Никогде
One
BehindherstrolledMr.CroupandMr.Vandemar,ascalmlyandcheerfullyasVictoriandignitariesvisitingtheCrystalPalaceexhibition.Whentheyarrivedatacrossroads,Mr.Croupwouldkneelandfindthenearestspotofblood,andtheywouldfollowit.Theywerelikehyenas,exhaustingtheirprey.Theycouldwait.Theyhadallthetimeintheworld.
LuckwaswithRichard,forachange.Hecaughtablacktaxi,drivenbyanelderlymanwhotookRichardhomebyanunlikelyrouteinvolvingstreetsRichardhadneverbeforeseen,whileholdingforth,asRichardhaddiscoveredallLondontaxidriverswillholdforth—givenaliving,breathing,English-speakingpassenger—onLondon’sinner-citytrafficproblems,howbesttodealwithcrime,andthornypoliticalissuesoftheday.Richardjumpedoutofthecab,leftatipandhisbriefcasebehind,managedtoflagdownthecabagainbeforeitmadeitintothemainroadandsogothisbriefcaseback,thenheranupthestairsandintohisapartment.Hewasalreadysheddingclothesasheenteredthehall:hisbriefcasespunacrosstheroomandcrash-landedonthesofa;hetookhiskeysfromhispocketandplacedthemcarefullyonthehalltable,inordertoensurehedidnotforgetthem.
Thenhedashedintothebedroom.Thebuzzersounded.Richard,three-quartersofthewayintohisbestsuit,launchedhimselfatthespeaker.
"Richard?It’sJessica.Ihopeyou’reready."
"Oh.Yes.Beright,down."Hepulledonacoat,andheran,slammingthedoorbehindhim.Jessicawaswaitingforhimatthebottomofthestairs.Shealwayswaitedforhimthere.
