Read Online Ripley's Game by Patricia Highsmith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patricia Highsmith
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expense.’
‘Oh, Jon! Expense! – Did you have any news this morning? But the laboratory report comes tomorrow, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes. What they say is always the same, darling. I want a a fresh opinion.’
‘When do you want to go?’
‘Soon. This week.’
Just before 5 p.m. Jonathan called at the Fontainebleau post office. The money had arrived. Jonathan presented his carte d’identité and received six hundred francs. He went from the post office to the Syndicat d’Initiatives in the Place Franklin Roosevelt, just a couple of streets away, and bought a round-trip ticket to Hamburg on a plane that left Orly airport at 9.25 p.m. that evening. He would have to hurry, he realized, and he liked that, because it precluded thinking, hesitating. He went to his shop and telephoned Hamburg, this time collect.
Wister again answered. ‘Oh, that’s fine. At eleven fifty-five, right. Take the airport bus to the city terminus, would you? I’ll meet you there.’
Then Jonathan made one telephone call to a client who had an important picture to pick up, to say that he would be closed Tuesday and Wednesday for ‘reasons of family’, a common excuse. He’d have to leave a sign to that effect in his door for a couple of days. Not a very important matter, Jonathan thought, since shopkeepers in town frequently closed for a few days for one reason or another. Jonathan had once seen a sign saying ‘closed due to hangover’.
Jonathan shut up shop and went home to pack. It would be a two-day stay at most, he thought, unless the Hamburg hospital or whatever insisted that he stay longer for tests. He had checked the trains to Paris, and there was one around 7 p.m. that would do nicely. He had to get to Paris, then to Les Invalides for a bus to Orly. When Simone came home with Georges, Jonathan had his suitcase downstairs.
‘Tonight?’ Simone said.
‘The sooner the better, darling. I had an impulse. I’ll be back Wednesday, maybe even tomorrow night.’
‘But – where can I reach you? You arranged for a hotel?’
‘No. I’ll have to telegraph you, darling. Don’t worry.’
‘You’ve got everything arranged with the doctor? Who is the doctor?’
‘I don’t know yet. I’ve only heard of the hospital.’ Jonathan dropped his passport, trying to stick it into the inside pocket of his jacket.
‘I never saw you like this,’ said Simone.
Jonathan smiled at her. ‘At least – obviously I’m not collapsing!’
Simone wanted to go with him to the Fontainebleau-Avon station, and take the bus back, but Jonathan begged her not to.
‘I’ll telegraph right away.’ Jonathan said.
‘Where is Hamburg?’ Georges demanded for the second time.
‘Allemagne! – Germany!’ Jonathan said.
Jonathan found a taxi in the Rue de France, luckily. The train was pulling into the Fontainebleau-Avon station as he arrived, and he barely had time to buy his ticket and hop on. Then it was a taxi from the Gare de Lyon to Les Invalides. Jonathan had some money left over from the six hundred francs. For a while, he was not going to worry about money.
On the plane, he half slept, with a magazine in his lap. He was imagining being another person. The rush of the plane seemed to be rushing this new person away from the man left behind in the dark grey house in the Rue St Merry. He imagined another Jonathan helping Simone with the dishes at this moment, chatting about boring things such as the price of linoleum for the kitchen floor.
The plane touched down. The air was sharp and much colder. There was a long lighted motorway, then the city’s streets, massive buildings looming up into the night sky, street lights of different colour and shape from those of France.
And there was Wister smiling, walking towards him with his right hand extended. ‘Welcome, Mr Trevanny! Had a good trip? … My car is just outside. Hope you didn’t mind coming to the terminus. My driver – not my driver but one I use sometimes – he was tied up
‘Oh, Jon! Expense! – Did you have any news this morning? But the laboratory report comes tomorrow, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes. What they say is always the same, darling. I want a a fresh opinion.’
‘When do you want to go?’
‘Soon. This week.’
Just before 5 p.m. Jonathan called at the Fontainebleau post office. The money had arrived. Jonathan presented his carte d’identité and received six hundred francs. He went from the post office to the Syndicat d’Initiatives in the Place Franklin Roosevelt, just a couple of streets away, and bought a round-trip ticket to Hamburg on a plane that left Orly airport at 9.25 p.m. that evening. He would have to hurry, he realized, and he liked that, because it precluded thinking, hesitating. He went to his shop and telephoned Hamburg, this time collect.
Wister again answered. ‘Oh, that’s fine. At eleven fifty-five, right. Take the airport bus to the city terminus, would you? I’ll meet you there.’
Then Jonathan made one telephone call to a client who had an important picture to pick up, to say that he would be closed Tuesday and Wednesday for ‘reasons of family’, a common excuse. He’d have to leave a sign to that effect in his door for a couple of days. Not a very important matter, Jonathan thought, since shopkeepers in town frequently closed for a few days for one reason or another. Jonathan had once seen a sign saying ‘closed due to hangover’.
Jonathan shut up shop and went home to pack. It would be a two-day stay at most, he thought, unless the Hamburg hospital or whatever insisted that he stay longer for tests. He had checked the trains to Paris, and there was one around 7 p.m. that would do nicely. He had to get to Paris, then to Les Invalides for a bus to Orly. When Simone came home with Georges, Jonathan had his suitcase downstairs.
‘Tonight?’ Simone said.
‘The sooner the better, darling. I had an impulse. I’ll be back Wednesday, maybe even tomorrow night.’
‘But – where can I reach you? You arranged for a hotel?’
‘No. I’ll have to telegraph you, darling. Don’t worry.’
‘You’ve got everything arranged with the doctor? Who is the doctor?’
‘I don’t know yet. I’ve only heard of the hospital.’ Jonathan dropped his passport, trying to stick it into the inside pocket of his jacket.
‘I never saw you like this,’ said Simone.
Jonathan smiled at her. ‘At least – obviously I’m not collapsing!’
Simone wanted to go with him to the Fontainebleau-Avon station, and take the bus back, but Jonathan begged her not to.
‘I’ll telegraph right away.’ Jonathan said.
‘Where is Hamburg?’ Georges demanded for the second time.
‘Allemagne! – Germany!’ Jonathan said.
Jonathan found a taxi in the Rue de France, luckily. The train was pulling into the Fontainebleau-Avon station as he arrived, and he barely had time to buy his ticket and hop on. Then it was a taxi from the Gare de Lyon to Les Invalides. Jonathan had some money left over from the six hundred francs. For a while, he was not going to worry about money.
On the plane, he half slept, with a magazine in his lap. He was imagining being another person. The rush of the plane seemed to be rushing this new person away from the man left behind in the dark grey house in the Rue St Merry. He imagined another Jonathan helping Simone with the dishes at this moment, chatting about boring things such as the price of linoleum for the kitchen floor.
The plane touched down. The air was sharp and much colder. There was a long lighted motorway, then the city’s streets, massive buildings looming up into the night sky, street lights of different colour and shape from those of France.
And there was Wister smiling, walking towards him with his right hand extended. ‘Welcome, Mr Trevanny! Had a good trip? … My car is just outside. Hope you didn’t mind coming to the terminus. My driver – not my driver but one I use sometimes – he was tied up
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