Текст книги "Eagle in the Sky"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

Соавторы: Wilbur Smith
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the airforce uniform, and she went to consult her lists.

You must be mistaken, she said at last.  'The only Mordecai we have is

Mrs. Ruth Mordecai.  That's her mother, David told her, and the sister

flipped the sheet on her clipboard.

No wonder I couldn't find it, she muttered irritably.  She was

discharged last night Discharged?  David stared at her

uncomprehendingly.

Yes, she went home last night.  I remember her now.

Her father came to fetch her just as I came on duty.

Pretty girl with eye bandages – Yes, David nodded.  Thank you.  Thank

you very much, and he ran down the steps to the Mercedes, his feet light

with relief, freed at last from the gnawing doubt and dread.

Debra had gone home.  Debra was safe and well.

The Brig opened the door to him, and let him into the silent house.  He

was still in his uniform, and it was wilted and rumpled.  The Brig's

face was fine-drawn, the lines crudely chiselled around his mouth, and

his eyes were swollen and bloodshot from worry and sorrow and lack of

sleep.

Where is Debra?  David demanded eagerly, and the Brig sighed and stood

aside for him to enter.

Where is she?  David repeated, and the Brig led him to his study and

waved him to a chair.

Why don't you answer me?  David was becoming angry, and the Brig slumped

into a chair across the large bare room, with its severe monastic

furnishings of books and archaeological relics.

I couldn't tell you yesterday, David, she asked me not to.  I'm sorry.

What is it?  David was fully alarmed now.

She had to have time to think, to make up her mind.  The Brig stood up

again and began to pace, his footsteps echoing hollowly on the bare

wooden floor, pausing every now and then to touch one of the pieces of

ancient statuary, caressing it absently as he talked, as though to draw

comfort from it.

David listened quietly, occasionally shaking his head as though to deny

that what he was hearing was the truth.

So you see it is permanent, final, without hope.  She is blind, David,

totally blind.  She has gone into a dark world of her own where nobody

else can follow her Where is she?  I want to go to her, David whispered,

but the Brig ignored the request and went on steadily.

She wanted time to make her decision, and I gave it to her.  Last night,

after the funeral, I went back to her and she was ready.  She had faced

it, come to terms with it, and she had decided how it must be I want to

see her, David repeated.  I want to talk to her.  Now the Brig looked at

him and the bleakness in his eyes faded, his voice dropped, becoming

gruff with compassion.

No, David.  That was her decision.  You will not see her again.  For you

she is dead.  Those were her words.

Tell him I am dead, but he must only remember me when I was alive David

interrupted him, jumping to his feet.  Where is she, damn you?  His

voice was shaking.  I want to see her now.  He crossed swiftly to the

door and jerked it open, but the Brig went on.  She is not here.  'Where

is she?  David turned back.  I cannot tell you.  I swore a solemn oath

to her.  'I'll find her You might, if you search carefully, but you will

forfeit any respect or love she may have for you, the Brig went on

remorselessly.  Again I will give you her exact words.  "Tell him that I

charge him on our love, on all we have ever been to each other, that he

will let me be, that he will not come looking for me.  " Why, but why?

David demanded desperately.  Why does she reject me?  She knows that she

is altered beyond all hope or promise.  She knows that what was before

can never be again.  She knows that she can never be to you again what

you have a right to expect – he stopped David's protest with an angry

chopping gesture of his hand.  Listen to me, she knows that it cannot

endure.  She can never be your wife now.  You are too young, too vital,

too arrogant– David stared at him – she knows that it will begin to

spoil.  In a week, a month, a year perhaps, it will have died.  You will

be trapped, tied to a blind woman.  She doesn't want that.  She wants it

to die now, swiftly, mercifully, not to drag on Stop it, David shouted.

Stop it, damn you.  That's enough.  He stumbled to the chair and fell

into it.  They were silent for a while, David crouched in the chair with

his face buried in his hands.  The Brig standing before the narrow

window casement, the early morning light catching the fierce old

warrior's face.

She asked me to make you promise – he hesitated, and David looked up at

him, – to promise that you would not try to find her.  No.  David shook

his head stubbornly.

The Brig sighed.  If you refused, I was to tell you this she said you

would understand, although I don't, she said that in Africa there is a

fierce and beautiful animal called the sable antelope, and sometimes one

of them is wounded by a hunter or mauled by a lion The words were as

painful as the cut of a whiplash, and David remembered himself saying

them to her once when they were both young and strong and invulnerable.

