Highsmith, Patricia - Ripley Under Ground by Highsmith Patricia

Author:Highsmith, Patricia [Highsmith, Patricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General, Crime, Suspense, Thrillers, Psychological, Political
ISBN: 9780679742302
Google: nrRwPwAACAAJ
Amazon: 0393332136
Goodreads: 427499
Publisher: Vintage Books
Published: 1971-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

14

It was one of the worst lunches Tom had ever sat through, matching almost the lunch with Heloise and her parents after Heloise had told them they were already married. But at least this lunch did not last so long. Bernard was in the hopeless depression of an actor, Tom supposed, who had just given a performance that he believed was rotten, so no words of comfort helped. Bernard was suffering the exhaustion—Tom had known it—of the player who has given his all.

“You know, last night,” Chris said, finishing the last of a glass of milk which he drank along with wine, “I saw a car backing out of that lane in the woods. Must’ve been about one. I don’t suppose it’s important. The car was backing with the minimum of lights on, like someone who didn’t want to be seen.”

Tom said, “Probably—lovers.” He was afraid Bernard would react somehow—how?—to this, but Bernard might not have heard it.

Bernard excused himself and got up.

“Gosh, it’s a shame he’s so upset,” Chris said when Bernard was out of earshot. “I’ll take off right away. I hope I haven’t stayed too long.”

Tom wanted to check on the afternoon trains, but Chris had a different idea. He preferred to hitchhike to Paris. There was no dissuading him. Chris was convinced it would be an adventure. The alternative was a train close to five, Tom knew. Chris came downstairs with his suitcases, and went into the kitchen to say good-bye to Mme. Annette.

Then they went out to the garage.

“Please,” Chris said, “say good-bye for me to Bernard, would you? His door was shut. I had the feeling he doesn’t want to be disturbed, but I don’t want him to think I’m rude.”

Tom assured him he would make things all right with Bernard. Tom took the Alfa Romeo.

“You can drop me anywhere, really,” Chris said.

Tom thought Fontainebleau was the best bet, the highway to Paris by the Monument. Chris looked like what he was, a tall American boy on vacation, neither rich nor poor, and Tom thought he would have no trouble getting a lift into Paris.

“Shall I call you in a couple of days?” Chris asked. “I’ll be interested in what’s happening. I’ll look at the papers, too, of course.”

“Yes,” Tom said. “Let me ring you. Hotel Louisiane, rue de Seine, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I can’t tell you how wonderful it’s been for me—just seeing the inside of a French house.”

Yes, he could. Or rather, he didn’t have to tell him, Tom thought. On the way home, Tom drove faster than usual. He felt very worried, but he did not know exactly what he ought to be worried about. He felt out of touch with Jeff and Ed, and for him or them to try to communicate would be unwise. He thought it best to try to persuade Bernard to stay on. It might be difficult. But going back to London would mean the Derwatt show in Bernard’s face again, posters on the streets, perhaps seeing Jeff and Ed, who were frightened and off balance now themselves.

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