"A. E. Van Vogt - The Silkie" - читать интересную книгу автора (Van Vogt A E)

'Not in the slightest.'

'Not even a little bit?'

'Not even one-tenth of one per cent,' said Reicher unpleasantly.

She left him with a final, 'If you change your mind, you'll find us tied up to pier four in theGolden Marie.
'

She walked back to the harbor, where the small cabin cruiser baked in the sun alongside an uneven row
of similar boats. They were mostly seagoing vessels, many of them pleasure craft from the United States.
Aboard them were people who played bridge and danced to music from expensive phonographs and
lolled in the sun. Marie found herself disliking them because they had ample money and were not like
herself and her father, nearly broke and beginning to feel desperate.

She climbed aboard, burning her fingers on the hot wood. Angrily, she slapped her hand against her
thigh, stinging the heat pain out of them.

'That you, Marie?' Her father's voice came from somewhere in the bowels of the vessel.

'Yes, George.'

'I've got an appointment with a fellow named Sawyer. There'll be quite a few retired bigshots there. One
more chance, you know.'

Marie said nothing but watched him silently as he came into view. He had on his best uniform, but time
had done subtle things to him, and he was no longer the strong, handsome man of her childhood. His
temples were gray, and his nose and cheeks were marked indelibly with the wordless trademark of many
vintners.

He strode over and kissed her. 'I'm hoping particularly to talk to a wealthy old codger тАФ Reicher тАФ
who'll be there.'

Marie parted her lips to tell him that it would be no use. She changed her mind. She had noticed that his
uniform still impressed people. Reicher might not find it so easy to turn down a mature, cultured man.

Not till he had gone did she wonder suddenly what kind of meeting could bring Mr Reicher out of his
hideaway.

**

She ate a leisurely lunch of fruit from the refrigerator and then composed a poem that sang of the cool
delights of the tropical seas where the sun was as hot as a murderer's ire. After filing the poem away in a
drawer filled with other bits and pieces of verse, she sat on deck under an awning and watched the sea
and the harbor scene around her. The waves glittered in the afternoon sunlight and reflections sparkled or
glared from the white bows of the small craft and from the white walls of the town buildings. It was a
scene that still fascinated, but she wasn't sure any more whether she loved it or hated it.
It's beautiful here,she thought,but dangerous for a penniless father and daughter.