"Энди Макнаб. День независимости (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

buying a car since she'd got back: she'd been too busy. She'd arranged the
transportation of Aaron's body from Panama to Boston, then the cremation,
before returning to Panama to scatter his ashes in the jungle. After that,
she'd had to get Luz settled into high school, and herself into her new job.
She'd also had to set up house then change her life around again when a
not-too-reliable Brit turned up begging for a spare room.
We split as she went to the driver's side of the Plymouth, reaching
into her bag for the keys and hitting the fob. The car unlocked with a bleep
and a flash of the indicators. I pulled open the door, threw my holdall into
the back and climbed in, as Carrie closed her door and put on her belt. That
frown of hers had reappeared, the one that went along with the raised
eyebrow and slight tilt of the head.
The engine turned over and we rolled out of the parking space. She
cleared her throat.
"I've been thinking about a whole bunch of stuff while you were away.
There's something very important I want to say to you."
I reached across and pulled off her hat before running my fingers
slowly through her hair, as she negotiated the Plymouth over the potholed
tarmac. We hit the main drag and turned left up the north shore for the ten
miles to Marblehead.
"Good important or bad important?" She shook her head.
"Not yet. It'll be easier for me to explain when we get there."
I nodded slowly.
"OK. Tell me some other stuff, then."
Luz liked her new school, she said, and had started to make some really
nice friends; she was staying over with one of them for the rest of the week
to give us time together. She also told me how her mother's B-and-B had
picked up a little since September. Oh, and that she thought there might be
a part-time job for me at the yacht club as a barman. I wanted to tell her
that I didn't need a job pulling pints of Samuel Adams for weekend water
warriors. Come Wednesday, I was going to be a bona fide, flag-waving
citizen; the US was my oyster, and all that sort of thing.
Marblehead old town was like a film set: brightly painted wooden houses
with neat little gardens sitting on winding streets. Cornish fishermen had
settled there in the 1600s, maybe because the rocky coastline reminded them
of home. The only fishermen there now dangled lines off the backs of their
million-dollar boats in the Boston yacht club.
Marblehead today was where old' Boston money met new Boston money.
Carrie's mother had been born there, and was blessed with plenty of the old
stuff. She'd come back ten or so years ago, after her divorce from George,
and took in B-and-B guests because she enjoyed the company.
Carrie made a couple of turns that took us off the main street and we
came to a stop on a small road that ran along the water's edge. Tucker's
Wharf jutted just a little into the water, with old weather boarded
buildings either side, now restaurants and ye olde shoppes. This is it," she
announced.
"We're here."
We got out, zipped up against the cold, and Carrie took my arm as she
walked me towards a wooden bench. We sat and looked out over the bay at the
large houses the other side.