you."
She retreated into the building, and closed the door behind her.

* * *

I decided to refer back to the office, since it was clear the story I had been sent to cover was
no longer live. Standing under the dripping ivy, watching the heavy drizzle drifting across the
valley, I rang Len Wickham's direct line, full of foreboding. He answered after a delay. I told him
what had happened.
"Have you seen the informant yet?" he said. "Someone called Angier."
"I'm right outside their place now," I said, and explained what I understood was the setup
here. "I don't think it's a story. I'm thinking it might just be a dispute between neighbours. You
know, complaining about something or other." But not about the noise, I thought as soon as I had
spoken.
There was a long silence.
Then Len Wickham said, "See the neighbour, and if there's anything in it, call me back. If not,