Small g: A Summer Idyll by Patricia Highsmith

Author:Patricia Highsmith [Highsmith, Patricia]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Bloomsbury Pub.
Published: 1995-05-25T05:00:00+00:00

RICKIE GOT TO HIS STUDIO just as Mathilde did.

“You’re looking happy today,” she remarked.

“Oh—a small bit of good news,” Rickie replied as he unlocked the door. Mathilde was curious, he saw, so he didn’t wait for her to ask what. “My friend Teddie—the boy who was hurt. An article by him is printed in the Tages-Anzeiger today. I just read it in Jakob’s.”

“That he wrote? And he’s just a kid! An article about what?”

“A first date. He signs it Georg Stefan.”

“I’ll read it. We take it at home.”

Coffee. Always more coffee. Mathilde opened envelopes.

Rickie was cheerful for another reason: he had a “dry-skin” idea that he thought might work. It was true, some things are better dry, like champagne, some white wines, Dry Sack, and a dry martini cocktail, but not your skin. Rickie’s layout would have no person in it, only attractive wine and cocktail glasses. With his coffee and a cigarette, Rickie began to sketch.

“Ah, Rickie, here’s something not so nice.” Mathilde came over to hand a piece of paper to him.

This was a bill, with a small handwritten note from the Wengers, saying they were sure he would like to settle this as soon as possible. It was an estimate of two thousand, six hundred and forty-five francs for the two doors of Willi Biber, which had to be custom-made, because of the house’s antiquity.

“Two doors. Why can’t these crooks stuff themselves,” Rickie muttered, and broke out in a grin, when he saw that Mathilde had heard him. “For a couple of flimsy doors that anyone could kick in. And I did!”

They both laughed.

“One pays for one’s fun, no? Make a check out to those people, please, Mathilde, and I’ll sign it.” He went back to his work.

A little later, he was consulting a much used address book for a number for Dorrie. He found three, and tried one in the Bahnhofstrasse. This place knew Dorrie and thought she might be at another store, whose name they gave. At least he was able to leave a message: please telephone.

Dorrie did, just before noon.

Rickie told her about Teddie’s article. “I’d love to let Luisa know, but I’m afraid to phone there.” That was the absurd truth, afraid.

“I’ll call her! Of course I want to read it first,” Dorrie said with a laugh. “What’s the old witch’s last name again?”

When Dorrie’s call rang in the Hagnauer house, Renate and Luisa were having their lunch in the sitting room. Renate answered the telephone, though one of the girls, Vera, happened to be in the hall and had been nearer.

“Dorrie?” said Renate.

Luisa was instantly on her feet.

“This is the lunch period,” Renate said, cold as a recorded message.

“. . . will take just a minute . . . message,” Dorrie’s voice said.

“I think you are a friend of Herr Markwalder? Then I’d be grateful if you would not call here again.” Renate put the telephone down. “Rude people—en plus!” she snorted to Luisa, and started to clump back.

“She said a short message,” Luisa began.

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