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

like a golden fire in her short, curly hair. She was too slight and undernourished-looking to be pretty, in Vic's opinion, and he was not sure how intelligent she was. "You must know what I mean," she said. "It's terrible!"

       "Yes, I've heard what he thinks—or what he's been saying. I can't say that it bothers me very much." He smiled at her.

       "No, of course. I understand that. But it bothers me because—because it's unjust, and we haven't been in this town very long, and it's going to make people hate us."

       "I don't hate you," Vic said, still smiling.

       "I don't know why you don't. Well, people are beginning to hate Don. I can't blame them. He's talking to people who're your friends—some of them. At least they knew you well—most of them. When Don says what he does, people just—well, either they drop us then and there or they label Don as rude or cracked or something like that." She hesitated. Her hands were trembling again on the cigarette case. "I wanted to apologize to you—for my husband—and to tell you that I don't share his ideas at all on this matter," she said positively. "I'm very sorry and I'm also ashamed."

       "Oh!" Vic said scoffingly. "There's no harm done. Except to your husband probably. I'm sorry, too, but—" he looked at her, smiling—"I think it's very nice of you to come here to tell me this. I appreciate it. I don't suppose there's anything I can do to help you?"

       She shook her head. "I suppose we'll weather it."

       "Who's we?"

       "Don and I."

       Vic walked behind his desk, his hands in his pockets, looking down at the floor, pleasantly conscious of the fact that his front was absolutely straight now, that there was no bulge at all below his braided belt. In fact, Trixie had had to take the belt back to school and shorten it by about four inches. "I wonder if you and Don'd like to come over for a drink some evening?"

       June Wilson looked surprised. "Why, yes. I'm sure we would." Then she frowned. "Do you really mean that?"

       "Of course I mean it!" Vic said, laughing. "How about tomorrow evening, Friday? At about seven?"

       She was so pleased she was blushing. "I think that'll be fine. Well I'd better go. It's been awfully nice seeing you."

       "I've enjoyed it, too." Vic walked out with her to the car, and made her a bow as she left.

       That evening, when he came home, Melinda said, "So I hear you've asked the Wilsons over for a drink."

       "Yes. You don't mind, do you?"

       "Don Wilson doesn't like you, you know."

       "So I hear," he said boredly. "I thought we might do something to correct that. They seem quite nice." And then Vic went out to get the power mower from the garage. Mowing the sprawling, informal lawn that bounded three sides of the house was his project that evening for the time between seven and dinner that had used to be the cocktail hour.

       The Wilsons came at a casual twenty-past seven on Friday evening. Don made his greeting to Melinda in the same tone that he used to Vic, but his wife was not so secretive. She had a big smile for Vic. June took Vic's armchair, and Don chose the middle of the sofa where he sat slouched with his long legs crossed and out in front of him, a pose of exaggerated nonchalance. His expression was one of contemptuous amusement plus a look of having just noticed a bad smell. Also contemptuous, Vic supposed, were his unpressed trousers and his not very fresh shirt. His tweed jacket had leather elbow patches.

       Vic fixed old-fashioneds—strong and with plenty of fresh fruit in them—and brought them in on a tray. Melinda and June were having a conversation about flowers that was boring Melinda terribly, Vic saw. He served the drinks all around, pushed the bowl of popcorn into the center of the cocktail table, then sat down in a chair and said to Don, "Well, what's new?"

       Don sat up a little. The contemptuous smile was still there. "Don's working in his head," his wife volunteered. "He'll probably be very quiet tonight, but don't mind."

       Vic nodded politely and sipped his drink.

       "Nothing much new," Don said in his growly baritone voice. He was looking at Vic now as the women went on talking.

       Vic slowly filled his pipe, aware that he was being studied by Don Wilson. It was amazing how June Wilson could go on and on about nothing. Now it was dog shows, whether Little Wesley ever had a dog show. Vic saw Melinda take a big gulp of her drink. Melinda had no talent for small talk with another woman. Don Wilson was looking the living room over thoroughly Vic noticed, and he supposed that an inspection of the bookcase would come soon.

       "Well, how're you liking the town?" Vic asked Don.

       "Oh, very well," Don said, his dark eyes glancing at Vic and away again.

       "I hear you know the Hineses."

       "Yes. Very nice people," Don said.

       Vic sighed. He fixed a second round of drinks as soon as possible. Then he asked Don, "Have you seen Ralph Gosden lately?" "Yes. Last week, I think," Don said.

       "How is he? I haven't seen him in quite a while."

       "Oh, I think he's fine," Don said, a bit of a challenge in his tone now.

       Vic felt sorriest for June Wilson. The second drink was doing very little to relax her. She was still making a great effort with Melinda, really going through a kind of fluttering agony, all in the name of social intercourse. Vic decided that the only way Don Wilson might loosen up was if he got him alone, because his wife had probably told him to be on his best behavior tonight, so Vic proposed a tour of the estate.

       Don dragged himself