Patricia Highsmith - The Tremor of Forgery (30 page)

‘
Hm-m,
’
she said dubiously. At the knock on the door, she waved a hand at him in the direction of the bathroom.

Ingham went into the bathroom. He stared at himself absently in the long mirror beside the tub, and thought he looked rather Roman. His hands were out of sight, clutching the towel from underneath. His feet looked absurd. He was
thinking OWL was a bloody meddler. He had alienated Ina, just a little, from him, and for this Ingham detested OWL. If he told Ina about OWL
’
s cock-eyed broadcasts, she would know what a crack-pot he was.

‘
All clear
.’
Ina called.

‘
Western behaviour
.’
Ingham said contemptuously as he came back.
‘
Any woman as attractive as you ought to have five men standing around her room in the afternoons
.’

Ina smiled.
‘
But why does OWL think you
’
re not telling the whole truth about that night?
’
She poured water into a glass.

Ingham went to get another glass from the bathroom.
‘
You ask him
.’

‘
As a matter of fact, I did
.’

‘
Oh?
’

‘
He thinks you threw something or hit the Arab somehow. Did you?
’

‘
No
.’
Ingham said firmly, after only a second
’
s hesitation mainly from surprise.
‘
I know, he
’
s got a door slamming, boys running around, all kinds of details about that night
—
considering he
’
s a fair distance from my bungalow.
’

‘
But it did happen on your terrace.
’

‘
The yell I heard was near.
’
Ingham hated the conversation increasingly, yet he knew if he showed this, it would look a bit odd.

‘
He said the French people behind you heard a door shut, and they were sure it was your door.
’

‘
The French people didn
’
t speak to me about it. Nobody spoke to anybody about Abdullah
’
s disappearance or anything else. Nobody
’
s talking about it except OWL.
’

Ina
’
s appraising eyes on him bothered him. It was as if OWL had infected her with his own prurient curiosity, like a disease or a fever.

‘
That Arab might have got the
coup de grâce
from some other Arab
.’
Ingham said, sitting down in an armchair,
‘
OWL thinks the boys dragged him away and buried him
somewhere. The hotel boys deny everything. They
’
re hushing it —
’

‘
Oh, no. OWL told me one boy said the Arab hit his head on something. They admitted that much.
’

Ingham sighed.
‘
True. I forgot.
’

‘
You
’
re telling me the whole story. Are you, Howard?
’

‘
Yes.
’

‘
I have the strangest feeling you
’
ve told Anders something you haven
’
t told me
—
or OWL.
’

Ingham laughed.
‘
Why?
’

‘
Oh, you
’
re very close to Anders, face it. You practically live with him. I didn
’
t know you got along so well with queers.
’

‘
I don
’
t get along with them or not get along.
’
Ina
’
s words seemed stupid.
‘
I never think any more about his being queer. And by the way, I haven
’
t seen a single boy at his place since I moved in.
’
Ingham at once regretted that. Was abstinence virtue?

She laughed.
‘
Maybe he
’
s in love with you.
’

‘
Oh, Ina, come off it. It
’
s not even funny.
’
But to salvage something, the afternoon maybe, he forced a smile. It was a bad effort.

‘
He
’
s very close to you
—
fond of you. You must know that.
’

‘
You
’
re imagining. Honestly, Ina.
’
How could they have arrived
here
in j
ust a few minutes of conversation ? He realized it was impossible to ask her this afternoon to marry him. All because of bloody OWL.
‘
I do wish OWL would mind his own business. Has he been farting off about Anders, too?
’

‘
No, not at all. Darling, take it easy. It
’
s just what I see for myself.
’

‘
It
’
s not correct. Have you got a bottle of Scotch?
’
She had given him one bottle.

‘
Yes, in the closet. Back right.
’

Ingham got it. It had been opened, but only the neck of the bottle was gone.
‘
Like some?
’
He poured some into Ina
’
s
extended glass, then poured for himself.
‘
Anders and I get along, but there
’
s nothing sexual about it
.’

‘
Then maybe you don
’
t realize it.
’

Did she mean on his part, too? Were women
always
thinking about sex, of one kind or another?
‘
Then it
’
s too damned subtle for me,
’
he said,
‘
and if it
’
s that subtle, what does it matter?
’

‘
You don
’
t seem to want to leave him
—
to take a bungalow.
’

‘
Oh, my God, Ina.
’
Was it usual for women to take homosexuals so seriously, he wondered. Ingham had always thought they considered queers nothing at all. Zeros.
‘I’
ve explained to you, I don
’
t want to move, because I
’
m working.
’

‘
I think the bungalows have a bad association for you. Is that true?
’
Her voice was gentle.

