Deep Water by Patricia Highsmith (romance novel chinese novels .txt) 📗

Lisle at the living room doorway, took his arm and brushed her cheek quickly against his bluish cheek, and Charley smiled, looking more at ease than before. He even turned his head in Vic's direction, saw him, and gave a quick little smile that seemed to Vic to say, "Just what're you going to do about it?" Vic felt a prickle of anger. He regretted his automatic smile in reply to De Lisle's smile. De Lisle looked like a criminal. He was the kind of person one really didn't want to turn one's back on in the house for fear he would steal something. Vic was of a mind to tell Evelyn or Phil that it might be a good idea to put away anything valuable that was portable, since it wasn't entirely unknown for hired entertainers to pocket a few things around a house, but he realized it would reflect on Melinda, who was obviously sponsoring De Lisle tonight, so he couldn't. He was hamstrung.

       "Vic, come on!" Evelyn took his hand. "You haven't played the game yet!"

       Vic got down on his hands and knees, tucking his toga up in his shorts. His competitor was Horace—Galileo. The plastic glasses of water were set on their backs, then they were off. From the living room came a four-hand arrangement of "Melancholy Baby," an intricate arrangement that had taken some time to coordinate, an audible proof that Melinda and De Lisle had spent a great deal of time together.

       Horace dropped his glass.

       Vic had won. He was matched with Ernest Kay and defeated him. Then with Hamlet for the championship. Hamlet, Dick Hewlett, was a bigger man and could cover ground faster, but Vic's coordination was better. He could move left-hand-right-knee, left-knee-right-hand as fast as a little trotting dog. He made everybody shriek and roar with laughter. Don Wilson was standing in a corner of the terrace watching with a faint smile. A wreath was placed on Vic's head, then somebody dropped gardenias within the wreath. The oversweet smell emanating from his head made him think of the sickening smell of Charley's brilliantine. As Vic was straightening out his toga, he caught sight, across half a dozen people, of Evelyn Cowan in the doorway nodding toward the piano and whispering something to her husband who leaned closer to her. Vic saw Evelyn's eyebrows go up and down with a kind of sad resignation, and Phil put his hand on his wife's shoulder and pressed it quickly. Vic moved toward the door almost against his will. The piano had stopped.

       Melinda and De Lisle were simply sitting on the piano bench talking to each other. But Melinda's face had that warm animation that Vic for many years had not seen directed toward himself.

       "Vic!" Phil said. "Come and have something to eat!"

       It was the host pressing him to eat again, because he was neglected and scorned by his wife. Have another piece of cake, Vic. "I think I might, thanks," Vic said cheerfully, and took a slice of ham on a plate, a dab of potato salad, a stalk of celery, though he had no appetite whatsoever.

       "Did you bring your bathing suit?" Phil asked.

       "Yes. So did Melinda. They're in the room where the coats are." When Vic looked toward the piano again, Melinda and De Lisle were gone. Phil went on talking, and he talked too, trying to be pleasant and partylike, though he could feel Phil's awareness of Melinda and De Lisle's disappearance as acutely as his own awareness.

       From the terrace, Vic heard Evelyn's voice say, "Is anybody ready for a swim?"

       And a couple of moments later, hardly any time later, a woman's voice which he didn't recognize called from the back of the hall, "Say, the door's locked!—Is the door locked?"

       And Phil, in the very act of moving toward the hall, checked himself and looked at Vic. "There's plenty of time. We don't have to rush."

       "Oh, no," Vic agreed, rubbing his upper lip. "I suppose I've time for another drink." But he didn't want another drink, and turning to find his plate, which he had left on the corner of the buffet table, he saw that his unfinished drink stood beside it.

       Phil Cowan, walking away toward the terrace, said, "Excuse me, Vic," over his shoulder, and disappeared.

       Was he going to consult his wife as to what to do about the coat room, or whatever room it was that was locked? Vic felt a tingle of fear—or disgust, or panic, what was it?—creeping up his bare legs under the toga. Then he heard a woman say in a pleasant, expressionless voice, so that he couldn't tell if it was addressed to Melinda herself or not, "Oh, Melinda!" from the hall, and as if this were a signal to retreat, Vic went out on the terrace and strolled to the darker end of it. Don Wilson was still there, talking to a woman. The woman was Jennie MacPherson. Vic stood looking out across the lawn to the swimming pool. Some of the lanterns had gone out, but he could still see its lazy L shape, the wide-angled L and its rounded corners, by the light of two or three lanterns. There was no moon tonight. Two people splashed into the pool at the same time, in different arms of the L. The pool was really a boomerang shape, he thought.

       "What're you doing here all by yourself?" Evelyn Cowan was suddenly beside him, blotting her shoulders with a towel. Her black bathing suit had a frill skirt like a ballet costume.

       "Oh, I'm enjoying myself," Vic said.

       "Aren't you going to take a swim?"

       "I might, when Melinda does."

       Somebody called Evelyn from the pool just then, and she said, "Well, hurry up!" to Vic, and ran down the terrace steps.

       Melinda and De Lisle came out on the terrace, in swim suits, with two or three other people also in