"Smith, Wilber - Hungry as the Sea" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Wilbur)

, Nick hesitated a moment, the exhaustion had slowed and softened him so
that for a moment he was on the point of explaining why he had come to
take command of Warlock himself, rather than sending another hired man
to replace Mac.

It might help to have somebody to talk to now, when he was right down on
his knees, beaten and broken and tired to the very depths of his soul.
He swayed again, then caught himself and forced aside the temptation. He
had never whined for sympathy in his life before.

All right,, he repeated. Please give my apologies to your officers. I
have not had much sleep in the last two weeks, and the flight out from
Heathrow was murder, as always.

I'll meet them in the morning. Ask the cook to send a tray with my
dinner. The cook was a huge man who moved like a dancer in a snowy
apron and a theatrical chef's cap. Nick Berg stared at him as he placed
the tray on the table at his elbow. The cook wore his hair in a shiny
carefully coiffured bob that fell to his right shoulder, but was drawn
back from the left, cheek to display a small diamond earring in the
pierced lobe of that ear.

He lifted the cloth off the tray with a hand as hairy as that of a bull
gorilla, but his voice was as lyrical as a girl's, and his eyelashes
curled soft and dark on to his cheek.

bowl of soup, and a pot-all-feu. It's one of my little special things.
You will adore it/ he said, and stepped back.

He surveyed Nick Berg with those huge hands on his hips. But I took one
look at you as you came aboard and I just knew what you really needed.
With a magician's flourish, he produced a half-bottle of Pinch Haig from
the deep pocket of his apron. Take a nip of that with your dinner, and
then straight into bed with you, you poor dear., No man had ever called
Nicholas Berg dear before, but his tongue was too thick and slow for the
retort. He stared after the cook as he disappeared with a sweep of his
white apron and the twinkle of the diamond, and then he grinned weakly
and shook his head, weighing the bottle in his hand.

Damned if I don't need it/ he muttered, and went to find a glass.

He poured it half full, and sipped as he came back to the couch and
lifted the lid of the soup pot. The steaming aroma made the little
saliva glands under his tongue spurt.

The hot food and whisky in his belly taxed his last reserves, and
Nicholas Berg kicked off his shoes as he staggered into his night cabin.

He awoke with the -anger on him. He had not been angry in two weeks