Imprint of Heart. Illumination with love

“There’s no vodka. Father will be back soon,” she rose from the pillow and pulled him to her with an arm as he sat down beside her. “I’ll bring some glasses, do you mind?”

Defiantly she rose from the bed, and, causing an impression of flaming the fire of the dress, returned with a tray on which stood two tall crystal glasses filled with an amber drink.

They drank a glass of Crimean sherry and felt that they loved each other. Drink gave honey and grapes at the same time, causing secret desires, intoxicating and warming the body to the depths of the soul.

“If you want, I’ll read poetry for you. I have my friend’s notebook. It is called: ‘Illumination with Love’. She let me study.”

Without permission, Lucy began to read, turning the yellow sheets in half:

Trip to Yalta

Have long seduced southern beauties and treasure,
Why should we hide it!
How do you want sometimes worldly pleasure?!
But where do we get them quite?

Here things are tied up and tickets on the hands…
The fresh wind in bands!
Enough of boredom to wander in the clouds
We’ll wait for morning bounds.

There is the lovely sea, silk surf adventure.
Sailboat in the freedom play with me in venture,
I will run away with a wild path
To the mountains, not to overtake a bus.

For the new events the forces
I will gather for all five, without losses.
The exotic flavor is so good,
Better place for rest you won’t find with food!

“I will listen further, read, and then pour me a little more of your sherry. A fine style, something reminds me of the old fortress and the ruins of Chersonese, where I was with my parents when I was a child.”

She poured him and herself. They drank, and she began to flip through, choosing the most interesting poems in her opinion.

About Love

Who among us, trying to be reasonable,
Talked about love too simply and noble,
Denying feelings in a straight as a Wight
That is of spirituality of small height.

For love the answer is in everyone glance,
Though she recognized it once.
It is brighter than daylight nice,
Of mine, you listen to an advice.

Loving amateur for nuts and sweet,
Walking with a smoothly gait.
I don’t swear at you, don’t scold you,
Remember myself only sometimes and few.

The seventeenth spring was beautiful,
Love was not jealous and cool.
Everything was singing, growing, and fragrant;
The bird of happiness didn’t give us to sleep as ant.

They became interested in poetry and forgot about time. Alexey was dozing, and sometimes he got up and went to the kitchen to smoke, and she stopped reading and lay relaxed and remembered her mother, their talking of love, the rocking on the waves in the sea, the table covered with a white tablecloth and tea appliances, paintings by Renoir, Monet, Gauguin, Van Gogh, Modigliani, Picasso, Kandinsky. The notebook consisted of several inserts that scattered on the floor.

“Take it, or it will break.” Alexey handed her several sheets. “I’ll hurry. I’m afraid of your father,” he got out of bed, dressed, and, slowly combing himself in the glass of the bookcase stuffed with books, he said:

“I want to explain something to you. My aunt was recently killed near the mail building. She was slaughtered by a nerd. She was on her way from work. He attacked from behind and stabbed her with an ordinary knife. The investigation was entrusted to lieutenant-colonel Kiryanov. Do you have any friends among private detectives? It’s just a perfect murder. There is no evidence, no instrument of crime, no criminal.”

Lucy put scattered sheets of poetry on the table and stood up. She rummaged in her memory and remembered that she had kept the telephone number of the private detective, Tatiana Alexandrovna Ivanova, when she investigated the theft of a large amount of money intended for encashment.

“Yes, I do, but for that, kiss.” She held out her thin hand to him.

He kissed the palm of her hand from the inside to the center. Every nerve of her hand shrank from the warm touch of his lips. With her other hand, she wrote the phone number of the detective on a green sheet with a sticky end and stuck to his arm.

“Call her for sure. A very knowledgeable woman but be careful. She does not like to be flirting with her.”

Lucy turned to Alexey’s face and removed this red glow from the Chanel caprone. The appearance of the girl turned pale and acquired quite real outlines.

Dressing and lightly beating up her forelock, she looked appraisingly at Alexey’s reaction. He was completely intoxicated and counted the number of drink wine glasses on his fingers. It turned out to be only three, but the bottle was full to the middle.

“What I do not like about you is that you are too businesslike,” the newly-made fiancé babbled, barely moving his tongue.

“Leave your comments for the cats and I need a real man with dignity and salary,” she said cheerfully, but her look corrected his perception of reality.

Her father appeared at the door of the apartment, when Alexey was already standing on the landing and looking through the cardholder where he had put the private detective’s phone number. Alexey dialed the number and immediately heard the order, the request for a date. He had nothing to do but go to a meeting with a lover of investigations by taxi, because he put off his dream of buying a car to start a wedding with Lucy, and then give her a beautiful car on wheels from Nissan-Teana.

Tanya appeared at the corner where the meeting should take place, not immediately. First she bought cigarettes, and then drove to her friends in the police, met with the homeless informant Venchik. He advised her to love her neighbor as herself for two hundred dollars an hour. That fact made her very happy and she jerked in the direction of Lucy’s house.

Two blocks later, near the restaurant “Mask”, the publishing house of the local newspaper “Regional News” and the snack-bar stood the victim and waited impatiently for her appearance.

He recognized the woman with the bag over her shoulder with supplies, including a Makarov pistol.

She smiled and invited Alexey to the shady avenues of the park called “Lime trees”, recalling Bunin’s “Dark alleys,” and, shifting her impressions on the shoulders of the classic, asked:

“Have you decided to become a lover again? Oh, I’m sorry; I’m just so simply speaking about life…”

He winced at the sagacity of the detective, but he did not give a look.

Alexey’s blossoming face and somewhat slovenly appearance spoke of the complete absence of female influence and adoration. But he tolerated the attack and immediately went to a business. Tanya listened and, making a few notes in the iPad, said goodbye to Izmailov. Before leaving for work there were only a few days. Lucy calmed down a little bit, because she realized that Alexey was still delighted with her, apparently, he had firm intentions.

Recollecting the frustrated love with Yuri, she was afraid to get used to Alexey and chased herself from all sorts of thoughts about a positive relationship with him. She liked his fatherly care, modesty, and most importantly, what attracted to Alexey the most was simple artlessness, inability to lie and dodge. This is how she imagined her future husband – a principled and honest.

The week went day by day. It was possible to postpone the arrival to the plant for another month, but she was quite well rested. After the holiday, she was impatient to go to work as soon as possible.