Highsmith, Patricia - Ripley Under Water by Highsmith Patricia

Author:Highsmith, Patricia [Highsmith, Patricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780393333190
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company
Published: 2008-08-26T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Tom got a taxi, after several minutes’ effort, and asked the driver please to aim for Covent Garden, and gave Ed’s address. Seven twenty-two by Tom’s watch. His eyes jumped from shop sign to rooftop, to a pigeon, to a dachshund on a leash crossing the King’s Road. The driver had to turn and head in the other direction. Tom was thinking that, if he had asked Cynthia if she was in frequent touch with Pritchard, she might have replied with her catlike smile: “Certainly not. What’s the need?”

And this might have meant that a type like Pritchard would keep going under his own momentum, without even further ammo, though she’d given him some, because he had decided to hate Tom Ripley.

Tom was pleased to find both Jeff and Ed in the flat when he arrived. They were in Ed’s workroom.

“How was your day?” asked Ed. “What did you do? Besides buying me that handsome dressing-gown. I showed it to Jeff.”

“Oh, I—looked in at the Buckmaster this morning, talked with Nick, whom I like more and more.”

“Isn’t he nice,” said Ed, rather mechanically in his English way.

“First, Ed, are there any telephone messages for me? I gave your number to Heloise, you know.”

“No, I checked when I came in around half-past four,” Ed replied. “If you want to try Heloise now—”

Tom smiled. “Casablanca? At this hour?” But Tom was a bit worried, thinking of Meknes or perhaps Marrakesh next, inland towns that evoked visions of sand, distant horizons, camels that walked with ease while men sank in the softness which in Tom’s imagination took on the evil powers of quicksand. Tom blinked. “I’ll—maybe try her late again tonight, if that’s all right with you, Ed.”

“My house is your house!” said Ed. “Like a gin and tonic, Tom?”

“In a minute, thanks. I saw Cynthia today.” Tom saw Jeff’s attention focus.

“Where? And how?” Jeff gave a laugh on the last question.

“Stood in wait outside her office building. Six o’clock,” Tom said. “With some difficulty, I persuaded her to join me for a glass at a local pub.”

“Really!” said Ed, impressed.

Tom sat down in the armchair to which Ed had gestured. Jeff looked comfortable on Ed’s slightly sagging sofa. “She hasn’t changed. She’s pretty grim. But—”

“Relax, Tom,” said Ed. “Back in a flash.” He went off to the kitchen, and was indeed back in a flash with an iceless gin and tonic with a slice of lemon.

Meanwhile Jeff had asked, “Is she married—do you think?” Jeff was serious, but he looked as if he realized that Cynthia would not have answered yes or no, if Tom had posed the question.

“I have the feeling no. Just a feeling,” Tom said, and accepted his glass. “I thank you, Ed. Well, it seems to be my problem and not yours—either of you—and not the

Buckmaster Gallery’s or—Derwatt’s.” Tom lifted his drink. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” they echoed.

“By problem, I mean, Cynthia having got a message through to Preechard—whom she says she’s never met, by the way—to try to investigate the Murchison business.

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