Suspension of Mercy by Patricia Highsmith Page B

old Victorian flower album with colored drawings made by some Victorian miss, which Alicia had picked up in a London bookshop. “I’ll tell her you called.”
    “When will she be back?”
    “I think in three or four days.”
    “Well, if you get lonely, do come over,” Mrs. Lilybanks said. “Any time.”
    Sydney thanked her and said he would.
    That evening a little after six, when the rates became cheaper for trunk calls, Sydney rang Inez and Carpie in London. They were two girls who shared a house together, and each had a baby about a year old. Inez was a Negro girl from New York, Carpie a Jamaican of nearly white skin, and they both were dancers, though since the babies, they had retired from their London dance group. Their husbands were always away, in New York or the West Indies, or had been since Sydney and Alicia had known them, which was more than a year, and at last it had dawned on Sydney that the girls had no husbands. Alicia thought Sydney was probably right, so they had stopped asking the girls anything about their husbands. Certainly the babies looked no more than half what the girls were, the rest of them white. Inez and Carpie were hospitable, bright, and good fun. On one of her runaway trips, Alicia had stayed with them, as they had a three-story house in a mews. But Alicia was not with them now. Sydney spoke to Inez.
    “Gosh. Well, you’re not really worried, are you?” Inez asked.
    “Oh, no. If she’s not in London, she’s in Brighton. It’s happened before. Or she could be with the Polk-Faradays, I suppose.”
    “If you want me to, I’ll call a couple of places here and call you back. Save you some dough.” Inez was always mindful of economy.
    “No, thanks, Inez. I’ll ring Alex, because I want to talk to him about something, anyway.”
    “But she’s okay, is she? Not mad or anything?”
    “Oh, no. She just gets housebound out here now and then.”
    Then Sydney called the Polk-Faradays.
    Hittie answered. “Oh, hello, Syd! Alex is having a drink with someone tonight. He’s not home yet.”
    “I hope he’s buttering up Plummer. That wouldn’t be it, would it?”
    “No, it’s some new author for Verge Press. I’m sorry about that reject, Syd. I thought that script was super.”
    “Well, it’s down but not out. Yet. What I called up about is—I don’t suppose Alicia is there, is she?”
    “Here?”
    “At your place.”
    “No. You mean you don’t know where she is?”
    “She went off this morning, I thought maybe to London, but it looks like Brighton, because you’re the second place I’ve called in London. Sometimes she likes to get away, and I can’t blame her. I’m not the picture of cheer with one rejection after another.”
    “Goodness . . . Did she take the car?”
    “No, I put her on the train. For London. I’m not worried, because she’s done it a couple of times before, you know.” He knew Hittie knew she’d done it a couple of times before. But he could almost hear Hittie’s brain clicking over, thinking Alicia wasn’t a good wife to desert her husband just when he was discouraged.
    “If you don’t hear from her by tomorrow, do let us know, would you, Syd?”
    “Thanks, Hittie. I will.”

6
    M rs. Lilybanks rang the next day and asked if Sydney would come for dinner. “The mobile butcher had a special treat today, fresh Dover sole, so I bought two, hoping you could join me.”
    “Thanks, I’d like to. What can I contribute, and what time would you like me?”
    “Is seven thirty too early? If you’re working hard, we’ll make it later.”
    “Seven thirty’s fine.”
    “And don’t bring anything, just yourself.”
    But Sydney took the car to Framlingham and bought a bottle of white wine. He had worked well that day, and was in a good mood. So was Mrs. Lilybanks for the same reason, she was pleased with her painting, and she said so (her work-in-progress was upstairs, so Sydney did not see it or ask to), but Sydney kept his good spirits to