The Houseguest Read Online Free PDF Page A

“It’s a matter of choice. The name you’re called by others is not exactly your own property, is it? Charley, Chuck, Chaz. It’s the name you can do that with. But Audrey is not, I think?” Chuck took the matter seriously. It was this sort of thing that made him so ingratiating.
    â€œActually, Audrey’s not my first name, as it happens,” said his hostess. “I don’t like it much but it’s preferable to Wilhelmina, which is one of those names one is given to please some relative who might leave money to a younger person of the same name.”
    Chuck leaned towards her. He still held the newspapers, which he had stacked, she assumed, merely to serve his sense of order. He wore leather loafers, with socks, and apparently had not brought along a pair of sports shoes of any kind, nor jeans or shorts. He provided quite a contrast with Bobby’s style, and not only in clothing. “You’re a desirable woman, Willie,” he said in a voice of intensity but low volume. Having made that startling speech, he rose and left the room at a smart pace, carrying with him the stack of newspapers.
    Audrey had assumed she had forgotten how to blush, so long had it been, perhaps even since the days of the squint. While Doug’s courtship antics had shocked her, she had never been embarrassed by them, but the difference there was that she had been a participant, a collaborator even if involuntarily. At the moment she had been given no role, and sat alone with her blazing face. Whether it was cruel or considerate of Chuck to leave so decisively would have been difficult to say. She was fifty-one and he might be somewhat older than her son but was still under thirty. With another intonation, his words now might well have been interpreted indecently. As it was, they sounded almost businesslike. His departure suggested ruthlessness. With no supporting evidence Audrey might have applied to Chuck what he had said of his friend or perhaps enemy named Tedesco, who should not be trifled with nor frequented unless one was looking for trouble. That certainly had never been true of Audrey. Her style was to avoid conflict, and thus, unlike almost everyone else she knew, she was still on her first marriage.

    Lydia too had colored by reason of Chuck Burgoyne, but her flush represented anger. Only a scoundrel would sleep naked with an open bedroom door, even if quartered in the remotest part of the house. The weekday housekeeper, Mrs. Finch, surely went back there routinely as did the team of cleaning women who made regular Monday and Friday visits, not to mention those persons on missions such as that of Lydia only just concluded, or mere wanderers-through-hallways. But what infuriated her most was her inability to decide whether in so establishing the opportunity for self-exhibition Chuck was showing insolent indifference or narcissistic intent. Each would have been offensive, but perhaps the first was the more obnoxious.
    Lydia could not abide inconsiderate persons, those who performed as if they were alone in the universe. But until now it could never have been said of Chuck Burgoyne that he operated with indifference to those around him: he was all too aware of others. He was always manipulating the Graveses, inducing them to alter practices that had apparently been lifelong, e.g., it had been their custom to breakfast severally and not collect around the table as a family so early in the day. He was singlehandedly responsible for the canceling of the traditional cocktail party with which the family had celebrated the opening of the season each year for the last seventy-odd, if the count began with Doug’s grandfather, whose enormous house had not been at the shore, which in those days was considered too remote a site for a residence, but rather in the town overlooking the harbor. But it had been Audrey, not Doug, who cared about tradition, and the latter made no vocal objection when she