The Man Who Loved His Wife by Vera Caspary Read Free Book Online Page B

to the woman who had taken his daughter’s rightful place in his heart.
    AT THE RISK of being late for the dentist’s appointment, Fletcher lingered in the house until Don drove off to meet a fraternity brother who had good contacts. Cindy took one look at the untidy kitchen and decided to drive into the city with her father.
    Elaine set about her chores briskly, eager to be done. Even housework came easier when there was no one to watch, interrupt, demand attention. To save effort she stacked dishes on the tray and carried them to the kitchen. At the threshold she paused, struck anew by the clutter, confusion seemed symbolic, her life a mess of untidiness, disappointment, and futile chores.The tray trembled in her hands. She thought of herself cringing, a victim without dignity or self-respect, while her husband assaulted her with pudding.
    Her tray fell. Porcelain clattered and broke on the kitchen tiles. Plates, cups, saucers, glasses, everything. It was no accident. She had willed the destruction. So many broken dishes! Fletcher would be furious.
    For an instant tears threatened. Elaine thought of excuses, confession, soft appeal. These were immediately rejected. Defiance hardened her. Deliberately and in malice she walked to the counter and, one by one, hurled every dish upon the tiled floor. One plate rebelled, rolled into a corner, remained whole. She picked it up and flung it down with sturdy malevolence. When every soiled dish and glass lay in shards, she collected all the dirty pots and utensils, carried them to the garbage cans, covered them securely and returned to the kitchen.
    She had no idea that she was being watched.
    Next she set about the task of sweeping up the wreckage, gathering broken bits into the dustpan, emptying it into the garbage tins. On her third trip she saw the man, recoiled and instinctively hid the guilty dustpan behind her back.
    â€œDidn’t you hear my car? I didn’t see you in the garden so I came to find you here.”
    It was Ralph Julian. After all of her confessions to his invisible shape the solid man seemed unreal. Her hand trembled. He took the dustpan from her.
    â€œAccident?”
    â€œI broke them on purpose.” Defiant, as though he had provoked the destruction, she laughed spitefully.
    â€œSo many dishes?”
    â€œJust the ones we used at lunch, Service for four. We’ve still got eight of everything. Haviland.” She laughed again at the extravagance. “We bought the set, a dozen of each, when we moved in here.”
    Ralph helped her with the rest of the clearing up. “Don’t say anything to your husband until he’s in a better mood.”
    â€œWhat makes you think he’s in a bad one?”
    â€œSomething must have caused the havoc. Or do you break dishes just for the hell of it?”
    They stood under the olive tree. Leaf shadows darkened her face. She had changed from the soiled dress, so that there were no visible signs of the assault. For all that she had ached to tell Ralph, she could find nothing to say except that it had been a long time since they had seen each other. Ralph had wanted to visit her, he said, but had kept away because he thought her husband did not approve of him.
    â€œIt’s not you, it’s every man. The way he watches me, you’d think the supermarket was a bordello.” She had learned the word from her father. Once she had said it to Fletcher and he had laughed, telling her that she was too genteel. “In this country we call it a whorehouse.” The recollection brought a faint smile.
    Again there was silence under the olive tree. Hot afternoon sun pierced the shadow. Elaine asked him into the house. He reached ahead to open the screen door. Her body brushed against his, so that she stiffened and hurried ahead. There was still a clutter in the kitchen but she made no apologies.
    In the living room harsh light lay in yellow rectangles and sent up cruel blades of