Suspension of Mercy by Patricia Highsmith

Author:Patricia Highsmith
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780393344684
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company

18

The following morning, Mrs. Sneezum telephoned Sydney and said that she and her husband would like to drop in and see him in the afternoon. Just that, brief and crisp. Sydney of course said he would be very glad to see them. They would arrive around 3 P.M., said Mrs. Sneezum.

After they had hung up, Sydney wandered about the house, straightening things, though the place looked quite presentable, he thought. Sydney did remove the newspaper-photograph-with-balloon from the bathroom wall, which he realized Mrs. Lilybanks must have seen on the one or two occasions she had gone upstairs. He supposed the Sneezums, if they were doing a good job of casing the place, might call on Mrs. Lilybanks, too. Alicia must have told her mother a great deal about her.

This was Saturday, Sydney realized, the day Mrs. Lilybanks’ granddaughter Prissie would arrive. A busy day. Reluctantly, he left a Whip synopsis he was stewing over, and took the car to Roncy Noll for some shopping. His synopsis was nearly done, and needed only one more twist to complete it. In this story, his fifth, The Whip assumed a feminine dress in order to impersonate a wealthy elderly woman who had been presumed dead. The Whip managed to fool even the woman’s husband, not to mention the lawyers, and got his hands on a great deal of cash and jewels before disappearing. It was a lively plot, full of laughs, and Sydney was ready to chalk up his fifth Whip winner. He needed a title. Skirting the Issue? Ugh.

“Morning, Mr. Veery,” Sydney said to the butcher.

“Morning.” Mr. Veery gave a glum nod, then proceeded to look at Sydney’s face, his hands, his clothes with a stunned expression, as if he might not hear Sydney’s order when it came.

“Any nice steaks today?” Sydney asked.

Sydney bought two steaks and a half pound of streaky bacon, and Mr. Veery handed him the package, then his change, as if fearful his fingertips might come in contact with Sydney’s palm. A customer edged away as Sydney went to the door, yet stared at him all the while, too. Sydney looked back through the window, and saw Mr. Veery and the woman already in animated conversation.

Mrs. Lilybanks rang and asked if he would come for strawberries and coffee with her and Prissie around 2:30 that afternoon. Sydney had noticed a red Triumph convertible, which had arrived while he was at the butcher’s, in front of Mrs. Lilybanks’ house.

“Yes, thanks, I’d like to,” Sydney said. “I can’t stay long, because Mr. and Mrs. Sneezum are coming at three. Alicia’s parents.” His voice was as open and cheerful as if Thursday night had never happened.

Mrs. Lilybanks sounded just as usual also.

He supposed he had frightened Mrs. Lilybanks that night, but she had also frightened him. His pretending, which he had meant to be comical or amusing, only to himself, had suddenly become real. No one could produce a cold sweat on the forehead just by trying to, Sydney thought, not the greatest actor.

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