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To Play the King. Michael Dobbs
Читать онлайн.Название To Play the King
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780007397617
Автор произведения Michael Dobbs
Серия House of Cards Trilogy
Издательство HarperCollins
‘You entered in something of a hurry.’ A man, in his thirties and well presented, a Brummie by his accent, was standing next to him. ‘Mind if I join you?’
Mycroft shrugged. He was still dazed from his encounter and lacked the self-confidence to be rude and turn away a friendly voice. The stranger was casually but very neatly dressed, his stone-washed jeans immaculately pressed, as was his white shirt, sleeves rolled up narrow and high and with great care. He was obviously fit, the muscles showed prominently.
‘You looked as if you were running from something.’
The whisky was making Mycroft feel warmer, he needed to ease up a little. He laughed. ‘A woman actually. Tried to pick me up!’
They were both laughing, and Mycroft noted the stranger inspecting him carefully. He didn’t object; the eyes were warm, concerned, interested. And interesting. A golden shade of brown.
‘It’s usually the other way round. Women running from me,’ he continued.
‘Makes you sound like something of a stud.’
‘No, that’s not what I meant…’ Mycroft bit his lip, suddenly feeling the pain and the humiliation of being alone at Christmas. ‘My wife walked out on me. After twenty-three years.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why should you be? You don’t know her, or me…’ Once more the confusion flooded over him. ‘My apologies. Churlish of me.’
‘Don’t worry. Shout if it helps. I don’t mind.’
‘Thanks. I might just do that.’ He extended a hand. ‘David.’
‘Kenny. Just remember, David, that you’re not on your own. Believe me, there are thousands of people just like you. Feeling alone at Christmas, when there’s no need. One door closes, another opens. Think of it as a new beginning.’
‘Somebody else I know said something like that.’
‘Which must make it right.’ He had a broad, easy smile which had a lot of life to it, and was drinking straight from a bottle of exotic Mexican beer with a lime slice stuffed in the neck. Mycroft looked at his whisky, and wondered whether he should try something new, but decided he was probably too old to change his habits. He tried to remember how long it had been since he had tried anything or met anyone new, outside of work.
‘What do you do, Kenny?’
‘Cabin crew. Fly-the-fag BA. And you?’
‘Civil servant.’
‘Sounds horribly dull. Then my job sounds horribly glamorous, but it’s not. You get bored fending off movie queens in first class. You travel a lot?’
Mycroft was just about to answer when the piped strains of ‘Jingle Bells’ was replaced by the heavy thumping of the juke box. The evening was warming up. He had to bend close to hear what Kenny was saying and to be heard. Kenny had a freshly scrubbed smell with the slightest trace of aftershave. He was bawling into Mycroft’s ear to make himself heard, suggesting they might find a place to eat, out of the din.
Mycroft was trembling once again. It wasn’t just the prospect of going back out alone onto the cold streets again, perhaps finding the tart waiting to accost him, or returning home to an empty house. It wasn’t just the fact that this was the first time for years someone had been interested in him as a person, rather than as someone who was close to the King. It wasn’t even that he felt warmed by Kenny’s easy smile and already felt better than he had done all week. It was the fact that, however much he tried to hide from it or explain it away, he wanted to get to know Kenny very much better. Very much better indeed.
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