Читать книгу Direville Dreams - Lina Dee - Страница 3

Having a long look of his deep-set eyes on scarlet wavy clouds, a tall man in a checkered suit and shoes polished to shine – Mr. Evander Lee – entered the two-story house of dusty gray color and, passing by the walls decorated with bright colors images, proceeded into the building, glancing in the direction of the kitchen to a vase of maroon roses standing on the table and a gingerbread house baked by someone, attracting with its wonderful smell and fabulous miniature details. For a second, his gaze paused on icicles and geometrically accurate snowflakes hanging from the roof, powdered in some places with powdered sugar, but refraining from temptation, Evander found himself in his office in a few moments, where on the black polished writing desk by the window was his writing machine «Underwood» and a few white sheets laid. On the back of the high chair was hung someone’s shiny, like scales, golden-green dress decorated with feathers but he did not touch it.

Evander took off his hat and hung it on the hook. He turned on an exquisite powder-colored lamp decorated with gold beads and the finest embroidery, shaped like a half-closed umbrella on a bronze stand, and holding the newspaper with the Direville’s news for a few moments in his hand threw it aside.

For several weeks now the writer has been postponing work on a new book, and unruly fingers refused to knock on the keys, sometimes experiencing repairs, gentle strokes, and even rough handling.

The ambient atmosphere of luxury and warmth was extremely important for his inner state, and even if Mr. Lee could not concentrate and plunge into work, he thought, reflected and reminisced only in a pleasant atmosphere.

Many of its interior items, romantic decor elements, scattered silk and lace items in the house shouted about the presence of a woman in it – but no one has ever seen a woman in this house…

And actually, guests dropped by very rarely to a famous writer.

Looking around like after a long absence, Evander looked out of the window, while the scarlet clouds were carried away by jealous sadness, enveloping them in a gray haze, the neighboring little children were squatting and carefully studying the reflection of the sky in the only puddle outside.

– I want the book to speak! – said Mr. Lee, with an anguish in his voice, and with a sharp movement of his hand he closed the curtains, imagining how Miss Bumble proudly puts his new book on the shelf of her bookstore. How people smile, holding it in their hands, turning over the pages, as it speaks to them…

Then, Mr. Lee changed his face, sat down at the table, waved his arms, like a pianist before the game, and his fingers very gently tapped the round small keys; the room seemed to be filled with warm sunshine, and the sparkling glare illuminated the typewriter and the writer’s hands. He dreamed to write such a book, after reading which, nobody certainly would want to sleep.

After a few hours, the office smelled of sweet female perfume; the man was distracted from the rattling and clattering pans living on a white sheet of paper, and looked in the mirror in the elegant openwork frame…