"Alan Williams - Holy of Holies" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Alan)

small, semi-continent body was trussed and zipped up in his scarlet jump-suit,
ready for bed. At the sight of Rawcliff he let out a shriek of pleasure,
followed by a wild babble while his mother had to duck back to avoid his tiny
flailing fists, as he struggled to reach out and grab Rawcliff's hair.

He was their only child so far, after they had married late, both for the
first time - Judith Rawcliff being nearly ten years younger than her husband.
She was a tall, fine-boned girl, dark, with beautiful wrists and ankles, and a
clear-skinned, calm-eyed purity about her. A quiet face which seemed to reject
her obvious sexuality, to chasten it with a wilful, even stubborn authority.
But it was her wrists, and her long slim ankles which Rawcliff remembered
noticing first when she'd come into his shop - nearly three years ago now -
and asked him for some table wine. She'd wanted something good but cheap; and
he'd known at once that he wouldn't be able to fob her off with any rubbish.
It was therefore no surprise when he learnt that she was a professional
working girl - a fully-fledged executive with one of the big multinational
computer corporations.
'Judith, love - meet Flight-Lieutenant Terence Mason' -and he caught, her cold
glance at his diminishing glass of whisky, before she turned on Mason her
wide-eyed smile. 'My wife, Judith, and our son, Tom,' Rawcliff concluded,
while Mason repeated that he had three children of his own, and was sure he
could handle even a little rascal like this.

Rawcliff had stood back, the proud father. It was an overwhelming, almost
unnerving pride - a feeling which, like the whisky in his hand, seemed
sometimes to hold a special threat: a reminder, perhaps, that both wife and
child were too good for him - that he would never be able to live up to them,
and had never deserved them in the first place."

Tom was shouting for a kiss from his father, and Rawcliff had to perform the
ritual pantomime of swooping, growling bear-hug, ending with a smacking kiss
on his son's wet little lips. God, how he loved that child. It seemed almost
indecent, in a man of his age - pulling forty, as he preferred to think of
himself - which is a good age, providing one was on top of things.

Tom was finally carried off to bed, protesting, clutching his nearly bald,
one-eyed teddy; and soon after, Rawcliff and his wife left Flight-Lieutenant
Mason alone in charge of the house, with the promise that they'd be back by
11.30, at the latest.

Out in the car Judith said, 'I think he's rather sweet.'

'Probably good enough at his job. And useful if the house caught fire, or
somebody tried to break in.'

'I heard you tell him that you've still got your licence.' She took her hand
off the gear-shift and squeezed his arm. 'Don't worry about the business,
Charles. Something'll turn up.'

Over the next month Flight-Lieutenant Terence Mason baby-sat for them about