"Lisa Tuttle - Honey, I'm Home!" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tuttle Lisa)

He let go of her, looking surprised and sorry. Her eyes went from the
kindly face, as familiar as a member of her own family, to the black knife
handle protruding from his belly, and she couldnтАЩt have said whether guilt or
disbelief was the stronger emotion.

тАШGosh, honey, whatтАЩs wrong? Did I forget our anniversary again?тАЩ With
a visible wince, he grasped the handle and pulled the knife out. He laid it
down on the counter and patted himself gingerly where she had stabbed
him. Except she couldnтАЩt have stabbed him really. There was no blood on
his white shirt, no rent in the cloth. She looked at the knife and could see no
blood on the blade. Maybe her usual sharp chopper had been replaced by
a stage prop. When she tried to pick it up to check he grabbed her hand.

тАШEasy,тАЩ he said, half-laughing. тАШTruce? IтАЩm sorry, whatever IтАЩve done,
IтАЩm sorry.тАЩ

His hand holding hers was solid and warm and very real. She stared
at him, grasped at a mental straw. тАШIs Beadle about?тАЩ

тАШHuh?тАЩ

тАШAlan Funt? Candid Camera?тАЩ

He shook his head. тАШIt is our anniversary, isnтАЩt it? Why donтАЩt I take you
out to dinner. Wherever you want, price no object. Okay, honey? Waddaya
say.тАЩ

She said yes. She was so befuddled she forgot to turn off the
television set when they left, and would have forgotten to lock the door if he
hadnтАЩt reminded her.

тАШThis is London, you know. Have to be careful. Not like back home.тАЩ
 тАШItтАЩs worse back home,тАЩ she said sharply. тАШLondon isnтАЩt full of people
carrying guns, or psychos whoтАЩd rather kill the people they rob than let them
live.тАЩ

тАШWhatever you say, dear.тАЩ Ward CleaverтАЩs face, like his voice, was
good-humoured, handsome, warm, yet somehow blank. She didnтАЩt think
there was anybody home behind the eyes. She hoped he wasnтАЩt a psycho.
Was he a robot? Were those Disneyland kind of things that good now? But
how did it get into her apartment? And why?

Her choice for dinner was the Caf├й Pelican in St MartinтАЩs Lane. It was
a place she often went for drinks, particularly in the summer, and there was
a good chance she would see someone she knew. London might be a big
city, but the world of publishing was more like a small town. Think about
changing jobs or get too interested in a married colleague and suddenly
everybody was talking about it. Although she still traded on the aura of
Manhattan sharpness with which she had won her first London job, Gina