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

married - still isn't, as far as I know. Anyway, he suddenly grabbed an old
Hunter - strictly a training job - and took her up and did a couple of loops
over Benson, then buzzed several villages round Wallingford, and finished up
clearing the Officers' Mess with about ten feet to spare. He was a damned good
pilot. But, as I said, not quite right in the head. His secondary job was
radios - bloody mad about them, he was. Built all his own equipment, and used
to spend hours picking up places like Albania and Chad.

'Well, after that last escapade, there was a Camp Inquiry, and as a result
Thurgood was given the order of the boot. After that he just disappeared -
until I bumped into him the other evening. I'd rather expected him to be in
jail or an asylum by now. Well, he did look pretty odd in that pub. It was
real November weather, if you remember - yet there was Oswald Thurgood,
looking like he was dressed for Wimbledon or the Henley Regatta. White ducks,
blue blazer, clipped moustache - the works! Very smart and prosperous, too, he
looked. It was only his eyes that gave him away - sort of black and staring;
I've never seen eyes like them before.

'Well, he remembered me, and we had a couple of beers together. He was on his
own, and told тАвme that he had" a hi-fi and audio shop in the West End. Said he
was making a packet.' Mason leaned forward and sipped his drink. 'I don't know
quite how to explain this, but he'd put on the most extraordinary Oxford
accent. You know, plum in the mouth, all that. And very loud. I found it quite
embarrassing. I was really glad when he suggested we left the pub and went on
to eat.

'He had a big flashy Range-Rover outside, which he said he'd bought through a
friend on the fiddle. We went to one of those Chinese places up in Soho. I'm
not very keen on Oriental food, but the stuff there was pretty good.
Fortunately it was mostly full of Chinese, who didn't seem to notice
Thurgood's accent. He ordered wine, and I must admit I got a bit tiddly. I
tried to ask him what he'd been doing with himself, but he was very cagey.
Then he started asking me a lot of questions - general stuff, about my work at
the base and the planes I flew and which I preferred. He also started getting
a bit personal - asked me if I was happy in the Service, or wanted to get out
and try my hand at something more exciting.

'Suddenly I knew he was fishing. He started mentioning money - saying that a
pilot's life is like a boxer's or a racing-driver's. It takes a lot of knocks,
and it doesn't go on forever. You have to grab the big opportunity, he said.

'Well, I'd drunk a bit of wine and I rather went along with him. Before I knew
what I was doing, I was telling him that I was sick of the camp in
Oxfordshire, and the married quarters, and I wanted to get out into the world
and see a bit of life before it was too late, and earn some decent money. He
managed to get me quite excited. Suddenly he went off to make a telephone
call. He was away about ten minutes, and when he came back he had that funny
staring look, although he didn't seem at all drunk. And when he started
talking again, I realized that he'd dropped the Oxford accent. He asked me
what I was doing next evening - yesterday. I told him I didn't know. I was