Гунгун бьется о гору. Народное творчество

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘I’m just going, George. I’ve left the last few letters on my desk, as usual.’

      ‘All right, I’ll see to them.’ George searched his pockets for his pipe. ‘You get along now, my dear. That daughter of yours will be wondering where you are.’

      ‘You may be right,’ said Madeline, smiling again. ‘See you on Monday.’

      She walked away down the corridor, her heels almost soundless on the rubber flooring. Although it was empty the school still had appeal for her. She enjoyed working there as secretary to Adrian Sinclair, the headmaster. She had been his secretary for over five years now, ever since they came to Otterbury, in fact.

      The staff entrance opened on to the school car-park. Madeline, who owned a scooter, left it here and she walked quickly across to where it was parked, the only machine left on the car-park. As she kicked the starter she shivered. Although it was late March, the air was still icily cold in the mornings and evenings, and riding the scooter was not as much fun as it had been during the warm summer months.

      She rode to the exit and slowed as she reached the main road. Traffic streamed by, mostly workmen leaving the nearby automobile factory. Although Otterbury was only a small town, the big new factory which had recently sprung up on its outskirts had enlarged the population considerably and new council houses were gradually being built to house the men who at present commuted from further afield.

      She turned into the main stream when there was a break in the traffic and changing gear she increased her speed easily. She enjoyed the feeling of freedom the scooter gave her and the menacing vehicles which swarmed past her did not bother her a jot. She was not nervous, she never had been about driving, and riding the scooter took little effort.

      Suddenly an enormous red car sped past her, its smooth, snake-like body a sure indication of unlimited speed. Madeline grimaced as the draught of its passing affected her like swell on the ocean and she was hardly righted again before she had to apply her brakes for all she was worth as the tail of the monster seemed to be hurtling at her. The driver had halted abruptly, twin brake lights like beacons illuminating the road even in daylight.

      Madeline was too close. She put both feet to the ground tentatively, but the scooter was skidding and a second later she hit the rear of the other vehicle. It was not a severe bump. Her brakes had saved her that, but the scooter overturned and she landed in the road, feeling foolishly like a schoolgirl falling from her cycle.

      As she attempted to scramble to her feet two strong hands assisted her, while a voice like crushed ice demanded: ‘Whatever do you think you’re doing?’

      Madeline’s eyes widened, and she gazed up at the man confronting her so angrily. Was he actually blaming her? Why, he was the one to blame!

      ‘This is a highway, not a child’s playground!’ he continued relentlessly, his tone uncompromising. ‘You ought to think ahead. Or stay off the road altogether,’ he added, as an afterthought.

      ‘Now, wait a minute,’ began Madeline indignantly. ‘It was your fault for stopping so precipitately.’ She fumed as sardonic eyes surveyed her, and she wondered what nationality he really was. There was a faint but unmistakable accent in his voice that was definitely not English. ‘This road was not built for motor racing, and cars usually signify their intentions to give their followers forewarning—’

      ‘I am aware of that,’ he interrupted her. ‘All right, I admit I did stop abruptly, but if I hadn’t something much more serious could have happened. If you will walk round to the front of the car you’ll see for yourself.’

      Straightening her shoulders, even though she felt a little shaky, Madeline walked slowly round the red monster. Then she halted, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her coat. Three vehicles were in collision in the centre of the road, a lorry and two cars, one of which had obviously run into the other two. A police car came whining up the road from Otterbury as she stood there, but happily no one seemed seriously injured.

      ‘Well?’ said her companion, looking rather amused now. ‘Does that convince you that my motives were reasonable?’

      Madeline shrugged. ‘Of course. I’m sorry I was so quick to jump to conclusions, but really, a scooter doesn’t have the braking power of a car like this.’ She indicated the automobile.

      The man inclined his head. Then he said, rather belatedly: ‘Are you hurt?’

      Madeline could not suppress a smile. ‘No,’ she replied, shaking her head. ‘I’m all in one piece, thank you. You’d better examine your car. It’s much more likely to be in need of repair.’

      He smiled too, rather mockingly, and Madeline found herself thinking what an attractive man he was. Tall, with broad shoulders tapering to slim hips, he was very tanned, and his eyes were a dark blue. His hair was very dark as well, and it was this that made Madeline think he might be a Spaniard, or an Italian. He moved with an easy fluid grace of movement and his attitude of indolence seemed to conceal a leashed vitality. The cut of his suit was impeccable and had obviously been made by a master craftsman, and the faint accent and his excellent grasp of English seemed to point to an expensive education. She wondered who he could be. She knew by sight most of the affluent people in Otterbury, but this man was a stranger. And, as though aware of her thoughts, he said:

      ‘As I am attached to the Sheridan factory, I hardly think we need concern ourselves with the repair of my car. Besides, it’s only slightly dented, as you can see.’

      Sheridans was the car factory further up the road, an Italian–American concern, this being their first enterprise in England. That also seemed to explain his accent. He was obviously of Italian descent, but had probably spent many years in the States.

      ‘That’s all right, then,’ she said, bending to pick up the scooter and her shopping bag, which was fortunately closed. The man forestalled her, however, lifting the scooter effortlessly and scanning it with a practised eye.

      ‘Your scooter seems to be intact,’ he said. ‘If anything should go wrong just give us a ring and I’ll arrange to have it fixed. The number is Otterbury 2001.’

      Madeline thanked him, conscious now of how dishevelled she must appear. As he handed her the scooter she was overwhelmingly conscious of his eyes appraising her quite openly and she felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment.

      ‘Th … thank you,’ she stammered, and kicked the starter. To her relief it started first time and she sat astride the seat and said: ‘Good-bye.’

      ‘Au revoir … Miss … Miss …?’ He smiled and waited for her answer.

      ‘It’s Mrs. Scott,’ she corrected him, and with a brief smile she rode away. She was aware of his eyes watching her as she rode down the road, and she prayed she would make no more mistakes.

      Within seconds he sped past her, his hand lifted in acknowledgment, and she felt herself relax again.

      Reaching the centre of Otterbury she turned right at the traffic lights towards Highnook. Highnook was a suburb of Otterbury where a lot of new housing had gone up, including the block of flats where Madeline lived with her daughter, Diana. The flats were in Evenwood Gardens, overlooking the River Otter, and Madeline always felt a thrill of pleasure when she reached her home. It was such a nice flat and Otterbury was such a pleasant town.

      The flat was on the first floor, and as she opened the door and entered the small hallway, she called:

      ‘Diana! СКАЧАТЬ