Read Online Suspension of Mercy by Patricia Highsmith - Free Book Online

himself, pretending a slight loneliness and anxiety because his wife was not at home.
    They ate in Mrs. Lilybanks’ half-sunken dining room. Two corners of the room were filled with tall, polished sideboards, and along the waist-high shelf on one wall stood Delft plates and bric-a-brac. In her unhurried way, Mrs. Lilybanks served a superb dinner, ending with homemade sponge cake and strawberry sauce. She asked Sydney questions about his writing, not prying questions, but the kind that kept him doing most of the talking and enjoying the sound of his own voice.
    “You sound more pleased about The Whip than your other things,” she said as they were having coffee.
    “Maybe because it’s the latest,” Sydney said. “Some more wine?”
    Mrs. Lilybanks had not finished her glass. “No, thank you, but do have some. It’s delicious. Just made the sole.”
    Sydney took only an inch more, which left a glass or two for a meal for Mrs. Lilybanks. “I expect Alicia’ll be back by Monday or Tuesday.”
    “Oh, good. She’s probably enjoying some exhibitions in London and just being by herself for a while.”
    “I now don’t think she’s in London,” Sydney said somewhat awkwardly. “I’ve called a few of our friends there. I think she went to Brighton. She’s fond of Brighton.”
    “Has she friends there?”
    “No. At least not that I know of. No, she’d have mentioned them.” Sydney frowned slightly and looked at his coffee cup. He would be saying the same things, he thought, if Alicia were dead now, if he had killed her Friday morning instead of putting her on the train at Campsey Ash. Mrs. Lilybanks would be saying the same things, too. The words were coming from both of them like lines in a play they were performing.
    “Artists need to be by themselves now and then,” Mrs. Lilybanks said kindly.
    “Yes.” He glanced at her, grateful. “I suppose I’ll have a postcard Monday. Or a telephone call.” It sounded gloomy. It was only Saturday evening. And Alicia never wrote a postcard on these excursions, at least not to him. “I’ll use these days to get some work done, too—I mean, assuming Alicia’s making sketches for new paintings in Brighton,” he added, feeling a blush come in his face. He shifted back in his chair. “More work on The Planners , you know.”
    “Well, suppose we leave all this and listen to some music. There’s a concert on the BBC tonight that starts in five minutes.”
    “If we’ve got five minutes,” Sydney said cheerfully, bouncing up, too, “I’ll help you clear away.”
    He insisted over Mrs. Lilybanks’ brief protest, and in a trice, they had the table clear and the dishes ready for washing in the kitchen. Then they listened to a concert of Bach and Hindemith, while Mrs. Lilybanks embroidered a pillowcase for her daughter.
    As he was leaving, Sydney said, “I’m going to Ipswich Monday, if you’d like to go. Just a little shopping trip.”
    “No, thank you, not this time. I seem to be pretty well supplied at the moment,” Mrs. Lilybanks said.
    And Sydney was secretly relieved, because he wasn’t really going to Ipswich—not unless Alicia called and asked him to meet her there—but he hadn’t been able to think of any other kindness he might do Mrs. Lilybanks.
    When he had gone, Mrs. Lilybanks put on an apron and did the dishes, then left the pots and pans in the sink to soak overnight. The dishes, she felt, were enough exertion for the evening, and she would be up tomorrow before Mrs. Hawkins arrived and would have all the pans washed and put away. She never left dishes for Mrs. Hawkins, because she felt there was so much else to do. She had enjoyed her evening with Sydney, and she thought he had, too, but her pleasant train of thought kept hitting the snag of his anxiety over Alicia. All wasn’t well there, Mrs. Lilybanks could see easily. She remembered what Alicia had said, that she wasn’t sure she wanted to have a child with Sydney, though maybe she