The Black House by Patricia Highsmith Read Free Book Online

Tom was agreeable. And Edmund sounded grateful when Lucienne rang him up and extended the invitation, without mentioning Magda’s name.
    Lucienne booked a table at a rather expensive French restaurant in the East 60s. She and Tom and three dry martinis were waiting when Edmund arrived, smiling tentatively, but plainly glad to see his old friends again at a small table. They chatted amiably. Lucienne managed to pay some compliments in regard to Magda.
    â€œShe has a certain dignity,” said Lucienne.
    â€œI wish she weren’t so shy ,” Edmund responded at once. “I try to pull her out of it.”
    Another round. Lucienne delayed the ordering by having to make a telephone call at a moment when Tom was able to order a third round to fill the time until Lucienne got back. Then they ordered their meal, with white wine to be followed by a red. On the first glass of white, Tom and Lucienne sang a soft chorus of “Happy Birthday to You” to Edmund as they lifted their glasses. Lucienne had rung Anita, who worked only three blocks away, and Anita joined them when the lunch ended just after three with a Drambuie for Edmund, though Lucienne and Tom abstained. Edmund kept murmuring something about a three o’clock appointment, which maybe would be all right for him to miss, because it really wasn’t a top-level appointment. Anita and the others told him it would surely be excusable on his birthday.
    â€œI’ve just got half an hour,” Anita said as they went out of the restaurant together, Anita having partaken of nothing, “but I did want to see you on this special day, Edmund old thing. I insist on inviting you for a drink or a beer.”
    The others kissed Edmund’s cheek and left, then Anita steered Edmund across the street into a corner bar with a fancy decor that tried to be an old Irish pub. Edmund fairly fell into his chair, having nearly slipped a moment before on sawdust. It was a wonder he was served, Anita thought, but hers was a sober presence, and they were served. From this bar, Anita rang Peter Tomlin and explained the situation, which Peter found funny, and Peter agreed to come and take over for a few minutes. Peter arrived. Edmund had a second beer, and insisted upon a coffee, which was ordered, but the combination seemed to make him sick. Anita had left minutes before. Peter waited patiently, prattling nonsense to Edmund, wondering if Edmund was going to throw up or slip under the table.
    â€œMag’s got people coming at six,” Edmund mumbled. “Gotta be home—little before—or else.” He tried in vain to read his watch.
    â€œMag you call her? . . . Finish your beer, chum.” Peter lifted his first glass of beer, which was nearly drained. “Bottoms up and many happy returns!”
    They emptied their glasses.
    Peter delivered Edmund to his apartment door at 6:25 and ran. A cocktail party was in swing chez Magda and Edmund, Peter could tell from the hum of voices behind the closed door. Edmund had been talking about his “boss” being present, and a couple of important clients. Peter smiled to himself as he rode down in the elevator. He went home, put in a good report to Lucienne, made himself some instant coffee, and got back to his typewriter. Comical, yes! Poor old Edmund! But it was Magda who amused Peter the more. Magda was the stuffy one, their real target, Peter thought.
    Peter Tomlin was to change his opinion about that in less than a fortnight. He watched with some surprise and gathering alarm as the attack, led by Lucienne and to a lesser extent Anita, focused on Edmund. Ten days after the sousing of Edmund, Peter looked in one evening at the Markuses’ apartment—just to return a couple of books he had borrowed—and found both smirking over Edmund’s latest mishap. Edmund had lost his job at Babcock and Holt and was now in the Payne-Whitney for drying out.
    â€œWhat?” Peter said. “I