Very well, he murmured at last, if that's what she wants, then I promise

not to try and find her, though I don't promise not to try and convince

her she is wrong.  I Perhaps it would be best if you left Israel, the

Brig told him.  Perhaps you should go back to where you came from and

forget all of this ever happened.  David paused, considering this a

moment, before he answered, No, all I have is here.  I will stay here

Good.  The Brig accepted the decision.  You are always welcome in this

house.  Thank you, sir, said David and went out to where the Mercedes

was parked.  He let himself into the house on Malik Street, and saw

instantly that someone had been there before him.

He walked slowly into the living-room; the books were gone from the

olive-wood table, the Kadesh painting no longer hung above the leather

couch.  In the bathroom he opened the wall cabinet and all her toilet

articles had been removed, the rows of exotic bottles, the tubes and

pots, even the slot for her toothbrush beside his was empty.

Her cupboard was bare, the dresses gone, the shelves blank, every trace

of her swept away, except for the lingering scent of her perfume on the

air, and the ivory lace cover upon the bed.

He went to the bed and sat upon it, stroking the fine lace-work,

remembering how it had been.

There was the hard outline of something thin and square upon the pillow,

beneath the cover.  He turned back the lace and picked up the thin green

book.

This year, in Jerusalem.  It had been left there as a parting gift The

title swam and went misty before his eyes.  It was all he had left of

her.

it seemed as though the slaughter at Em Karem was the signal for a fresh

upsurge of hostility and violence throughout the Middle East.  A planned

escalation of international tensions, as the Arab nations rattled their

impressive, oil-purchased, array of weaponry and swore once more to

leave not a single Jew in the land they still called Palestine.

There were savage and merciless attacks on soft targets, ill-protected

embassies and consulates around the world, letter bombs, and night

ambushes on school buses in isolated areas.

Then the provocations grew bolder, more directly aimed at the heart of

Israel.  Border infringements, commando-style raids, violations of air

space, shellings, and a threatening gathering and massing of armed might

along the long vulnerable frontiers of the wedge-shaped territories of

the tiny land.

The Israelis waited, praying for peace, but girl for war.

Day after day, month after month, David and Joe flew to maintain that

degree of expertise, where instinct and instantaneous reaction

superseded conscious thought and reasoned action.

At those searing speeds beyond sound, it was only this training that

swung the advantage from one combat team to another.  Even the superior

reaction times of these carefully hand-picked young men were unequal to

the tasks of bringing their mighty machines into effective action, where

latitudes of error were measured in hundredths of a second, until they

had attained this extra-sensory perfection.

To seek out, to recognize, to close, to destroy, and to disengage, it

was a total preoccupation that blessedly left little time for brooding

and sorrow.

Yet the sorrow and anger, that David and Joe shared, seemed doubly to

arm them.  Their vengeance was allconsuming.

Soon they joined that select half-dozen strike teams that Desert Flower

called to undertake the most delicate of sorties.  Again and again they

were ordered into combat, and each time the confidence that Command had

in them was strengthened.

As David sat in his cockpit, dressed from head to foot in the stiff

constricting embrace of afull-pressure suit, breathing oxygen from his

closed face mask, although the Mirage still crouched upon the ground,

there were four black, red and white miniature rounders painted on the

fuselage below his cockpit.  The scalps of the enemy.

It was a mark of Desert Flower's trust that Bright Lance flight had been

selected for high altitude Red standby.  With the statter lines plugged

ready to blow compressed air into the compressors and whirl the great

engines into life, and the ground crew lounging beside the motor, the

Mirages were ready to be hurled aloft in a matter of seconds.  Both

David and Joe were suited to survive the almost pressureless altitudes

above sixty thousand feet where an unprotected man's blood would fizzle

like champagne.

David had lost count of the weary uncomfortable days and hours he had

sat cramped in his cockpit on Red Standby with only the regular

fifteen-minute checks to break the monotony.

Checking 1115 hours, fifteen minutes to stand down.  David said into the

microphone, and heard Joe's breathing in his ears before the reply.  Two

standing by.  Beseder.

