"Quintin, Jardine - Fallen Gods" - читать интересную книгу автора (Quintin Jardine)

"That's never happened: not even with you, if you remember. When I
told you I was going to Texas to turn professional, you just said
"Fine. Good luck." You didn't give me any argument."

She leaned forward and looked him in the eye. "Would there have been
any point?"

He shook his head. "No. To be honest I was glad when you took it so
well. I had this idea that I'd come back from the season, whenever it
ended, and you'd be there, waiting for me. Was I ever wrong, huh? Like
Babs Walker said, you got bored damn quick."

Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth tightened once more. "Yes, my dear
friend Babs ... devious little bitch that she is. I tell you, if she
wasn't Ian Walker's wife I'd have knocked her head clean off her
shoulders for what she did. I thought it was just going to be the
three of us for supper, after Ian's evening church service. When I
walked in there last night, and saw you..."

He grinned again. "I could tell, don't worry. When I caught the look
on your face, I thought Oh shit! and tried to remember what I'd done
to make you hate me."

"It wasn't you."

"I know that now, otherwise I wouldn't have dared suggest we have
dinner tonight."

"In that case, I'm glad you understood: you never did a thing to make
me hate you. No, it was Babs who got under my skin. I knew straight
away it was all her idea; it's in her nature. She's supposed to be my
best friend, yet she does things like that. She'll say she's only
looking out for me, and I guess she thinks she is, but sometimes it's
her motive I can't stand. She hated Bob from the start, you know."

"I'd guessed as much," he admitted. "She ..." He was stopped in
mid-sentence by a tap on the shoulder; he looked up, into the eager
face of a middle-aged man.

"Mr. Neidholm," the intruder burst out. He had fine features, lank
brown hair and wore a formal black suit. He was holding a white card,
and a pen. Oddly he was wearing white gloves, but Sarah noticed
blotches on his wrists and realised that he suffered from a skin
disease. "I'm sorry to interrupt you and your companion, but I'm a
shameless fan of yours," he gushed. "Would you be kind enough to sign
this menu for me?"

The big, fair-haired foot baller smiled across at Sarah apologetically,
then shrugged his wide shoulders. "Of course," he said. "Gimme it