Читать книгу The bride of the silver dragon - Dmitry Nazarov - Страница 8

Perhaps, after the report, sympathizers reached for the shelter?

I pull back the curtain, and… No, they’re definitely not sympathizers.

And not even really people, except for two guys in blue messenger uniforms.

A knock on the door catches me just as I reach for the door handle.

– Margarita Alexandrovna! – Jeanne looks disheveled and frightened. – There… here we are…

– I see, – I throw a scowl under my nose and go down the stairs.

I throw the shawl over my shoulders.

I almost stumble over the basket of flowers on the doorstep. The smaller one, because there’s another one next to it, and two more next to it, and three more on the first step.

I’ve never had a problem with math, but I’m having trouble counting the number of baskets-so many, and the delivery guys keep pulling more and more out of the truck.

– I asked twice, but they didn’t get the wrong address, – Jeanne squeaks quietly from behind my shoulder. – Do you think it’s one of yesterday’s guests? Or from the mayor’s office?

– It’s definitely not the mayor’s office, – I continue to grimace.

I look at the basket beside my knee and notice a small envelope with a flirty bow between the creamy rosebuds. I know who the sender is. It’s so obvious that I don’t need to read the message, but I’m curious as to what it says. Perhaps our conversation yesterday awakened this moonshiner’s conscience, and he decided this was his way of communicating his intention to leave us alone? In that case, I’ll mark the day on my calendar and celebrate it every year.

Of course, though, could it be Shea’s prank?

I take another look at the number of bouquets and… no, Shea certainly can’t afford it.

– I hope these flowers will at least make up for the unpleasant aftertaste of my invasion. Respectfully, K’Rraig.

– How predictable.

I pick up a note from the next bouquet, but it’s written with yet another pathetic, flattering word of forgiveness. Not a word about the asylum. Not a word about reconsidering his decision.

– Margarita Alexandrovna, is this the one… K’raig? – Zhanna whispers, peering over my shoulder to read the note. – Is it really him?

– Yes. Unfortunately.

– Why unfortunately?

– Because they’re beautiful flowers, and it’s not their fault that one narcissistic moonshiner took advantage of their beauty to put my guard down. It would be a shame to take them to the trash.

– Margarita Alexandrovna, really!

My scary little helper’s indignant tone erupts in indignation. She is so bold that she even comes out from behind me and tries to stand so as to block with her at least those baskets that I will not reach in the first place. By the way, the courtyard now looks like Princess Jasmine’s boudoir – flowers and more flowers and more flowers, but now in half with baskets of sweets and beautiful cardboard boxes stuffed with expensive sweets.

It may seem that I have gone mad-and that anger has clouded my mind-but all these bounties cause me nothing but irritation. I can see at once the means by which Twigson is accustomed to achieve his ends – deceit, flattery, bribery. Cruelty seems to be the last item, but that does not mean that he is not going to use it, too. I’d even bet that if he didn’t have two scandals under his belt, and the future of his ass in a comfortable senator’s chair on the line, he’d never try a peaceful solution with me.

Because he’s a moonbat.

Because my sisters and I had already had one “wolf in sheep’s clothing” once in our lives. Fortunately, they were young, and that filth didn’t touch them, but I remembered that “priceless experience” for the rest of my life: moonshiners are not to be trusted. Never. Especially if they come with gifts.

– Are you right to throw it all away? – Jeanne doesn’t believe me, though after a couple of years of working side by side with me, she might have realized by now that I never change the decisions I make. Even if they seem cruel or harsh to someone. – They’re just flowers.

– And like I said, they’re just unlucky.

– You can’t do that, – Jeanne hurriedly said. – There has to be another way. And candy… We could…

She doesn’t finish her sentence, because just like me, she doesn’t know how else we can use all this wealth painlessly, without losing our dignity.

Although…

The idea struck me suddenly, like a lightning bolt. And in a minute I almost danced for joy, and at the same time I grabbed Jeanne in an umbrella and kissed her cheek loudly.

– You’re a good girl! – I shook her to bring her out of her stupor. – Okay, I need a phone!

– What are you up to, Margarita Alexandrovna? – Zhanna follows me into the living room.

– Remember that social shelter for women who have suffered domestic violence? I think all those flowers, candy, and exotic fruit will really boost their morale. Wake up the elders and tell them to get the kids up – we’ll all go together.

And I would like to add, that I will do everything to make sure Mr. Koriaga knows who exactly sponsored this charity event. There is something ironic and morale-boosting about all this.

And infinitely right.