Flying finish / Бурный финиш. Книга для чтения на английском языке

) правительство установило верхнюю границу денежных затрат на развлечения за рубежом в две тысячи фунтов], and two thousand would hardly buy the bath taps.

The man sitting directly behind me asked about decent yachts available for charter in the Aegean, and the other two told him. The third said it was really time his wife came back from Gstaad, she had been there for two months, and they were due to go to Nassau for Easter. They made me feel poverty-stricken[156 - made me feel poverty-stricken – почувствовал себя законченным нищим], listening to them.

We landed safely at Coventry, where they shook my hand, yawning, thanked me for a smooth trip, and ambled off to a waiting Rolls, shivering in the chilly air. I made the last small hop back to Fenland and found Tom, as good as his word, on duty in the control tower to help me down. He yelled out of the window to join him, and we drank coffee out of a thermos jug while he waited for his Le Touquet plane to come back.

It was due in an hour: earlier than expected. Apparently the client had struck a losing streak[157 - had struck a losing streak – (разг.) проигрался вчистую] and the party had fizzled out.

�Everything go all right with your lot?’ Tom said.

�They seemed happy,’ I nodded, filling in the flight details on his record chart and copying them into my own log book.

�I suppose you want your fee in flying hours, as usual?’

I grinned.

�How did you guess?’

�I wish you’d change your mind and work for me permanently.’

I put down the pen and stretched, lolling back on the wooden chair with my hands laced behind my head. �Not yet. Give it three or four years; perhaps then.’

�I need you now.’

Need. The word was sweet. �I don’t know. I’ll think it over again, anyway.’

�Well, that’s something I suppose.’ He rufled his thinning light brown hair and rubbed his hands down over his face, his skin itching with tiredness.

�Sandwich?’

�Thanks.’ I took one. Ham, with French mustard, made in their bungalow by Tom’s capable wife Janie, not from the airport canteen. The ham was thick and juicy, home cooked in beer. We ate in silence and drank the hot strong coffee. Outside the glass-walled high up square room the sky grew a thick matt black, with clouds drifting in to mask the stars.