Immediately after stand-down, when another crew would assume the arduous

waiting of standby, David would change into a track suit and run for

five or six miles to get the stiffness out of his body and to have his

sweat wash away the staleness.  He was looking forward to that,

afterwards he would There was a sharp crackle in his earphones and a new

voice.  Red Standby, Go!  Go!

The command was repeated over loudspeakers in the under-ground bunker,

and the ground crew boiled into action.  With all his pre-flight checks

and routine long ago completed, David merely pushed his throttle to

starting position, and the whine of the statters showed immediate

results.  The engine caught and he ran up his power to one hundred percent.

Ahead of him the blast doors were lifting.

Bright Lance Two, this is leader going to take off power.

Two conforming, said Joe and they went screaming up the ramp and hurled

themselves at the sky.

Hallo, Desert Flower, this is Bright Lance airborne and climbing. Bright

Lance, this is the Brig, David was not surprised to find that he was in

charge of command plot.

Distinctive voices and the use of personal names would prevent any

chance of the enemy confusing the net with false messages.  David, we

have an intruder approach at high level that should enter our air space

in four minutes, if it continues on its present course.  We are tracking

him at seventy-five thousand feet which means it is either an American

U.  2, which is highly unlikely, or that it is a Russian spy plane

coming over to have a look at our latest dispersals.  Beseder, sir,

David acked.

We are going to try for a storm-climb to intercept as soon as the target

becomes hostile in our air space.  'Beseder, sir.

Level at twenty thousand feet, turn to 186 and go to maximum speed for

storm-climb.  At twenty thousand, David went to straight and level

flight and glanced into his mirror to see Joe's Mirage hanging out on

his tail.

Bright Lance Two, this is the leader.  Commencing run now.  'Two

conforming.

David lit his tail and pushed the throttle open to maximum afterburner

position.  The Mirage jumped away, and David let the nose drop slightly

to allow the speed to build up quickly.  They went blazing through the

sound barrier without a check, and David retrimmed for supersonic

flight, thumbing the little top-hat on the end of his stick.

Their speed rocketed swiftly through mach 1.  2, mach 1.  5.

The Mirages were stripped of all but their essentials, there were no

missiles dangling beneath them, no auxiliary fuel tanks to create drag,

the only weapons they carried were their two 30 mm.  cannons.

Flying lightly, they drove on up the mach scale, streaking from

Beersheba to Eilat in the time it would take a man to walk a city block.

Their speed stabilized at mach 1.  9 just short of the heat barrier.

David, this is the Brig.  We are tracking you.  You are on correct

course and speed for interception.  Prepare to commence dimb in sixteen

seconds.  'Beseder, sir.  Counting now.

Eight, seven, six .  .  .  two, one.  Go!

Go!

David tensed his body and as he pulled up the nose of the Mirage, he

opened his mouth and screamed to fight off the effects of gravity.  But

despite these precautions and the constricting grip of his pressure

suit, the abrupt change of direction crammed him down into his seat and

the blood drained out of his head so that his vision went grey and then

black.

The Mirage was standing on her tail still flying at very nearly twice

the speed of sound and, as his vision returned, David glanced at the

G-meter and saw that he had subjected his body to nearly nine times the

force of gravity to achieve this attitude of climb without loss of

speed.

Now he lay on his back and stared up at the empty sky while the needle

of his altimeter raced upwards, and his speed gradually eroded away.

A quick sweep showed Joe's Mirage rock steady in position below him,

climbing in concert with him, and his voice came through calm and

reassuring.

Leader, this is Two.  I have contact with target.  Even under the stress

of storm-climb, Joe was busy manipulating his beloved radar, and he had

picked up the spy plane high above them.

In this manoeuvre they were trading speed for height, and as one

increased so the other drained away.

They were like a pair of arrows aimed directly upwards.  The bowstring

could throw them just so far and then they would hang there in space for

a few moments, until they were drawn irresistibly back to earth.  In

those few moments they must find and kill the enemy.

David lay back in his seat and watched with fresh wonder as the sky

turned darker blue and then slowly became the mid-night black of space,

shot through with the riM prickings of the stars.

They were at the top edge of the stratosphere, high above the highest

clouds or signs of weather as known to earth.  Outside the cockpit the

air was thin and weak, insufficient for life, hardly sufficient to keep

the jets of the Mirage's engines burning, and the cold was a fearsome

sixty degrees of frost.

