The Blunderer by Patricia Highsmith Read Free Book Online Page B

don’t you go down and fix what you want?”
    They all wanted beer. Peter went out.
    Ellie sat across the room in the armless chair that Clara used in front of her dressing table. She wore a white blouse with the sleeves rolled up, a tweed skirt and moccasins. “How long have you lived here?” she asked.
    â€œAbout three years.”
    â€œIt’s a lovely house. I like the country.”
    â€œCountry!” Walter laughed.
    â€œAfter New York this is country to me.”
    â€œIt’s hard for people to get out here unless they have a car, all right.”
    She smiled and her bluish brown eyes lighted. “Isn’t that an advantage?”
    â€œNo. I like people to drop in. I hope you’ll come again—since you have a car.”
    â€œThanks. You haven’t seen my car. It’s a banged-up convertible that doesn’t convert very well any more, so I drive it open—unless it’s really pouring rain. Then it leaks. I always had my family’s car at home, and when I came to New York I had to have one, in spite of being broke, so I bought Boadicea. That’s her name.”
    â€œWhere’s your home?”
    â€œUpstate. Corning. It’s a pretty dull town.”
    Walter had been through it once on a train. He remembered it as utterly gray, like a mining town. He couldn’t imagine Ellie there.
    Peter came back with the beer, and poured the glasses carefully.
    â€œDoes smoke bother you?” Ellie asked. “I don’t have to smoke.”
    â€œNot a bit,” Walter said. “I only wish I could join you.”
    She lighted her cigarette. “When I had the flu, my nose was so sore I could hardly get to sleep for the pain of breathing, much less smoke.”
    Walter smiled. It struck him as the most sympathetic thing anyone had said to him since he had been ill. “How’s the office going, Pete?”
    â€œThe Parsons and Sullivan thing is giving Mr. Jensen trouble,” Peter said. “There’re two representatives. One is fine. The other—well, he lies, I think. He’s the older one.”
    Walter looked at Peter’s frank young face and thought: in another two or three years, Peter won’t raise an eyebrow at the most blatant lies in the world. “They often lie,” Walter said.
    â€œI hope your wife isn’t displeased with us for not calling first,” Peter said.
    â€œOf course not.” Walter heard Clara’s footsteps in the hall, coming close, going away. She had said she was going to make an inventory of the linens this evening, and Walter knew that was exactly what she was doing. He wondered what Ellie thought of Clara, of Clara’s obvious indifference to her and Pete? Ellie, just beyond the circle of light thrown by his table lamp, was gazing at him steadily Walter didn’t mind. Because it was not a critical stare, he thought, not like Clara’s or some other women’s stares that he felt tore him slowly to pieces. “Have you had any luck about a job, Ellie?” Walter asked.
    â€œYes, there’s a chance of something at Harridge School. They’re supposed to let me know next week.”
    â€œHarridge? In Long Island?”
    â€œYes, in Lennert. South of here.”
    â€œThat’s not far away at all,” Walter said.
    â€œNo, but I haven’t got it yet. They don’t need me there. I’m just trying to push my way in.” She smiled and suddenly stood up. “We’d better be going.”
    Walter asked them to stay longer, but they insisted on going.
    Ellie held out her hand.
    â€œAren’t you afraid you’ll catch the flu?”
    â€œNo,” she laughed.
    He took her outstretched hand then. Her hand felt exactly as he had known it would, very solid, and with a quick, firm pressure. Her shining eyes looked wonderfully kind. He wondered if she looked at everyone the way she looked at him.
    â€œI hope you’re better