Letters from beyond - Тигрис Рафаэль

it is very possible that she will tell her exactly.

“And you are a connoisseur of psychology,” Robert complimented Josephine.

— I just know Malya like the back of my hand. Tomorrow we will celebrate Monica's name day and let Malya drink too much.

— Jose! Do you want to destroy her?

— Vice versa. Bring it to the desired condition, find out where the wealth is, and then …

— What then?

— Then, the doctor is your concern.

Marek looked reproachfully at Josephine.

— OK! Don't look at me like a soldier looks at a louse. I was joking, — Josephine said with irony and added already referring to Robert, — you know, here in France, many annoying old women divorced in families. Not as colorful as our Malya, but senile and causing a lot of trouble. So, some of them, with the consent of the household, of course, family doctors, under the pretext of treatment, are quietly sent to the next world.

— Is that possible? Robert asked Marek.

He shook his head affirmatively.

— Perhaps in another way, — Josephine said instead of the doctor, — and our Marek knows perfectly well how it is done.

But he never will! — in the hearts exclaimed the doctor.

Josephine smiled ironically.

— He will do it, the time will come.

— Stop Jose!

— And there is nothing to do. You treat an old woman, inject her with heart medications, and at the right moment you spray a larger dose. That's all. And no court. honey. testing won't prove anything.

Marek's face became dark as a cloud at these words. Robert realized that a "thunderstorm" was coming and hurriedly got up from his seat.

— Well guys! I really have to go. I'm going to write down what I heard before I forget anything.

Monica met him in a nightgown, with sleepy eyes.

— Come on, my girl, wake up. Grab a pen and get to work.

Monica rubbed her eyes and obediently sat down at the table.

Robert began to dictate from memory and the lines fit neatly on paper. Robert looked at the assistant, who sat obediently with her back to him. Her head, neatly trimmed under a square, caused a surge of tenderness in Robert. He quietly approached her from behind and put his hands on her shoulders.

The clock outside struck midnight. Robert's hands moved to the girl's delicate neck and began to lightly stroke her. Beneath the thin skin, he felt the quickening of her carotid arteries. It was worth squeezing your fingers for a couple of minutes and death would be inevitable.

How fragile human life is, Robert thought, still under the impression of what he had just heard. Monica's head turned in his direction and their eyes met.

The clock has struck midnight, which means a new day has begun.

Monica dropped her pen and gently rubbed her cheek against his palm.

— Happy birthday, my girl!

The nightmare woke Robert up and he jumped out of bed screaming. Fortunately, Monica did not wake up and continued to sleep deeply, rather tired after strong male hugs.

Outside, a thunderstorm roared and lightning flashed, drawing ugly patterns on the walls of the room.

Robert calmed down and again stretched out along the assistant's compact body.

It must have been such a terrible nightmare! Josephine, disguised as a Bolshevik, was aiming a pistol at him. It was clear that such a terrible dream was the result of recently heard stories.

Robert decided that for rainbow dreams he needed positive emotions, so he slipped his hand under Monica's nightgown. Feeling the nipple of her elastic girlish breast, he finally calmed down and slept in this position until the morning.

He was awakened by the sound of Monica's hair dryer.

— Whoever invents a silent hair dryer will definitely be awarded the Nobel Prize, — grumbled Robert and put his head under the pillow.

However, Monica continued to dry her hair unperturbed.

— Female indifference — inherent in all the women in the world. Whether it's a reporter's assistant or a toothless midwife from a wild tribe of pygmies.

With these words, Robert got out of bed. Monica, well-groomed and ready for the celebrations, stood in front of him.

— Will I be bored alone again today? — doomedly asked she.

— No, my dear! Today you are invited to your own name day in the house of the prima ballerina of the Russian Tsar, — Robert solemnly announced.

Kshesinskaya at first literally bored the eyes of the young guest. Monica leaned closer and closer to Robert in embarrassment.

— So you are that Irish girl whose birthday is today?

The mentoring tone of Matilda confused the poor thing even more. The secular lioness, the prima ballerina, in whose arms the royal persons trembled, who had countless men in bed and rolled up with this luggage to the centennial milestone, had a magical effect on the fragile girl with a chiseled Irish nose.

Kshesinskaya felt this and reveled in her superiority. Slipping out of the power of the bored Josephine, Matilda was amused by the fact that her old age took precedence over Monica's youth.

Having had enough of this and appeased by the prettiness of the guest, Kshesinskaya decided to loosen up and loudly announced:

— I have a present for you. And very worthy too.

So saying, she drove off to her bedroom and returned from there holding a pendant with a huge sparkling diamond stone in her hands.

— Robert, take this and put it around her pretty neck.

Robert couldn't move at first, in amazement, but then he took the gift and began to put it on. A magnificent pendant sparkled brightly on the girl's neck. The purest diamond began to diligently refract white light into all the colors of the rainbow, exposing its new owner in a rainbow halo.

Exclamations of congratulations and enthusiasm were heard around, thereby embarrassing the birthday girl, and finally driving her into the paint.

Most of all, Kshesinskaya admired the effect of her gift. She immediately remembered the memory of the