The two aircraft slowly ran out of energy, and they came out together at

the top of a mighty parabola.  The sensation of flight was gone, they

swam through the dark forbidding oceans of space and far below them the

earth glowed strangely, with a weird unnatural light.

There was no time to admire the view, the Mirage was wallowing in the

thin and treacherous air, her control surfaces skidding and sliding

without bite.

Joe was on the target, tracking quietly and steadily and they came round

carefully on to the heading, with the aircraft staggering mushily and

beginning to fall away from these inhospitable heights.

David stared ahead, holding the Mirage's nose up for sustained altitude

but already the stall warning device was flicking amber and red at him.

He was running out of time and height.

Then suddenly he saw it, seeming startlingly close in the rare air,

ghosting along on its immense wings, like a black manta-ray through the

sable and silent sea of space, ahead and slightly below them, calmly and

silently, it drifted along, its height giving it a false sense of

invulnerability.

Desert Flower, this is Bright Lance visual on the intruder and

requesting permission for strike.  David's cool tone hid the sudden gust

of his anger and hatred that the sighting had released.

Report your target, the Brig was hedgin& it was a dangerous decision to

call the strike on an unknown target.

Desert Flower, it's an 11yushin Mark 1 7-11.  No apparent marines.

It needed no marking, it could only belong to one nation.  David was

closing fast, he could fly no slower than this, and he was rapidly

overhauling the other machine.  Those huge wings were designed to float

upon the feeble air of the stratosphere.

Closing fast, he warned Desert Flower.  Opportunity for strike will pass

in approximately ten seconds.  The silence in his headphones hummed

quickly, and he readied his cannons and watched the spy plane blowing up

rapidly in size as he dropped down upon it.

Suddenly the Brig made the decision, perhaps committing his country to

heavy retaliation, but knowing that the spy plane's cameras were

steadily recording vital details of their ability to resist aggression,

information that would be passed quickly to their enemies.

David, his voice was curt and harsh, this is the Brig.

Hit him? Beseder.  David let the Mirage's nose drop a fraction, and she

responded gratefully.  Two, this is leader attacking.  'Two conforming.

He went down on the Ilyushin so fast, that as she came into his sights

he knew he had time for only a few seconds of fire.

He pressed the trigger with the aiming pipper on the spy plane's wing

roots, and he saw her rear up like a great fish struck by the steel of

the harpoon.

For three seconds he poured his cannon shells into her, and watched them

flash and twinkle against the massive black silhouette.  Then he was

through, falling away below the giant's belly, with his power spent,

dropping away like the burned-out shell of a rocket.

Joe came down astern of him, backing up the attack, and in his sights

the spy plane hung helplessly on its wide wings, its long rounded nose

pointing to the black sky with its cold uncaring stars.

He pressed the trigger and the plane broke up amidst the bright flashes

of exploding cannon shells.  One wing snapped off at its roots and the

carcass began its long slow tumble down the heavens.

Hello Desert Flower, this is Bright Lance leader.

Target destroyed.  David tried to keep his voice level, but he found his

hands were trembling and his guts were aching cold from the spill-over

of his hatred that not even the enemy's death could expunge.

Again he pressed the button to open the flight net.  Joe, that's one

more for Hannah, he said, but for once there was no reply, and after he

had listened in vain to the throb of the carrier beam for a few seconds

he closed it, and activated his doppler gear for a homing signal, and

silently followed him back to base.

Debra had been a steadying and maturing influence, but now David reacted

so wildly to her going that Joe had to continue his role of wing man,

even when they were off base.

They spent much of their leisure time together, for although they seldom

mentioned their loss, yet the sharing of it drew them closer.

Often Joe slept over at Malik Street, for his own home was a sad and

depressing place now.  The Brig was seldom there in these troubled

times, Debra gone and his mother was so altered by her terrible

experience that she was grey and broken, aged beyond her years.  The

bullet wound in her body had closed, but there was other damage that

would never heal.

David's wildness was a craving for the forgetfulness of constant action.

He was only truly at peace when he was in the air, and on the ground he

was restless and mercurial.  Joe moved, big and calm beside him,

steering him tactfully out of trouble with a slow grin and an easy word.

As a consequence of the downed spy plane, the Syrians began a policy of

provocative patrols, calculated infringement of Israeli air space, which

was discontinued as soon as retaliation was drawn.  As the interceptors

raced to engage they would swing away, declining combat, and move back

within their own borders.

