JК
A Kiss Of Shadows :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 168 из 338The reporter shoveda tiny tape recorder in my face. "Who are you?" That he had to ask meant he was on the job since I left home.
Galen moved in, smiling, charming. He opened his mouth to answer, but another voice filled the bustling hush." Princess Meredith NicEssus, Child of Peace."
The man who'd spoken pushed away from the far windows where he'd been leaning.
"Jenkins, how unpleasant to see you," I said.
He was a tall thin man, though next to Barinthus he wasn't that tall. Jenkins had a permanent five-o'-clock shadow, so heavy that I'd asked him once why he didn't just grow a beard. He'd replied that his wife didn't like facial hair. I'd replied that I couldn't believe anyone would marry him. Jenkins had sold pictures of my father's hacked body. Not in the United States, of course, we're too civilized for that, but there are other countries, other newspapers, other magazines. People bought the pictures and published them. He was also the one who'd surprised me at the funeral and snapped pictures of me with tears trailing down my cheeks, my eyes so angry they had a glow to them. That one had been nominated for a prize of some kind. It lost, but my face and my father's dead body were worldwide news thanks to Jenkins. I still hated him for that.
"I heard a rumor that you'd be coming back for a visit. Are you staying the whole month until Halloween?" he asked.
"I can't believe that anyone would risk my aunt's displeasure talking to you," I said, ignoring his question. I'd had lots of practice ignoring reporter's questions.
He smiled. "You'd be surprised who talks to me and about what."
I didn't like the phrasing on that. It sounded vaguely threatening, vaguely personal. No, I didn't like it one little bit.
"Welcome home, Meredith," he said and gave a small but strangely stylish bow.
What I wanted to say to him wasn't fit for public consumption, but there were too many tape recorders. If Jenkins was here, then the television people couldn't be far behind. If he couldn't have an exclusive, he'd make sure there was a crowd.
I said nothing. I let it go. He'd been baiting me since I was a child. He was only about ten years older than I was, but he looked twenty years older, because I still looked like I was in my early twenties. Maybe I wasn't going to live forever, but I was going out well preserved. I think that really bothered Jenkins, covering people who either didn't age or aged more slowly than he did. There were moments when I was younger that it had been a comfort that he would probably die first.
"You still smell like an ashtray, Jenkins.
Galen moved in, smiling, charming. He opened his mouth to answer, but another voice filled the bustling hush." Princess Meredith NicEssus, Child of Peace."
The man who'd spoken pushed away from the far windows where he'd been leaning.
"Jenkins, how unpleasant to see you," I said.
He was a tall thin man, though next to Barinthus he wasn't that tall. Jenkins had a permanent five-o'-clock shadow, so heavy that I'd asked him once why he didn't just grow a beard. He'd replied that his wife didn't like facial hair. I'd replied that I couldn't believe anyone would marry him. Jenkins had sold pictures of my father's hacked body. Not in the United States, of course, we're too civilized for that, but there are other countries, other newspapers, other magazines. People bought the pictures and published them. He was also the one who'd surprised me at the funeral and snapped pictures of me with tears trailing down my cheeks, my eyes so angry they had a glow to them. That one had been nominated for a prize of some kind. It lost, but my face and my father's dead body were worldwide news thanks to Jenkins. I still hated him for that.
"I heard a rumor that you'd be coming back for a visit. Are you staying the whole month until Halloween?" he asked.
"I can't believe that anyone would risk my aunt's displeasure talking to you," I said, ignoring his question. I'd had lots of practice ignoring reporter's questions.
He smiled. "You'd be surprised who talks to me and about what."
I didn't like the phrasing on that. It sounded vaguely threatening, vaguely personal. No, I didn't like it one little bit.
"Welcome home, Meredith," he said and gave a small but strangely stylish bow.
What I wanted to say to him wasn't fit for public consumption, but there were too many tape recorders. If Jenkins was here, then the television people couldn't be far behind. If he couldn't have an exclusive, he'd make sure there was a crowd.
I said nothing. I let it go. He'd been baiting me since I was a child. He was only about ten years older than I was, but he looked twenty years older, because I still looked like I was in my early twenties. Maybe I wasn't going to live forever, but I was going out well preserved. I think that really bothered Jenkins, covering people who either didn't age or aged more slowly than he did. There were moments when I was younger that it had been a comfort that he would probably die first.
"You still smell like an ashtray, Jenkins.