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

him to his room, which would have looked like a total rout for him. Vic had made a torturous effort to talk to Cameron about building stone, about water tables, about his next assignment in Mexico, but Cameron's slightly bloodshot pale-blue eyes had been drawn again and again to Melinda on the sofa, and for once his voice had kept shutting off.

       Cameron stayed until two-twenty in the morning. Brian, who had been in a half-recumbent position in the other corner of the sofa from Melinda, daydreaming or pondering or savoring or whatever poets did, hauled himself up just after Cameron stood up, and bade him a surprisingly cordial good night.

       Looking at his watch, Brian said that he hadn't realized it was so late and that he should have said good night earlier. "We have a few more things to talk about before I catch my train at eleven,

       haven't we, Mr. Van Allen?"

       "I think we have—a few."

       "Then I'll let my morning walk go by tomorrow so we'll have some time." He bowed, a little shyly. "Good night, Melinda. That was an unforgettable banquet. You're very kind to go to all that trouble. Thank you."

       "Your idea:' Melinda said. "Your little piggy-wiggy."

       Brian laughed. "Good night, sir:' he said to Vic, and went off to his room.

       The "sir" and the "Mr. Van Allen" and the "Melinda" went around in Vic's head stupidly for a few seconds. Then he said, "A delightful evening."

       "Wasn't it? You should have liked it. It was quiet."

       "Yes. What happened to the new records?"

       A glimmer of recollection came to her glazed eyes. "I forgot them. Damn it." She started to get up.

       Vic let her walk half across the room before he could bring himself to try to stop her, taking her lightly by one arm above the elbow. "Wait till tomorrow Brian won't be able to sleep." "L'go of me!" she said irritably.

       He let her go. She stood swaying in the middle of the floor, looking at him challengingly.

       "I was surprised not to hear anything from Cameron tonight," Vic said. "Don't you think he ought to make me a statement of his intentions?"

       "I asked him not to."

       "Oh." He lit a cigarette.

       "Everything is settled, everything is fine. And 'I'm' fine." "You're drunk."

       "Tony doesn't mind if I'm drunk. Tony understands why I get drunk. He understands 'me'."

       "Tony's just a wonderfully understanding man."

       "Yes," she said positively. "And we're going to be very, very happy together."

       "Congratulations."

       "And Tony already has two tickets for—" She paused to think "Mexico City! His next job is down there."

       "Oh. And you're going with him."

       "That's all you can say. 'Oh.' " She spun on her heel, as she often did when she was happily drunk, and she lost her balance, but Vic caught her. He immediately let her go.

       "I can't tell you what a pleasure the evening was for me, too," he said, making a little bow as Brian had done. "Good night." "Good night," she said, imitating him.

Chapter 21

By ten-thirty the next morning Vic and Brian and Trixie and the puppy were on the road to Wesley in Vic's car to meet Brian's eleven o'clock train. Trixie's school was competing in a glee club contest of Massachusetts grade schools, and she hadn't to be at school until a quarter to eleven to board a bus that was taking the Highland School glee club to Ballinger. Trixie was part of a glee club of fifty that was going to render "The Swan" in the competition. Vic had had time that morning to listen to her practice once more—though she had got impatient midway and stopped. Her voice was shrill and accurate, though a little wavery on the high notes. Vic dropped her off at the school gates, and promised to be in Ballinger by twelve sharp to hear her chorus.

       "Isn't Melinda going?" Brian asked.

       "No. I don't think so," Vic said. Melinda hadn't the least interest in Trixie's glee club. She had been sleeping this morning when they left the house, so Brian had not had an opportunity to say good-bye to her.

       "She's a 'most remarkable' woman," Brian said, pronouncing the words slowly and firmly, "but I don't think she knows her own mind."

       "No?"

       "No. It's a pity. She's got such vitality."

       Vic had no reply. He did not know precisely what Brian was thinking in regard to Melinda and he really didn't care. He felt extremely nervous and irritable that morning, felt the kind of nervousness that comes from a fear of being late for something, and he kept looking at his watch as if they were going to arrive in Wesley in plenty of time.

       "I've 'certainly' had a good time up here," Brian said. "And I want to thank you for taking such trouble about the—the format. There's not another publisher in the world who'd take the trouble you would about it."

       "I enjoy it," Vic said.

       At the station, they had five minutes or so before Brian's train arrived. Brian pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket.

       "I wrote a poem last night," he said. "I wrote it all at once in about five minutes, so it's probably not one of my best, but I'd like you to see it." He held it out abruptly to Vic.

       Vic read:

       'What has been done cannot be undone.

       The ultimate effort made before the ultimatum was given,

       The positive and overflowing gesture made,

       And the love lost like a flower floating

       Down the stream, just beyond, just too fast

       For the hand to recapture.

       I cannot make the stream turn back,

       For there I am, too, floating,

       Just behind the fleeing flower'.

       Vic smiled. "For five minutes, I don't think it's bad at all." He handed it back to Brian.

       "Oh, you can keep that. I have another copy. I thought you might