Читать книгу Incredible Spy Detective. Poets and Liars - - Страница 9

[Great Britain, London, City of Westminster]

Sir Leigh McKellen was a silver-haired old man, tall but hunched over crutches due to arthritis. His young driver, Remy Adan, was always close by, laughing at his jokes – just as strange as Alexandra Stern’s – and occasionally handing his master a new glass.

The wine of the blood of kings – another metaphor, a wordplay – and Richard sincerely hoped it had nothing to do with the British royal family.

“I often say she has good taste – in both women and men,” Sir McKellen winked at Richard slyly. “Are you a model?”

“No, I’m an actor.”

“A bit old for a model,” Remy chuckled, half under his breath, but still audible amidst the cacophony of background noise – music and voices.

“Rude, Remy!” exclaimed Alexandra. “I’m the rude one around here – don’t take after me.”

“No, it’s not rude at all,” replied Richard, taking a sip of Barolo. “It’s true.”

They had already been interrupted twice for group and couple photos, as expected – and advantageous. McKellen and Adan were old friends of Alexandra’s; the knight of the Order of the British Empire was a consultant for several of her early novels, and his driver – and assistant – treated her as if they had known each other since childhood, even though that was far from the truth.

In a couple of hours, rumors will circulate that the writer Stella Fracta had made a public appearance with her new paramour, a relatively unknown British actor. Confirming this would be the photos where Richard North leaned in to whisper something in her ear. Richard, of course, did this intentionally, whispering warnings about guests that approached them with a new round of praise.

Alexandra seemed to be fine with Richard sticking close to her every move, departing for drinks or snacks only when she engaged in conversation.

She was wearing a suit – black wide-legged pants and a top with open shoulders and back. Her skin shimmered with glitter applied over tattoos – intricate monochromatic geometric patterns. She held her glass by the stem, Richard held his by the bowl, deliberately incorrect. He spent the whole evening waiting for her to comment on it, but she said nothing; instead, she explained the wines being served at the event, as they were the same varieties grown in the fictional commune, one of the wineries in Barolo from ‘Cats Don’t Drink Wine’.

This was the height of the afterparty in the crypt beneath the Church of St-Martin-in-the-Fields – when the guests were already drunk and relaxed, yet had no intention of leaving. Richard drank sparingly – because, despite his ability to always stay focused, he felt excited.

He was too old for a model – but he was still young. He was only thirty-five, fourteen years of which he spent working in intelligence. He knew so much and had experienced so much – and yet suddenly felt foolish, helpless, lost.

It was too late for doubts.

“Funny,” Alexandra mused, picking up another glass from the waiter’s tray. “When I first saw you, I thought you were a damn narcissist.”

“Is that so?” Richard replied, never taking his eyes off her.

“But you’re not a narcissist. Or even if you are, you’re very good at pretending.”

He wanted to smile, but he couldn’t. He watched her twirl the wine in her hand, but she never brought it to her lips.

“I’m not a narcissist.”

“Yes, you’re just a good actor.”

“Do you think I’m pretending?”

He did feel drunk – a special kind of drunk. She had to have noticed his pupils dilate. That was impossible to fake.

Alexandra chuckled, shrugged. Glitter sparkled on her bare skin.

“No, tell me, do you think I’m pretending?”

He pulled her wrist down, her glass untouched. Richard’s hold on her wrist was gentle. She wasn’t exaggerating – her hands were always cold.

Blue eyes met brown again. Her eyes were dark, they appeared large and bottomless thanks to her long lashes and perfect eyeliner and shimmering brown eyeshadow. On her smiling lips was long-lasting lipstick – and burgundy traces of the red wine of the blood of kings.

“Alright, you don’t have to answer,” Richard interjected with a smile. “Shall we dance?”

Before she could resist or object, he took her glass – placing it in a niche near the column they were standing next to, where they could easily find it later. He then pulled Alexandra onto the dance floor, barely touching her glittering back, taking her hand again, confidently this time.

Where had he gone wrong, why did she still not trust him?

One – he placed his hand on her back, felt her fingers on his shoulder, two – they closed the distance between their bodies, discordant with the music that seemed to be playing from another era, three – they took a step in unison, merging with the haphazard movements of the cheerful guests, four – the sound of shattering glass, a scream, a gasp, a dull thud – like that of a falling body …

They turned around. Alexandra instinctively rushed forward to the woman on the floor, foaming at the mouth – but Richard grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back.

He grappled: should he act the hero or prevent Alexandra from getting involved, shield her from everything, stay by her side? The security had already called an ambulance – and it would most likely come too late.

The niche where Richard had placed the glass was empty. On the floor were glass shards and a bright pool of wine. He opened his mouth to address the security guard who had entered the room, but Alexandra reacted faster.

“Lock all the doors and call the police.”

Her voice was loud and clear, as if it had a physical presence beneath the arched ceiling. The resonance reverberated through Richard’s body. He immediately pulled Alexandra close, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

The sounds of scream and panic are terrifying in a basic, primal way, often more than their cause … Alexandra’s body relaxed only after several seconds of his strong embrace.

Richard’s heartbeat was oddly fast, as if he himself was frightened. His hands and suit were covered in glitter after he had to let her go – because by then, police officers had entered the crypt.