Deep Water by Patricia Highsmith (best books to read now .TXT) 📕

so nice to Trixie. Now Charley De Lisle was such a wonderful piano player. He was showing her how to improve her playing. He came over a couple of afternoons a week now, after three when Vic had left the house, and he gave Melinda a lesson until five when he had to go to work at the Lord Chesterfield. Trixie was generally home in the afternoons, so what was the harm in his coming over? But sometimes Melinda wasn't home for lunch, and sometimes they didn't play the piano in the afternoon, because an ashtray that Vic had seen on the keyboard at two o'clock would be there when he got home at seven. Sometimes they were up at Charley De Lisle's house, where there wasn't a piano.

       "Just what do you expect me to think about this?" Vic asked her.

       "Nothing! I don't know what you're up in the air about!"

       Useless to point out to her that she hadn't seen or talked about anybody else but Charley De Lisle for two weeks. Useless and embarrassing to tell her that even Trixie was aware of it, and was practically taking it for granted now In the second week of Mr. De Lisle, Vic had come home one evening when Melinda hadn't been in, and Trixie had said, very casually, "I guess she's up at Charley's house. She wasn't home when I got home." That had hurt him, even worse than the way Trixie had looked at Charley that first evening had hurt him. Vic remembered walking into the living room with a couple of fresh drinks and seeing Trixie perched on the arm of the armchair, staring at Charley with a wide-eyed, apprehensive, yet completely helpless curiosity, as if she had known then that she was looking at the man who was going to take Ralph's place, that she was going to be seeing him very often from now on whether she liked him or not, whether he was nice to her or not. The memory of Trixie looking at Charley from 'the' armchair haunted Vic. He felt that that was the first instant that his suspicion had become an absolute certainty. He felt that Trixie in her innocence had known intuitively what he had only suspected at that time.

       Vic said in a light, joking tone, "It's too bad I'm married to you, isn't it? I might have a chance with you if I were a total stranger and met you out of the blue. I'd have money, not be too bad looking, with lots of interesting things to talk about—"

       "Like what? Snails and bed bugs?" She was dressing to go out with Charley that afternoon, fastening around her waist a belt that Vic had given her, tying around her neck a purple and yellow scarf that Vic had chosen carefully and bought for her.

       "You used to think snails were interesting and that a lot of other things were interesting, until your brain began to atrophy."

       "Thanks. I like my brain fine and you can have yours."

       It was Sunday. Vic had wanted to drive up to Bear Lake with Melinda and Trixie and row around a little while—he and Melinda in a rowboat and Trixie in her canoe. Weekends were the only time Trixie could go up to the lake, and she loved it. So had Melinda enjoyed it, until two or three weeks ago. But she was going out with Charley, and they were just going to drive around in the country, Melinda had said, but she wasn't taking Trixie with her.

       "I may not be here when you get back," Vic said.

       "Oh? Where're you going?"

       "I thought Trixie and I might go down to see Blair Peabody."

       "Oh," she said, and he felt she hadn't even heard him. "Well, so long, Vic," she said as she passed him in the hall. "Have fun with Blair."

       Vic stood in the living room, listening to her car's motor fading down the lane. He shouldn't have said that about her brain atrophying, he thought. It wouldn't do any good to insult her. He was sorry he had. Better to take it lightly and casually, as if he didn't resent anything, as if there were nothing to resent, and she might tire of Charley in another week or so. If he showed his dislike of Charley, that was sure to make her go after him, just out of contrariness. He ought to reverse his tactics completely, be a good egg and all that. From Melinda's point of view, Vic knew De Lisle was neither handsome nor entertaining, except on the piano. But he had to admit that being a good egg with Jo-Jo and with Ralph Gosden hadn't got him anywhere. And the thought of Melinda dragging Charley to parties at the Cowans' and the Mellers'—she hadn't done it yet, but it was coming, he knew—the shame of endorsing socially a guttersnipe like Charley De Lisle seemed more than he could bear. And everybody would know that Melinda had picked up the first man she could find after the McRae story had exploded. Everybody would know now that he was disgusted and helpless to combat it, however indifferent he pretended to be, because obviously he had made an effort to hold off Melinda's lovers by telling the story about McRae.

       He tried to pull himself together. What was the alternative to treating Mr. De Lisle in a courteous and friendly manner? Debasing himself by showing that Mr. De Lisle was worth his irritation. Debasing himself by trying to derive satisfaction from stopping the affair. Those weren't his methods and never had been. No, the proper attitude was to be courteous and civilized, no matter what happened. He might lose that way, might be scoffed and laughed at, but he would certainly lose the other way, lose Melinda's respect and his self-respect, whether he stopped the affair or not.

       He did not go to see Blair