Suspension of Mercy by Patricia Highsmith Read Free Book Online Page B

been only $1500 less agent’s commission, and there had been only about $300 in royalties after that, and no paperback edition.
    Sydney had started on The Planners in the glow of Shell Game’s acceptance. He felt that The Planners declined in spirit as his own spirits declined when Shell Game didn’t go into a second edition or sell to paperbacks. It was a kind of Human Comedy, with the planning of desirable experiences taking the place of Balzackian money-grubbing and social-climbing. The six characters made bets with each other, and the ones who threw in the sponge (abandoned their plans) had to pay a forfeit to the others. Some were total failures, some succeeded. One man wanted to become a doctor, and did, at fifty. An unpromising but determined woman shed her husband and nearly grown family and married the man she really loved. Another man, attaining what he had wanted, died of melancholia.
    On an afternoon when he went to Framlingham for white enamel paint, Sydney drove by Abbott’s in Debenham and bought a carpet. It cost eight pounds, four times as much as they paid for the threadbare red and blue one, but it was in much better condition. And its colors were dark red and dark brown, still just as good with the curtains. Sydney carried the rolled carpet in and laid it at one side of the living room. Alicia was evidently in her room painting, or perhaps visiting Mrs. Lilybanks.
    An hour later, when he was working, Sydney heard Alicia’s voice downstairs:
    “What’s this?”
    Sydney slid his chair back and stood up. “Bought a new rug for us,” he yelled into the hall.
    “Let’s see it. Where? Debenham?”
    “Yep.” Sydney came downstairs. “Only three pounds.” He helped her to unroll it.
    “Why, it’s very nice. I didn’t know you took an interest in carpets, darling, whether they’re falling apart or not.”
    Sydney smiled but made no comment. They pushed back and lifted the furniture, until the rug was in place. It touched the front and back walls, but they agreed it would be that much cozier in winter, and winter drafts were certainly something to contend with. Sydney rolled the old rug up, and started outdoors with it.
    “It’ll get damp in the toolhouse, Syd,” Alicia said. “Or were you thinking of the garage?”
    “I’ll park it in the guest room.” The guest room had a rug, but he could leave the old one rolled somewhere out of the way.
    “We might sell it. Trade it in or something,” Alicia said.
    “You think they’d give us ten bob for it? Abbott?” Sydney said as he climbed the stairs.
    In the next week, Sydney received Alex’s first draft of The Whip Strikes . He went into his room and read it eagerly. From the first page, he felt it was incomparably better than anything he and Alex had done before. But Alex had written on his cover note merely:
    Syd, dear boy,
    See what you think of this. Not so sure we need the exchange with stranger in Act Two, fourth scene, P. 71.
    Alex
    Sydney thought the exchange with stranger was great, adding a little humor to the suspense. He had no suggestions for Alex except to cut some of the conversation of The Whip and the cab driver at the beginning. As usual, Alex had done a good job on his side characters, people Sydney had not even written into the synopsis. Alex had a Dickensian gift for minor characters. Sydney had an impulse to ring Alex and tell him how much he liked it. No, no use being gushy, just send it back ordinary post and say he liked it very much, and go ahead with the final typing after the cutting. After all, the script was no better than scripts ought to be, it was just that he and Alex weren’t in the habit of writing them so good.

5
    S ydney’s euphoria over The Whip script enabled him to lose a day in Ipswich more or less cheerfully, getting the car serviced. He spent a couple of hours in the library, browsing in the stacks downstairs, and then upstairs in the reference department. He took out some books on his