Bedelia by Vera Caspary Read Free Book Online

Ellen.
    â€œWe might at least have the pleasure of knowing what we’ve missed,” Abbie answered with unnecessary venom.
    â€œA friend of mine,” Ben said.
    â€œAn artist, too?”
    â€œNo, he’s in business. Owns a store, two stores, in fact.” Ben’s restless glance had circled the room. His eyes were fixed on Bedelia’s face again.
    â€œHow do you like my new dress?” she cried. The subterfuge was not wholly successful. Everyone could see that she had wanted, desperately, to change the subject.
    â€œStunning,’ said Abbie, “looks like Paris.”
    â€œI made it myself.”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œYes, she did,” said Charlie, who had been informed of the fact this evening while they dressed.
    Abbie shook her head. “You’re a marvel, Bedelia. I’d swear it was an import.”
    â€œThank you.” Bedelia took another sip of sherry.
    â€œThat’s how you must sit for your portrait, Bedelia. I want you to wear that dress,” Ben said.
    â€œA portrait of Bedelia!” exclaimed Charlie.
    â€œYou don’t mind if she sits for me, do you?”
    â€œOf course not.”
    â€œOh, Ben,” Bedelia shook her head at him. “Why did you mention it? You’ve spoiled the surprise.”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    â€œA surprise for me?” asked Charlie.
    â€œFor your birthday, dear.”
    â€œNothing would please me more.” To the others he said, “You know I have no picture of her, not even a snapshot.”
    â€œMr. Chaney oughtn’t to paint Bedelia!” Ellen said.
    â€œWhy not?” Charlie demanded. “Why shouldn’t he paint Bedelia’s picture?”
    â€œHave you seen his paintings?”
    â€œOften. Why are you so disapproving?”
    Ellen kept them waiting while she thought about it. Finally she said, “Bedelia’s pretty and he seems interested only in making things ugly.”
    â€œThat’s unjust. I told you I try to paint as I see, honestly.”
    â€œHe could never see anything ugly in Bedelia,” Charlie stated flatly.
    â€œHave you seen what he did with the red barn? He’s even succeeded in finding evil in that picturesque spot.”
    Hannah said dinner was ready.
    â€œYou can’t find evil where it doesn’t exist,” Charlie argued. “I’ve no fear of letting him paint Bedelia’s portrait.”
    â€œI shall be interested in seeing the finished work,” Ellen said.
    â€œYou’ll be the first to have a chance to criticize it,” Ben said, as he rose and led the way to the dining-room.
    The meal began, as Mary had informed Bedelia, with clams. Bedelia had already warned Charlie against the first course. He nibbled a dry cracker.
    Ellen, who was sitting next to him, asked why he wasn’t eating. “Not dyspepsia again, Charlie?”
    â€œI’m not hungry.” Hoping to avoid any more discussion of the loathed subject, he said, “You’re looking unusually well tonight. What have you done to yourself, Nellie?”
    Ellen’s fair skin turned scarlet. Long ago, when Charlie had taught her tennis and sat next to her on hayrack rides, his name for her had been Nellie. Seeing Nellie Home , he used to sing out of tune but cheerfully. She felt the heat of the blush and feared that her burning cheeks must reveal her shame. But the flushwas becoming. Abbie had lent her a dress of gray wool bound in cerise silk.
    â€œWhat’s the secret, Nellie? Is it love that’s causing you to bloom?”
    Hannah thrust a plate of hot biscuits between them. Ellen buttered hers with an air of severity. Chilled by her extraordinary tension, Charlie gave ear to the conversation between Ben and Abbie.
    Bedelia was listening but taking no part in it.
    â€œAt first,” Ben told Abbie, “I’d thought of painting her as she looked to Charlie that day on the hotel veranda. All in black, the