Twice David saw the greenish luminous blur of these hostile patrols on

the screen of his scanning radar, and each time he had surprised himself

with the icy feeling of anger and hatred that had lain heavy as a rock

upon his heart and lungs as he led Joe in on the interception.

Each time, however, the Syrians had been warned by their own radar and

they had turned away, increasing speed, and withdrawn discreetly and

mockingly.

Bright Lance, this is Desert Flower.  Target is no longer hostile.

Discontinue attack pattern.  The Syrian MIG 2i's bad crossed their own

frontier, and each time David had answered quietly, Two, this is leader.

Discontinuing attack pattern and resuming scan.

The tactics were designed to wear on the q& of the defenders, and in all

the interceptor squadrons the tension was becoming explosive.  The

provocation was pushing them to the edge of restraint.  Incidents were

only narrowly being averted, as the hot-bloods crowded their

interceptions to the very frontiers of war.  Finally, however, there had

to come intervention from above as Desert Flower tried to hold them on a

tighter leash.

They sent the Brig to talk to his crews and as he stood on the dais and

looked about the crowded briefing room, he realized that it was unfair

to train the hawk and then keep the hood over his eyes and the thong

upon his leg, to hold him upon the wrist, when the wild duck were

flighting overhead.

He started at a philosophical level, taking advantage of the regard that

he knew his young pilots had for him.

the object of war is peace, the ultimate strategy of any commander is

peace -'There was no response from his audience.  The Brig caught the

level scrutiny of his own son.  How could he talk of placation to a

trained warrior who had just buried the mutilated body of his !  bride?

The Brig ploughed on manfully.

Only a fool allows himself to be drawn on to a field of the enemy's

choosing, he was reaching them now, I won't have one of you young pups

pushing us into something we are not ready for.  I don't want to give

them an excuse.  That is what they want, They were thawing now, he saw a

head nod thoughtfully and heard a murmur of agreement.

Any of you looking for big trouble, you don't have to go to Damascus,

you know my address, he tried for his first laugh, and got it.  They

were chuckling now.  All right, then.  We don't want trouble.  We are

going to lean right over backwards to prevent it, but we are not going

to fall on our arses.  When the time comes, I'll give you the word and

it won't be the soft word, or the other cheek, they growled then, a

fierce little sound, and he ended it, – but you wait for that word.  Le

Dauphin stood up and took over from the Brig.

All right, while I've got you all together, I've a little news for you

that may help to cool the hot-heads who want to follow the MIGs over the

border.  He motioned to the projection box at the end of the

briefing-room, the lights went down and there was a shuffling of feet,

and an outburst of coughing.  A voice protested resignedly.

Not another film show!  Yes, the colonel took it up.  Another film show

Then as the images began to flash upon the screen he went on, This is a

military intelligence film, and the subject is a new ground-to-air

missile system that has been delivered by the Soviet Army to the armies

of the Arab Union.  The code name for the system is "Serpent" and it

updates the existing "Sam IIP system.  As far as we know, the system has

been installed and is operative in the Syrian defensive perimeter, and

will shortly be installed by the Egyptians.  It is manned at present by

Russian instructors.  As the colonel went on talking, the Brig sat back

in his chair and watched their faces in the silver reflection from the

screen.  They were intent and serious, men looking for the first time on

the terrible machines that might be the instrument of their own deaths.

The missile is fired from a tracked vehicle.  Here you see aerial

reconnaissance shots of a mobile column.

Notice that each vehicle carries a pair of missiles, and you will

realize that they constitute an enormous threat – The Brig picked out

the marvellously pure profile of David Morgan as he leaned forward to

study the screen, and he felt a pang of sympathy and sorrow for him and

yet this was underlined by a new respect, a realignment of judgement.

The boy had proved himself to be constant, capable of embracing an ideal

and remaining loyal to it.

The improvements in design of the "Serpent" are not certain, but it is

believed that the missile is capable of greater speeds, probably in the

order of mach 2.  5, and that the guidance system is a combination of

both infrared heat seeker and computerized radar control.  Watching the

handsome young face, he wondered if Debra had not misjudged his

reserves.  It was possible that he would have been capable of, no, the

Brig shook his head and groped for a cigarette.  He was too young, too

greedy for life, spoiled by good looks and riches.  He would not be

capable of it.  Debra was right, as so often was the case.  She had

chosen the correct course.  She could never hold him, she must set him

free.

