The Blunderer by Patricia Highsmith

soon,” she said.
    Then they went out, and the room was empty. Walter heard the tones of their polite exchanges with Clara downstairs, then the sound of the car motor, fading away.
    Clara came into the room. “So Miss Briess is going to take a job near here?”
    â€œShe might. Did you overhear that?”
    â€œNo. I asked her. Just now.” Clara laid some bath towels in a drawer of the chest. “I wonder what she’s up to, going around with that naïve Pete?”
    â€œI suppose she likes him, that’s simple.”
    Clara gave him a slurring look. “She likes any man around better, I can tell you that.”

6
    W alter got up Saturday, and on Sunday they went to the Iretons’ for lunch.
    It was a fine sunny day, and about twenty people were drinking cocktails on the lawn when Walter and Clara arrived.
    Clara stopped at a group that included Ernestine McClintock and the McClintocks’ friend Greta Roda, the painter. Walter walked on. Bill Ireton was telling a joke to the men gathered around the portable bar.
    â€œSame old dope,” Bill was saying. “Always barking up the wrong girl!” The clap of laughter that followed was painful to Walter’s ears. He was at that stage, after the flu, when noises were like physical blows, and it hurt even to comb his hair.
    Bill Ireton squeezed Walter’s hand with a hand wet and cold from ice cubes. “I’m sure glad you could make it! Feeling better?”
    â€œFine now,” Walter said. “Thanks for all your inquiries.”
    Betty Ireton came up and welcomed him, too, took him over to meet a week-end guest of theirs, a woman, and from there on Walter circulated by himself, enjoying the springy grass under his feet, and the soothing effect of the alcohol that was going straight to his head.
    Bill came over, took Walter’s glass to replenish it, and gave Walter a sign to follow him. “What’s the matter with Clara?” Bill asked as they walked. “She just took Betty’s head off.”
    Walter tensed. “About what?”
    â€œAbout the whole party, I gather. Clara said she didn’t want a drink, and when Betty offered to get her a coke she let Betty know it wasn’t necessary for her to drink anything at all to enjoy herself perfectly well.” Bill minced his voice a little and lifted his eyebrows as Clara did. “Anyway, Betty got the idea she’d have been much happier if she’d stayed at home.”
    Walter could imagine the scene exactly. “I’m sorry, Bill. I wouldn’t take it seriously. You know, with me sick all week and Clara working the way she does, she gets edgy once in a while.”
    Bill looked doubtful. “If she ever doesn’t want to come, fellow, we’ll understand. We’re always glad to see you, and don’t forget it!”
    Walter said nothing. He was thinking that Bill’s words were actually an insult to Clara, if he chose to take them that way, and that he didn’t choose to take them that way, because he understood Bill’s reaction to her completely. Walter moved away across the lawn, looking over the people, the women in bright summer skirts. He realized suddenly that he was looking for Ellie, and there wasn’t a chance that she would be here today. Ellie Briess. Ellie Briess. At least he could remember her name now. The name suited her perfectly, he thought, simple but not ordinary, and a little Germanic. Walter felt himself getting pleasantly high on his second drink. He ate lunch with the McClintocks and Greta Roda on one of the long gliders, assembling his meal from the trays of delicious barbecue and French fried potatoes that the Ireton maid and the two little Ireton girls passed around. When he got up to leave, he staggered, and Bill and Clara came up to walk on either side of him.
    â€œI don’t feel drunk, just awfully tired suddenly,” Walter said.
    â€œYou just got out of bed,