Читать книгу Albedo Castle - - Страница 8

“Tomorrow, go to the tailor and readjust the suit,” Rose said quietly.

She was curving her lips into a radiant smile as she touched Richard’s stomach with an outstretched finger and approached closely – so he would lean toward her face.

The top button was, indeed, out of place, the jacket hung loosely, he only today realized how much weight he lost lately – at least a stone. It was difficult to find a broad-shouldered athlete standing at over six feet clothes that wouldn’t be too wide in the waist or too short in the sleeves, and there was no time to order a new custom suit.

The same problem was with jeans and dress pants.

“Alright,” Richard replied, imitating her intonation, pretending to flirt, trying to catch her gaze. “As you say, dear.”

Rose and Richard Weiss, married diplomats, had been invited to a party hosted by Germany’s largest car manufacturer group in the building of the Corporate Representative Office for Federal Affairs on Potsdamer Platz. During the official part the guests maintained their dignity, smiled dazzlingly, handed out compliments and thanks, playing the usual social game. However, within a few hours, some of them, dressed in formal attire, will be high as a kite, ordering another private dance at one of the nightclubs, ties and wedding rings will dissolve into thin air as if by a magic trick.

A similar adventure lay ahead of Richard – as it did before his colleagues of the German Federal Foreign Office, whose habit was to party extensively and into oblivion. Rose will go home after the party – as a faithful and righteous wife, waiting until morning for her carousing husband.

No, he really did make a mistake with the suit. He hoped that this blasted button wouldn’t make a hash of the whole job …

“Rose, what a welcome surprise!”

The figure of the stranger, seemingly coming out of nowhere – though in reality, Richard and Rose had merely been pretending to be engrossed in cooing at each other – approached and had no intention of leaving.

“Moritz!” Rose exclaimed in joyful astonishment. “Glad to see you!”

She usually only displayed emotions for the public, she was a good actress – and Moritz Baer’s presence was not unexpected. It was for him that they came here … But he didn’t have to know that.

“Richard, this is Moritz Baer,” Rose went on. “The one who—”

“Who got into a fistfight with a stuffed bear on television,” Baer interrupted her with a laugh. “Yes, that’s me.”

He extended his hand, Richard shook it.

“No, not that one,” Rose replied. “Moritz, this is Richard, my husband.”

“How do you do, Richard.”

“Just fine, came to jack a car.”

He motioned his chin at the convertible in the center of the room, adorned with balloons and surrounded by models in racing suits.

“Excellent idea,” Baer chuckled. “Rose, I’ve always valued your business acumen. How do you feel about discussing work – even at this magnificent feast of life?”

Rose let go of Richard’s elbow, squinted pensively, crow’s feet surrounded her green eyes.

“More than likely it won’t be work,” Richard said in a whisper, but so that Baer would hear. “I don’t mind.”

Of course, he didn’t mind – that’s what they were working for! Then again, Baer is not as simple as he seems. A famous benefactor, the co-founder of a German pharmaceutical corporation who recently appeared on TV in a funny talk show storyline, he merely wore a mask of an outgoing softy.

“Sorry, Richard,” said Rose with a smile.

This meant her consent – and soon she and Baer moved to the row of snacks along the wall; Richard, meanwhile, wearing a bore expression, went in the opposite direction, circling the column, pretending to be captivated by the show in the middle of the room.

“… remote control. Turning on the headlights or preheating the interior is the most you can do! The car won’t budge without a passenger. Then again, it’s useful for managing an entire fleet, the monitoring panel will display the fuel consumption, the charge level, the run, all sensor data.”

“God, why do you need all that?”

“I was curious. They provide access to a car’s entrails – it’s a massive security hole if someone with all thumbs gets in. A true treasure trove of detective ideas!”

“Good thing I write historical plays …”

The young woman with rosé champagne hair pulled back into a ponytail and a young dark-haired man with a goatee stood at the drinks table, they were speaking English and paid no mind to Richard, who was stodging a canapé with tuna and capers in his hand. He reached for a glass behind their backs, the woman didn’t even turn her head toward him.

“Alright,” the man said. “Back to the sinners. That one, bowtie, fancy shoes …”

“Memorized three wine names, tells everyone he loves motorcycles – but knows jack shit about them.”

The man pursed his plump lips and hemmed.

“And his underwear, what color is it?”