It is expected that the "Serpent" is capable of engaging targets at

altitudes between 1500 it.  and 75, 000 it.  There was a stir amongst

the listeners, as they assessed the threat of this new weapon.

The warhead delivers a quarter of a ton of explosive and it is armed

with a proximity fuse which is set to fire if the target is passed at

range less than 150 feet.

Within these limits the "Serpent" is lethal.  The Brig was still

watching David.  Ruth and he had not seen the boy at their home for many

months.  He had come with Joe to spend the Sabbath evening with them

twice after the outrage.  However, the atmosphere had been stiff and

artificial, everybody carefully avoiding mention of Debra's name.  He

had not come again after the second time, nearly six months ago.

Evasive tactics at this stage will be the same as for

"Sam III".

Prayer and good luck!  someone interjected and that raised a laugh.

maximum-rate turn towards the missile, to screen the radiation from your

jet blasts, and attempt to force the "Serpent" to overshoot.  In the

event that the missile continues to track, you should climb into the sun

and then make another maximum-rate turn.  The missile may then accept

the sun's infra-red radiation as a more tempting target And if that

doesn't work?  a voice called, and another answered flippantly, Repeat

the following: "Hear Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one.  " But

this time nobody laughed at the old blasphemy.

The Brig timed his departure from the briefing-room to fall in beside

David.

When are we going to see you, David?  It's been a long time.  'I'm

sorry, sir.  I hope Joe made my apologies Yes, of course.  But why don't

you come with Joe this evening?  God knows, there will be enough food

I'll be very busy tonight, sir, David declined lamely.

I understand.  And as they reached the door of the O.C.'Is office the

Brig paused, Remember you are always welcome, and he turned away.

Sir!  the Brig stopped and looked back at him.  David spoke rapidly,

almost guiltily.

How is she, sir?  and then again, how is Debra?  Have you see her, I

mean, recently?  She is well, the Brig answered heavily.

As well as she can be.  'Will you tell her I asked?

No, answered the Brig, ignoring the pleading in the dark blue eyes.  No.

You know I can't do that David nodded and turned away.  For a moment the

Brig looked after him and then with a frown he went on into the

colonel's office.

David dropped Joe in Em Karem, at the entrance to the lane, and then he

drove on into the main shopping area of East Jerusalem and parked

outside the big new supermarket in Melech George !  to do his shopping

for the weekend ahead.

He was hanging over the freezer tray pondering the delicate choice

between lamb cutlets and steak, when he became aware that he was being

watched.

David looked up quickly and saw that she was a statuesque woman with a

thick mane of blond curls.  She stood beside the shelves farther down

the aisle.  Her hair was dyed, he could see the dark shadow of the

roots, and she was older than he was, with a womanly heaviness in her

hips and bosom and tiny lines at the corners of her eyes.  She was

eyeing him, a steady appraisal so unashamedly sensual that he felt the

check in his breathing and the quick stirring of his loins.  He looked

back at the meat in the freezer, guilty and angry with the treachery of

his body.  It had been so long, so very long since he had experienced

sexual awareness.  He had believed that he never would again.  He wanted

to throw the pack of steak back into the freezer and leave, but he stood

rooted with the breathless feeling squeezing his lungs, and he was aware

of the woman's presence at his side.  He could feel the warmth of her on

his arm, and smell her, the flowery perfume mingled with the natural

musky odour of the sexually aroused female.

The steak is very good, she said.  She had a light sweet voice and he

recognized the same breathless quality as his own.  He looked at her.

Her eyes were green, and her teeth were a little crooked but white.  She

was even older than he had thought, almost forty.  She wore her dress

low in front, he could see the crepe effect of the skin between her

breasts.  The breasts were big and motherly, and suddenly David wanted

to lay his head against them.  They looked so soft and warm and safe.

You should cook it rare, with mushrooms and garlic and red wine, she

said.  It's very good that way.  'Is it?  he asked hoarsely.

Yes, she nodded, smiling.  Who will cook it for you?

Your wife?  Your mother?  No, said David.  I will cook it myself.  I

live alone, and she leaned a little closer to him, her breast touching

his arm.

David was dizzy and hot with the brandy.  He had bought a bottle of it

at the supermarket, and he had drunk it mixed with ginger ale to mask

the spiritous taste.  He had drunk it fast, and now he leaned over the