Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           “Anotherfirst,MissSteele,”hesaysasheclimbsoutofthecar.

           First?Whatsortoffirst?Firsttimeflyingaglider…shit!No—hesaidthathe’sdoneitbefore.Irelax.Hewalksaroundandopensmydoor.Theskyhasturnedtoasubtleopal,shimmeringandglowingsoftlybehindthesporadicchildlikeclouds.Dawnisuponus.

           Takingmyhand,Christianleadsmearoundthebuildingtoalargestretchoftarmacwhereseveralplanesareparked.Waitingbesidethemisamanwithashavedheadandawildlookinhiseye,accompaniedbyTaylor.

           Taylor!DoesChristiangoanywherewithoutthatman?Ibeamathim,andhesmileskindlybackatme.

           “Mr.Grey,thisisyourtowpilot,Mr.MarkBenson,”saysTaylor.ChristianandBensonshakehandsandstrikeupaconversationthatsoundsverytechnicalaboutwindspeed,directions,andthelike.

           “Hello,Taylor,”Imurmurshyly.

           “MissSteele.”Henodsagreetingatme,andIfrown.“Ana,”hecorrectshimself.“He’sbeenhellonwheelsthelastfewdays.Gladwe’rehere,”hesaysconspiratorially.

           Oh,thisisnews.Why?Surelynotbecauseofme!RevelationThursday!MustbesomethingintheSavannahwaterthatmakesthesemenloosenupabit.

           “Anastasia,”Christiansummonsme.“Come.”Heholdsouthishand.

           “Seeyoulater.”IsmileatTaylor,andgivingmeaquicksalute,heheadsbacktotheparkinglot.

           “Mr.Benson,thisismygirlfriend,AnastasiaSteele.”

           “Pleasedtomeetyou,”Imurmurasweshakehands.

           Bensongivesmeadazzlingsmile.

           “Likewise,”hesays,andIcantellfromhisaccentthathe’sBritish.