Patricia Highsmith - The Tremor of Forgery Read Online Free PDF

nodding, bored, mildly irritated.
    ‘ You ’ ve never been married? ’ Adams asked.
    ‘ Yes. Once. Divorced. — No children. ’
    They were having a smoke after the couscous. Not much edible meat tonight, but the couscous and the spicy sauce had been delicious. Couscous was the name of the African millet flour, Adams had explained, granulated flour that was cooked by steaming it over a broth. It could be made also from wheat. It was tan in colour, bland in flavour, and over it was spooned hot or medium hot red sauce, turnips, and pieces of stewed lamb. It was a speciality at Melik ’ s.
    ‘ Was your wife a writer, too? ’ Adams asked.
    ‘ No, she didn ’ t do anything, ’ Ingham said, smiling a little .
    ‘ A woman of leisure. Well, it ’ s past, and it was a long time ago. ’ He was ready to tell Adams it was longer than a year and a half ago, in case Adams asked. ‘ Do you think you ’ ll marry again? ’ ‘ I don ’ t know. — Why? Do you think it ’ s the ideal life? ’ ‘ Oh, I think that depends. It ’ s not the same for every man. ’ Adams was smoking a small cigar. When his cheeks flattened out, his face looked longer, more like an ordinary face, and when he removed the cigar, the little pouches came back, like a cartoon of himself. Between the cheeks, the thin, pink mouth smiled good-naturedly. ‘ I was certainly happy. My wife was the kind who really knew how to run a home. Put up preserves, took care of the garden, a good hostess, remembered people ’ s birthdays, all that. Never annoyed when I got delayed at the plant. — I thought of marrying again. There was even one woman — a lot like my wife —I might ’ ve married. But it ’ s not the same when you ’ re not young any more. ’
    Ingham had nothing to say. He thought of Ina and wished she were here, sitting with them now, wished he could take a walk with her on the beach tonight, after they had said good night to Adams, wished they could go back to his bungalow and go to bed together.
    ‘ Any girl in your life now? ’ Adams asked.
    Ingham woke up. ‘ In a way, yes. ’
    Adams smiled. ‘ So you ’ re in love? ’
    Ingham didn ’ t like to talk to anyone about Ina, but did it matter if he talked to someone like Adams? ‘ Yes, I suppose so. I ’ ve known her about a year. She works for CBS-TV in New York. She ’ s written some television plays and also some short stories. Several published, ’ he added.
    The flautist was gaining strength. An Arab song began shakily, reinforced by a wailing male voice.
    ‘ How old is she? ’
    ‘ Twenty-eight. ’
    ‘ Old enough to know her own mind. ’
    ‘ Um-m. She had a marriage that went wrong — when she was twenty-one or — two. So Fm sure she ’ s in no hurry to make a mistake again. Neither am I. ’
    ‘ But you expect to marry? ’
    The music grew ever louder.
    ‘ Vaguely. — I can ’ t see that it matters very much, unless people want children. ’
    ‘ Is she going to join you here in Tunisia? ’
    ‘ No. I wish she were. She knows John Castlewood very well. In fact she introduced us. But she has her job in New York. ’
    ‘ And she hasn ’ t written you either? About John? ’
    ‘ No. ’ Ingham warmed a little to Adams. ‘ It ’ s funny, isn ’ t it? How slow can mail get here? ’
    Their dessert of yoghurt had arrived. There was also a platter of fruit.
    ‘ Tell me more about your girl. What ’ s her name? ’
    Ina Pallant. — She lives with her family in a big house in Brooklyn Heights. She has a crippled brother she ’ s very fond of — Joey. He has multiple sclerosis, practically confined to his wheelchair, but Ina ’ s a great help to him. He paints — rather surrealistically. Ina arranged a show for him last year. But of course he couldn ’ t have got the show unless he was good. He sold — oh, seven or eight out of thirty canvases. ’ Ingham disliked saying it, but he thought Adams would be interested in figures. ‘ One picture, for