Glenda - страница 3

Fifteen minutes later, the prompt doorman had already carried her things into a spacious room with a view of the Town Hall, as well as parquet floors, a huge bed in the middle of the bedroom and a dark azure leather sofa

She booked three days for a thousand euros, hoping to buy ready-made housing during this period, complete all the documents and move.

Glenda had already had time to rest from the overnight flight and, full of energy in western jeans and a Ralph Lauren T-shirt, headed to watch the first version.

Summer in Denmark is as hot as in England. The lunch haze wiped out half of the capital's population. They hid in their air-conditioned apartments, and the most persistent wore hats.

Unfortunately, Glenda did not buy herself a hat or cap, although there was something to match her polo style. Relying on her newly curled curls, she walked boldly along the sunny side of the street.

Half an hour ago, tormented by unbearable doubts, she nevertheless called that number from the hands of a terrible and wonderful stranger. Much to her disappointment, he immediately answered the phone, and to make matters worse, he was right there. Mr. Holstein had just received the customers, and was ready to wait a little for her too. “You are incredibly lucky, Miss Miller, that the house has not yet been sold. This is a wonderful place in the very center of Copenhagen, next to the artificial lake St. Jorgen Se, shops, restaurants, cinema, clubs, and it’s like you’re taking it for nothing.”

The two-story wooden apartment building with its peeling blue paint looked clean and well-kept, just a little worn from time to time. Glenda liked the facade, although old, but cozy, it reminded her so much of home that thoughts of buying it were obsessively spinning in her head.

Mr. Holstein turned out to be an old Jew. Short in stature with a belly as round as a ball, he resembled her grandfather Beer, as his father nicknamed him for his eternal abuse of high-proof drinks, especially beer.

The unpleasant, sly smile hid some kind of trick, but she couldn’t figure out what.

A clean entrance hall, a spacious kitchen and living room, the second floor of two bedrooms simply sparkled from the recent cleaning. The smell was of fresh baked goods from a nearby pizzeria, so it was impossible to comprehend why such magnificent housing could cost so little, and even for a Jew.

– What’s wrong here, admit it right away. – the girl demanded, narrowing her hawk eye.

More recently, she was questioning administration officials in London with the same intensity, looking for clues in suspicious reshuffles in posts and the upcoming election of the British Prime Minister.

– Darling, take it and that’s it. – After a pause, the owner of the house began. He seemed startled by the question, but for a moment, no more. This happens if an actor is poorly trained, and he is thrown off by a dissatisfied exclamation from the director. Then the smile appeared again on the shiny face.

– This will not work. Confess, or I'll go home.

Unable to withstand her pressure, the old Jew nevertheless cried out.

– There are ghosts roaming here!

The thin athletic body shook in feverish laughter. This old guy has completely lost his mind. “God, how lucky I am. I buy a house three times cheaper than the market price, which, due to random circumstances, was inherited from a crazy Jew. Well, we have to take it."