"Roberts, Nora - Divine Evil(1)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Nora)

And what was wrong with that? She started to stuff her hands into the pockets of
her robe when she discovered she wasnТt wearing it. A woman had to be crazy to
stand in an open window in SoHo wearing nothing but a flimsy Bill the Cat
T-shirt. The hell with it, she thought and leaned out farther. Maybe she was
crazy.
She stood, her bright red hair disheveled from restless sleep, her face pale and
tired, watching the light grow and listening to the noise begin as the city
woke.
Then she turned away, ready for work.
It was after two when Clare heard the buzzer. It sounded like an annoying bee
over the hiss of the torch in her hand and the crash of Mozart booming from the
stereo. She considered ignoring it, but the new piece wasnТt going very well,
and the interruption was a good excuse to stop. She turned off her torch. As she
crossed her studio, she pulled off her safety gloves. Still wearing her goggles,
skullcap, and apron, she flicked on the intercom.
"Yes?"
"Clare? Angie."
"Come on up." Clare punched in the security code and released the elevator.
After pulling off her cap and goggles, she walked back to circle the half-formed
sculpture.
It stood on her welding table in the rear of the loft, surrounded by
toolsЧpliers, hammers, chisels, extra torch tips. Her tanks of acetylene and
oxygen rested in their sturdy steel cart. Beneath it all was a twenty-foot
square of sheet metal, to keep sparks and hot drippings off the floor.
Most of the loft space was taken over by ClareТs workЧchunks of granite, slabs
of cherrywood and ash, hunks and tubes of steel. Tools for hacking, prying,
sanding, welding. SheТd always enjoyed living with her work.
Now she approached her current project, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. It was
holding out on her, she thought, and she didnТt bother to look around when the
doors of the elevator slid open.
"I should have known." Angie LeBeau tossed back her mane of black, corkscrew
curls and tapped one scarlet Italian pump on the hardwood floor. "IТve been
calling you for over an hour."
"I turned off the bell. MachineТs picking it up. What do you get from this,
Angie?"
Blowing out a long breath, Angie studied the sculpture on the worktable.
"Chaos."
"Yeah." With a nod, Clare stooped lower. "Yeah, youТre right. IТve been going at
this the wrong way."
"DonТt you dare pick up that torch." Tired of shouting, she stomped across the
floor and switched off the stereo. "Damn it, Clare, we had a date for lunch at
the Russian Tea Room at twelve-thirty."
Clare straightened and focused on her friend for the first time. Angie was, as
always, the picture of elegance. Her toffee-colored skin and exotic features
were set off to perfection by the navy Adolfo suit and oversize pearls.
Her handbag and shoes were identical shades of scarlet leather. Angie liked
everything to match, everything to be in its place. In her closet, her shoes
were neatly stacked in clear plastic boxes. Her blouses were arranged by color
and fabric. Her handbagsЧa legendary collectionЧwere tucked into individual
slots on custom-built shelves.