‘
Honey
—
darling
—
I
’
ve never seen you like this. You
’
re as bad as OWL
!
You know me
—
but you don
’
t seem to understand me at all any more.
—
You didn
’
t make a single comment when I was trying to explain
how
I
’
d
felt
in this country, this continent, since getting here. Granted, it isn
’
t of world-shaking importance.
’
Ingham felt his heart going faster. He was standing with his drink.

‘
Have you adopted the Arabian moral code, whatever that

is?
’

‘
Why do you ask that?
’

‘
OWL said you told him that that Arab
’
s life was of no importance, because he was just a D.O.M.
’

That meant Dirty Old Man.
‘
I said he was a lousy thief who a lot of people probably wanted out of the way.
’
Ask. Anders, he
’
s eloquent on the subject, Ingham wanted to say.

‘
Abdullah was the one who stole your jacket out of your car, you said.
’

‘
That
’
s true. I saw him. I just wasn
’
t close enough to catch him
.’

‘
You didn
’
t possibly throw something at him that night like a chair
—
or your typewriter,
’
Ina said with a slight laugh.

Ingham
wanted to see Adams. It was four-forty-five, and Adams was probably on the beach. Ingham drove his car the quarter-mile to the sandy lane that led to the bungalows. The bungalows were silent and still in the sunlight, as if everyone were having a prolonged siesta. Adams
’
s black Cadillac was parked in the usual place. Ingham put his car beside it.

He knocked on Adams
’
s door. No answer. Ingham strolled on to the bungalow headquarters
’
terrace and looked down at the beach. Only three or four figures were visible, and none looked like Adams. Ingham went back to Adams
’
s bungalow, walked to the back where it was shady, and sat down on the kitchen doorstep. Adams
’
s grey metal garbage pail stood a couple of feet away, empty. After a moment or two, Ingham was glad OWL hadn
’
t been in when he knocked, because he realized he had been a little angry. That wasn
’
t the way. The way was to hint, gently, that OWL shouldn
’
t be so prying, shouldn
’
t be putting ideas into Ina
’
s head, ideas that disturbed her. Ingham was cognizant of the fact
he
was lying, in taking this tack. It seemed to him that that was his business, and that no one else had a right to interfere with it. The police, of course, had a right. But the police were one thing, and Adams was another.

Ingham had been sitting, leaning against the kitchen door, perhaps fifteen minutes, when the click of a lock told him that Adams had arrived. Ingham got up quickly, and walked
—
slowly now
—
to the front of the house. Adams would no doubt have noticed his car. The front door was shut, and Ingham knocked.

The door opened.
‘
Well, hello! Come in! I saw your car.

Nice to see you !
’
Adams had a shopping net in his hand. He was putting things away in the kitchen. He offered Ingham a drink, or iced coffee, and Ingham asked if he had a Coke. Adams had.

‘
And how is Ina getting along?
’
Adams asked. He opened a beer can.

‘
I think all right.
’
Ingham had not wanted to plunge in, but he thought, why not, so he said,
’
What
’v
e you been telling her about
the
famous night of Abdullah?
’

‘
Why
—
what I know about it, that
’
s all. She was curious, asked me all kinds of questions.
’

‘
I suppose she did, if you told her you thought I wasn
’
t telling you the whole story. I think you
’
ve upset her, Francis.
’
That was it, Ingham thought, knock the ball into his court for a change.

Adams was choosing his words, but it did not take
him l
ong.
‘
I told her what I think, Howard. I
’
ve got a right to do that, even if I may be wrong.
’
OWL said it dogmatically, as if it were a piece of gospel by which he had always lived.

‘
Yes. I don
’
t deny that,
’
Ingham said, dropping into
the
squeaky leather chair.
‘
But it
’
s too bad it upset her. Unnecessarily.
’

‘
How do you mean upset her?
’

‘
She began asking me questions. I don
’
t know who the Arab was that night. I never saw his face, and it seems to me only guesswork that it was Abdullah. It
’
s based on Abdullah
’
s apparent disappearance
—
and to be logical, one should leave open the possibility that he happened to disappear or leave town, and that somebody else hit himself or got hit and yelled
—
and that nobody at all was killed that night. You see what I mean.
’

OWL looked thoughtful, but unchanged.
‘
Yes, but you know very well that isn
’
t so.
’

‘
How do I know it? You
’
re reasoning on circumstantial evidence and pretty thin evidence.
’