“Red, Christopher. Of course, it’s red,” the woman chuckled. “That’s why he takes his pants off, to show them – not what’s inside.”

Richard chewed in silence, puzzled at their strange games. Were they guessing who is who at the feast of life? Fabian Jäger from the Department of Culture and Communication at the Federal Foreign Office, was, indeed, a show-off – and his underwear was indeed red.

At least when Richard was watching him do lines from the coffee table with his pants halfway off.

But she could simply be his acquaintance – not insightful.

“Oh, and that blonde – with the bear,” the man pointed his empty glass to the couple next to a sprawling, obviously artificial ficus tree in the far corner of the sparkling hall.

The woman sighed.

“Peppermints and unscented deodorant,” she drawled. “And she sticks a vibro butt plug up her husband’s ass, clicks the remote.”

“You think?”

“I’m sure!”

They laughed, Richard involuntarily shook his head. The man named Christopher finally turned to him, noticing his reaction.

“You know her?” he asked, in German.

He didn’t even bother to hide they were discussing the guests … Rose’s chapstick was, indeed, sweet and mint.

“No,” he smiled, answering in German, too. “And you?”

“We almost do!” the man replied. “Remotely!”

Remotely, with a remote, like with the remote-controlled car …

“And him?”

Richard meant Moritz Baer who stood next to Rose.

“Him – also ‘almost,’” Christopher said, his companion didn’t react. “And he’s no philanthropist.”

“Why?”

Much was said about Moritz Baer – but he had an exceptionally positive reputation.

“He’s a narcissist,” said the woman with pink hair. “An empty cardboard box.”

“Can you really tell who’s a narcissist, just like that?” Richard said, baffled.

For the first time, she looked at him, he was a head taller; she had dark eyes, he had blue ones.

“You can,” she said curtly.

Then she deprived him of her interest, turning her gaze back to Rose and Baer.

Christopher threw up his hands ironically in mock regret.

“Here, everybody’s a narcissist,” he said.

“No, not everybody,” disagreed the woman.

“Right, well, us, for example, we’re not narcissists …”

“She’s not a narcissist.”

“Right, the strict teacher, a perfectionist, probably a nag and incapable of love.”

Richard was curious. Rose was, indeed, a strict teacher and a perfectionist, though she didn’t stick a butt plug into him. Whether Rose was capable of love, Richard didn’t know.

“My favorite color and size,” said the woman. Then she added, “Just kidding.”

“You’ll hit her up?”

“I’m not a serial killer anymore, Christopher, no more married couples.”

“No such thing as a former serial killer.”

“I’m on an indefinite vacation.”

Richard failed to notice when he had stopped chewing his canapé, he hadn’t even finished the champagne … He, due to his profession, took everything literally – and they were merely joking.

“And what does her husband look like?” he asked.

All three of them were looking at Rose, Rose was already wrapping up the conversation with Baer, he hugged her by the shoulder clad in a beige suit, a friendly gesture – he was whispering something in her ear. Rose didn’t pull her head – with an impeccably neat blonde bob – away, even though she disliked the invasion of her personal space.

Rose always tried to keep her distance.

The woman with the pink ponytail smirked.

“Some narcissist in a suit, six feet tall,” she turned to Richard again, looking up at his handsome, clean-shaven face, narrow nose, thin lips. “Or even taller. With blue eyes and a taut ass.”

“That you can stick a plug with remote into!” Christopher chimed in.

Richard felt like they were mocking him.

“Like I said, a security hole,” the woman shrugged as she turned away.

He brought the glass up to his lips, Rose was, unhurried, making her way towards them.

“She’s coming!” Christopher lamented, whispering, in theatrical panic. “O the automobile God! She’s headed here, that’s your chance!”

Richard choked on his swallow, the wine burned his throat, he coughed, instantly red, he felt awkward – seemingly for the first time in his life.

When Rose Weiss came near, he was blinking rapidly and staring at her oddly.

“Let’s go, I’ve got something to tell you,” she said, reaching out and taking him by the elbow.

Christopher and the woman with pink hair raised one eyebrow in a twin gesture and watched him, already walking, place the empty glass back on the table.

He wanted to say goodbye, but his tongue wouldn’t budge. Richard put his hand over Rose’s, only briefly looking back.

The woman and the man blorted with laughter.