Indiscretion Read Online Free PDF Page B

Clive’s rudeness. It is not him she has come to see.
    When they arrive at the Winslows’, it is still light. In the west the sky is turning a startling mix of orange and purple. Harry greets them at the door. He is unconcerned about the time. “Come on in,” he says, his hair still wet from the shower. His light blue shirt clinging damply. His nose is sunburned. “Look at that sunset,” he says, presenting it like a gift.
    Claire offers him her cheek and feels his lips lightly brush her skin. “Thank you so much for having us,” she says. “I was so happy when Clive told me.”
    “Our pleasure,” responds Harry. “You made a big impression on Maddy. Let me get you guys something to drink.”
    The house is more magical to her than before. There is no crush of party guests talking, laughing, flirting. Tonight it has reverted to its own quiet, private self, a house where a family lives, where secrets are shared and kept. On the wall she sees a small painting she hadn’t noticed before. A seascape. On a faded, elaborately carved frame a tiny brass nameplate with the name of the artist. Winslow Homer. She is surprised and impressed. Claire wishes she could inspect everything, study the photographs, learn the language.
    Harry is at the bar. We have a running joke. Whenever one of us or, as it happened once, all of us find ourselves in Venice, we go to the famed Harry’s Bar right off St. Mark’s and swipe an ashtray or coaster to bring back to the bar here. On the wall is a photograph of Harry standing proprietarily in front of the frosted double doors, grinning madly. Maddy took the picture on their honeymoon.
    “Wonderful day today,” he says. “Ned rented a boat in Montauk and we each caught a shark. Jesus, it was incredible.”
    He uncorks a bottle of wine, wincing. “Cut the hell out of my hand, though.” Harry holds up his palm. Claire and Clive can see it is red and blistered. Calmly, gently, Claire reaches out and takes his hand and holds it in her own, running her fingers over the ravaged skin.
    “It must hurt very much,” she says.
    “Oh, it looks worse than it is.” His hand escapes to the glass. “Most of the red is iodine.”
    “What did you do with the shark?” asks Clive.
    “Going to have it mounted. Hang it on the wall over there. It’ll be quite the conversation piece. You know what people are like out here. It’ll drive ’em nuts,” he adds, laughing.
    They walk outside to the porch. On the lawn Ned is throwing gentle spirals to a little blond boy. Claire recognizes him as the boy with the flashlight from the night of the party. They stop when they see them, and the boy waves.
    “That’s Johnny,” says Harry. “Johnny, come here and say hello to our guests.”
    The boy runs to them, his tanned legs long and skinny like a colt’s. Claire sees he has his mother’s blue eyes above a sun-freckled nose.
    “How do you do?” he says in a soft voice, putting out his hand the way he has been taught. But he is a shy boy. He does not look them in the eye.
    “How do you do, mate?” says Clive.
    “Hello, Johnny,” says Claire, squatting so she is at eye level with the boy. “I’m Claire. How old are you?”
    I am studying her. She is good with children. It is obvious. I imagine she must have worked as an au pair during college. She would have been their best friend.
    “Eight.” His voice is nearly inaudible, but at least he is looking directly into Claire’s eyes. “But I’m almost nine.”
    “Almost nine? That makes you very grown-up. I’m twenty-six. What do you like to do? I like to sail and read books.”
    “My daddy writes books.”
    “I know. I read his book. It was wonderful.”
    Johnny smiles. Harry puts his hand on his son’s shoulder. “All right, buddy. It’s time for your supper. What do you say?”
    “Good night. It was nice to meet you.”
    He goes into the house. Claire watches him go, already in love. He is my godson.
    Ned comes up. Despite his size, he