Видящий. Ярл. Валерий Пылаев

it onto the sand. He spread an all-encompassing arm. ‘No one’s likely to steal it.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘Except him, of course.’ He indicated the pelican, who looked poised for flight. ‘But I doubt he’d find one of my towels to his taste.’

       Rachel glanced up at him. ‘I know. I shouldn’t have brought it.’

       ‘Did I say that?’

       ‘You didn’t have to. I feel guilty enough as it is.’

       ‘Forget it.’ He dismissed her claim. ‘What’s one towel or more between enemies?’

       Rachel caught her breath. ‘Are we enemies, Mr Brody?’

       ‘Matt,’ he corrected her shortly. And then, ‘Well, we’re sure as hell not friends.’ He started to walk again. ‘Come on. Keep moving. Or you’re going to need to cover up.’

       Which wasn’t his problem, thought Rachel, trying to distract herself. But if she wanted to stay with him she had to do as he said. And it was surprisingly pleasant, walking in the shallows, feeling the sand melting away between her toes.

       They walked for a while in silence. Rachel had expected to feel uncomfortable after what he’d just said, but she didn’t. In actual fact she enjoyed the sense of isolation, with only the cry of birds and the muted thunder of the ocean to disturb the peace.

       And then he asked the question she’d been dreading.

       ‘Why did you come to St Antoine, Ms Claiborne?’