JК
The English Assassin :: Silva Daniel
Страница: 4 из 209“How many times have I asked you to respect my closed door? Can’t you see I’min the middle of an important discussion?”
“But Papa-”
“And put on some proper clothing! Ten o’clock in the morning and you’re still wearing only a housecoat.”
“Papa, I must-”
“It can wait until I’ve finished.”
“No, it can’t, Papa!”
She screamed this so loudly the man in sunglasses flinched.
“I apologize, Otto, but I’m afraid my daughter’s manners have suffered from spending too many hours alone with her instrument. Will you excuse me? I won’t be but a moment.”
ANNA Rolfe’s father handled important documents with care, and the note he removed from the grave was no exception. When he finished reading it, he looked up sharply, his gaze flickering from side to side, as if he feared someone was reading over his shoulder. This Anna saw from her bedroom window.
As he turned and started back toward the villa, he glanced up at the window and his eyes met Anna’s. He paused, holding her gaze for a moment. It was not a gaze of sympathy. Or remorse. It was a gaze of suspicion.
She turned from the window. The Stradivarius lay where she had dropped it. She picked it up. Downstairs she heard her father calmly telling his guest of his wife’s suicide. She lifted the violin to her neck, laid the bow upon the strings, closed her eyes. G minor. Various patterns of ascent and descent. Arpeggios. Broken thirds.
“HOW can she play at a time like this?”
“I’m afraid she knows little else.”
Late afternoon. The two men alone in the study again. The police had completed their initial investigation, and the body had been removed. The note lay on the drop-leaf table between them.
“A doctor could give her a sedative.”
“She doesn’t want a doctor. I’m afraid she has her mother’s temper and her mother’s stubborn nature.”
“Did the police ask whether there was a note?”
“I see no need to involve the police in the personal matters of this family, especially when it concerns the suicide of my wife.”
“And your daughter?”
“What about my daughter?”
“She was watching you from the window.”
“My daughter is my business. I’ll deal with her as I see fit.”
“I certainly hope so. But do me one small favor.”
“What’s that, Otto?”
His pale hand patted the top of the table until it came to rest on the note.
“Burn this damned thing, along with everything else.
“But Papa-”
“And put on some proper clothing! Ten o’clock in the morning and you’re still wearing only a housecoat.”
“Papa, I must-”
“It can wait until I’ve finished.”
“No, it can’t, Papa!”
She screamed this so loudly the man in sunglasses flinched.
“I apologize, Otto, but I’m afraid my daughter’s manners have suffered from spending too many hours alone with her instrument. Will you excuse me? I won’t be but a moment.”
ANNA Rolfe’s father handled important documents with care, and the note he removed from the grave was no exception. When he finished reading it, he looked up sharply, his gaze flickering from side to side, as if he feared someone was reading over his shoulder. This Anna saw from her bedroom window.
As he turned and started back toward the villa, he glanced up at the window and his eyes met Anna’s. He paused, holding her gaze for a moment. It was not a gaze of sympathy. Or remorse. It was a gaze of suspicion.
She turned from the window. The Stradivarius lay where she had dropped it. She picked it up. Downstairs she heard her father calmly telling his guest of his wife’s suicide. She lifted the violin to her neck, laid the bow upon the strings, closed her eyes. G minor. Various patterns of ascent and descent. Arpeggios. Broken thirds.
“HOW can she play at a time like this?”
“I’m afraid she knows little else.”
Late afternoon. The two men alone in the study again. The police had completed their initial investigation, and the body had been removed. The note lay on the drop-leaf table between them.
“A doctor could give her a sedative.”
“She doesn’t want a doctor. I’m afraid she has her mother’s temper and her mother’s stubborn nature.”
“Did the police ask whether there was a note?”
“I see no need to involve the police in the personal matters of this family, especially when it concerns the suicide of my wife.”
“And your daughter?”
“What about my daughter?”
“She was watching you from the window.”
“My daughter is my business. I’ll deal with her as I see fit.”
“I certainly hope so. But do me one small favor.”
“What’s that, Otto?”
His pale hand patted the top of the table until it came to rest on the note.
“Burn this damned thing, along with everything else.