The Houseguest by Thomas Berger Read Free Book Online

would choose. They’ll shove one shoe into a dresser drawer and throw its mate on a closet shelf.”
    â€œGenetic deficiencies have been passed on from generation to generation,” Doug pointed out. “Necessarily: any breeding done on the island has to be incest. These are essentially the same people that came here three centuries ago. Nobody leaves and no new blood has been added.”
    Audrey herself could freely criticize the Finches, but of course when Doug added his observations she came to their defense.
    â€œYou exaggerate,” she said now. “They’re probably as good or maybe even better than the usual people found in such a place as this, with a part-time population so different from the human beings who live here all year—to whom the permanent residents are merely servants.”

    Lydia had composed herself by now and had only just left her room when she encountered Chuck, of all people, in the hall.
    For no apparent reason he was positively ebullient. “Hi!” he cried. “You’re quite the slugabed today.”
    If she knew the term at all, it was but distantly, perhaps from some childhood book written in the century past but still read to little girls in her day. It went with “counterpane.” Despite these innocent associations she was having a struggle with herself to keep from making a wisecrack with reference to the state in which she had last seen him.
    â€œI’ve been up and about for hours. You’re the one who overslept today.” And not being burdened with Audrey’s obligations as hostess, she added, “We naturally assumed you’d be up to make breakfast, and waited and waited.”
    Chuck did not admit a hint of failure. “Where were you?” he asked aggressively. “I did cook, and everybody else has eaten long since.” His front teeth, now on gleaming display, were perfect. He was not at all her type, but there could be no argument as to his good looks.
    He went on. “That’s why I came to fetch you. It’s so late now there won’t be another meal till evening. Better come along and eat some eggs.” He turned and strolled along the hall for a few paces, then stopped and spun around to face her again. At first it seemed odd that he would not have waited till she was at closer range to say such a thing, but in retrospect she understood that it was his game to unsettle prospective prey by the use of special effects. “Just as well you’re up,” said he. “Can’t tell what I might have done if I found you still in bed.”
    Had she had time to reflect, Lydia would have seen that the only effective response here would have been none whatever. As it was, inexperienced at this kind of contest, she answered with some asperity.
    â€œOh. I can take care of myself.”
    His grin was triumphant. “I would be counting on that.”
    She realized she was now in the uncomfortable and in fact preposterous situation of fearing that he might believe she was afraid of him.

    The car conked out not long before Bobby would have emerged from the private lane to join the cross-island road: simply coughed twice and stopped. He obstinately tried for a while to start it, angrily failing to comprehend how an engine that was running well could quit without warning and did not at least “miss” for a mile or two. But finally he climbed out and began to walk the quarter mile back to the house. The lane was one car wide, unpaved, and deeply grooved by wheels that had traveled it in wet weather. This was no place for anything but utilitarian vehicles. Not to mention that the salt air pitted any finish within months. The Graveses kept two cars at hand, a station wagon of some capacity and the rusty compact that had just given out on Bobby. These machines were regularly maintained during the summer by the Finches who operated the local garage and then when autumn came