The Talented Mr Ripley / Талантливый мистер Рипли. Патриция Хайсмит

was planning to fly home for a short time in the winter, and that probably he could persuade him to stay longer. Tom also said that when he spent Mr Greenleaf's money, he intended to try to get himself a job. This letter sounded much better now when he was staying at Dickie's house. Tom wanted to make a good impression on Dickie, so he gave Dickie the letter to read.

      Another week went by, of ideally pleasant weather, ideally lazy days.

      A letter came from Mr Greenleaf, which had crossed Tom's letter, in which Mr Greenleaf repeated his arguments for Dickie's coming home, wished Tom success, and asked for a quick reply. Mr Greenleaf's letter was in a extremely businesslike tone, Tom thought – so he found it very easy to reply in the same way. He wrote in Mr Greenleaf's own style:

      …If I am not mistaken, Richard is hesitating in his decision to spend another winter here. As I promised you, I shall do everything in my power to persuade him not to spend another winter here, and in time – probably at Christmas – I may be able to get him to the States.

      Tom had to smile as he wrote it, because he and Dickie were talking of sailing around the Greek islands this winter, and Dickie decided not to fly home even for a few days, unless his mother should be really seriously ill by then. They also decided to spend January and February, Mongibello's worst months, in Majorca[29]. And Marge would not be going with them, Tom was sure. Both he and Dickie didn't include her in their travel plans.

      And now, though Tom knew Dickie was still firm about their going alone, Dickie became more attentive to Marge, just because he realised that she would be lonely here by herself, and that it was very unkind of them not to ask her to join them. Dickie and Tom both tried to explain to her that they would be travelling in the cheapest and worst possible way around Greece, no way for a girl to travel. But Marge still looked sad.

      And when they asked her to go along with them to Herculaneum[30], she refused.

      'I think I'll stay home. You boys enjoy yourselves,' she said with a sad smile.

      'Was she angry about something?' Tom asked when Marge had left.

      'No. She feels kind of left out, I suppose.'

      'We certainly tried to include her.'

      'It isn't just this.' Dickie was walking slowly up and down the terrace. 'Now she says she doesn't even want to go to Cortina with me.'

      'Do you want me to leave, Dickie?' Tom asked, sure that Dickie didn't want him to leave. 'I feel I'm intruding on you and Marge.'

      'Of course not! Intruding on what?'

      'Well, from her point of view.'

      'No. It's just that I should do something for her. And I haven't been nice to her lately. We haven't.'

      Tom knew he meant that he and Marge were very close to each other, when they had been the only Americans in the village, and that he shouldn't ignore her now because somebody else was here.

      'Suppose I talk to her about going to Cortina,' Tom suggested.

      'Then she surely won't go,' Dickie said, and went into the house.

      Tom wanted to offer a drink but then decided against it: it wasn't his house, though he had bought the three bottles of gin that now stood in the kitchen.

      'It's after two,' Tom said. 'Want to take a little walk and go by the post office?'

      They walked down the hill in silence. What had Marge said about him, Tom wondered. He suddenly felt guilt, a very strong sense of guilt, as if Marge told Dickie that he had stolen something or had done some other shameful thing. Dickie wouldn't be acting like this only because Marge had behaved coolly, Tom thought. He came out of silence only to thank the Italian post office clerk for his letter. Tom had no mail. Dickie's letter was from a Naples bank, a form on which Tom saw typewritten in a blank space: $500.00. The monthly announcement that Dickie's money had arrived in Naples, Tom supposed. Dickie had said that his trust company sent his money to a Naples bank. They walked on down the hill. Dickie stopped at the steps that led up to Marge's house.

      'I think I'll go up to see Marge,' he said. 'I won't be long, but there's no use in your waiting[31].'

      'All right,' Tom said, feeling suddenly lonely. He turned and started back towards the house. About half-way up the hill he stopped with an impulse to go to Marge's house. He imagined himself saying 'Look here, Marge, I'm sorry if I've been the reason for the stress around here. We asked you to go today, and we mean it. I mean it.'

      He turned and walked back to Marge's gate. He closed the gate carefully behind him, though she could not possibly hear it, then ran up the steps. He slowed as he climbed the last steps, stopped at Marge's window and looked in: Dickie's arm was around her waist. Dickie was kissing her, smiling at her. Marge's face was turned up to Dickie's, as if she were lost in ecstasy, and Tom felt disgust because he knew that Dickie didn't mean it, that Dickie was only using this cheap easy way to hold on her friendship. Tom really couldn't believe it possible of Dickie!

      Tom turned away and ran down the steps, wanting to scream. He ran all the way up the road home. He sat in Dickie's studio for a few moments, his mind shocked and empty. That kiss – it hadn't looked like a first kiss. He had a curious feeling that his brain remained calm and logical and that his body was out of control. He ran out on the terrace with an idea of jumping on to the parapet and doing a dance or standing on his head, but the empty space on the other side of the parapet stopped him.

      He went up to Dickie's room and walked around for a few moments, his hands in his pockets. He wondered when Dickie was coming back? Or was he going to stay, really take her to bed with him? He opened Dickie's closet door and looked in.

      There was a new-looking grey flannel suit that he had never seen before. Tom took it out. He took off his shorts and put on the grey flannel trousers. Then he put on a pair of Dickie's shoes. Then he chose a dark-blue silk tie and knotted it carefully. The suit fitted him.

      'Marge, you must understand that I don't love you,' Tom said into the mirror in Dickie's voice, with Dickie's intonation, 'Marge, stop it!' Tom turned suddenly and made a gesture in the air as if he were seizing Marge's throat. He shook her, twisted her, while she sank lower and lower, until at last he left her on the floor. He was breathing hard. He touched his forehead the way Dickie did, reached for a handkerchief and, not finding any, got one from Dickie's closet, then started again in front of the mirror. 'You know why I had to do that,' he said, addressing Marge, though he watched himself in the mirror. 'You were intruding between Tom and me – No, not that! But there is a bond between us!'

      He turned, stepped over the imaginary body, and went to the window. Dickie was not on the steps or on the road. Maybe they were sleeping together, Tom thought with disgust in his throat. He imagined it, unsatisfactory for Dickie, and Marge loving it. Tom came back to the closet again and took a hat from the top shelf. It was a little grey Tyrolian hat with a green-and-white feather. He put it on. It surprised him how much he looked like Dickie with the top part of his head covered. Really it was only his darker hair that was very different from Dickie. His nose – or at least its general form – his mouth, his eyebrows if he held them right —

      'What're you doing?'

      Tom turned around quickly. Dickie was in the doorway. Tom understood that he had been right below at the gate when he had looked out.

      'Oh – just amusing myself,' Tom said in the deep voice he always used when he was confused. 'Sorry, Dickie.'

      Dickie's mouth opened a little, then closed, as if anger stopped his words. Tom stood paralysed with fear.

      'Get out of my clothes,' Dickie said.

      Tom started to undress, his fingers didn't move because of his shock. Dickie looked at Tom's feet. 'Shoes, too? Are you crazy?'

      'No.' Tom tried to pull himself together as he put the suit into the closet, then he asked, 'Did you make peace with Marge?'

      'Marge and I are fine,' Dickie said firmly as if he wanted Tom to be out from them.

      'I feel as if I've —'

29

Majorca – Мальорка, или Майорка, остров в Средиземном море, принадлежащий Испании.

30

Herculaneum – Геркуланум, древнеримский город, прекративший своё существование при извержении Везувия в I веке н. э.

31

there's no use in your waiting – нет смысла меня ждать