The Blunderer Read Online Free PDF Page A

for the night, in case there wasn’t anybody who could take him back to New York, but decided to put off mentioning it to Clara until it became necessary. “By the way, honey, Jon asked me to go fishing with him next Sunday. Out around Montauk. You’re invited to come and stay on the beach, if you want to, because a girl friend of—of Jon’s will be along, too.”
    â€œA girlfriend of Jon’s?”
    â€œWell—a friend,” Walter corrected, because Jon was notoriously shy of women since his divorce.
    Clara’s small face had that rather stunned look, as if she were off balance for a moment until she had surveyed the idea from all possible angles, seen its advantages and disadvantages to herself. “Who is the girl?”
    â€œI don’t even know her name. Jon says she’s nice, though.”
    â€œI’m not so sure I want to spend a whole day with someone who might be a terrible bore,” Clara said.
    â€œMatter of fact, Jon said she—”
    â€œI think your friend is arriving.”
    Peter Slotnikoff was coming in the front door. Walter started towards him, trying to assume the pleasant, relaxed expression of a good host.
    Peter looked shy and bewildered and glad to see Walter. He was twenty-six, serious-looking and a little plump. His parents had been White-Russian refugees, and Peter had not known any English until he came to America at the age of fifteen, but he had finished brilliantly at the University of Michigan Law School, and Walter’s firm considered itself lucky to have him as a junior.
    â€œI brought a friend,” Peter said after Walter had introduced him to a few people near the door. Peter indicated a girl Walter hadn’t noticed. “This is Ellie Briess. This is Walter Stackhouse. Miss Elspeth Briess,” Peter said more carefully.
    They exchanged greetings, then Walter took them into the living-room to introduce them and get them drinks. Walter hadn’t thought Peter would have a girl at all. She was even rather pretty. Walter chose the darkest-looking highball from Claudia’s tray and handed it to Peter.
    â€œIf you don’t find anybody you want to talk to, Pete, there’s television out on the terrace,” Walter said to him. Walter had put the TV set on the terrace for the people who wanted to watch the ball game that night.
    Walter went to the rolling bar and made Clara a drink of Italian vermouth and soda, her favorite, and took it to her. She was talking with Betty Ireton by the fireplace.
    â€œI wish my husband took as good care of my drinks,” Betty said.
    â€œI’ll get you another,” Walter offered.
    â€œOh, I didn’t mean that. I’ve still got plenty.” Her handsome, narrow face smiled at him above the rim of her glass.
    Betty Ireton loved to flirt, in a thoroughly harmless way, and she often told Walter right in front of Clara that she thought he was the best-looking man in Benedict. And Clara, knowing its harmlessness, paid it no mind at all.
    â€œI wanted to take you over to meet Peter,” Walter said to Clara.
    â€œAnd I’m going to check up on my husband,” Betty said. “He’s disappeared in the garden.”
    â€œHow about Sunday?” Walter asked Clara. “I want to give Jon an answer tonight.”
    â€œMust you choose the only day we have to spend together to go off fishing? I don’t think it’s very nice for me .”
    â€œCome on, Clara. It’s been months since I’ve gone fishing.”
    â€œAnd Chad’s undoubtedly going, there’ll be drinking, and you’ll come back reeking for hours from it.”
    â€œI don’t think that’s entirely warranted.”
    â€œI do. I know it too well.” Clara walked away.
    Walter set his teeth. Why the hell didn’t he just go? Well, the answer to that was; the hell she would raise later just wasn’t worth it. Mrs. Philpott was watching him from