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.By that time Mrs.Emmons was splashing in the shallow end of the pooland hooting with delight.Pink more with embarrassment than the sun, Emillie Harper gathered up hertowel, mumbled a few words that might be construed as excuses, and fled.Harrietpropped herself on her elbow and watched Emillie go, scowling, her senses on thealert.There was a low rock at the tip of the point, and Jim Sutton sat on it, fishing rodat the ready, gazing out over the lake to the steep slope rising on the western bank.A discarded, half-eaten sandwich had already begun to attract ants to the side ofthe rock. Hello, Jim, Harriet said as she came up behind him. Hi, he answered, not turning. There s a spurious rumor that this lake has beenstocked with trout. But no luck, she inferred. No luck. He reeled in the line and cast again. I got four eighteen-inchers lastyear. Maybe it s the wrong time of day. She had the good sense to stay back from therock where he sat, though only part of her reason had to do with fishing. I hearthat you ll have to make your stay short this year.There s that trial in Denver&  There is indeed. He looked down and saw the remains of his sandwich, whichhe kicked away. Mustn t litter, Harriet admonished him lightly. Who s littering? I m supporting the ecological chain by providing a feedingniche, he shot back. I don t know why I bother.Nothing s going to bite today.Harriet selected the least rough part of a fallen log and sat on it, rather gingerly,and was pleased when it held.So much fallen wood was rotten, no matter howsound it appeared. I ll buy you a drink if you d like to come back to the Lodge withme. A very handsome offer.How can I refuse. He began to reel in his line. You incabin 21? As usual.And you? Cabin A42.As usual. He caught up his leader and held it carefully, inspectinghis hook and bait before turning to her. Then we re almost neighbors. That was a polite fiction: a steep pathwayconnected the two wider trails on which their cabins were located, and the distancerequired a good ten minutes after dark. Perhaps you d like to come by. She was careful not to sound too wistful. Sounds good. He faced her now, and came up beside her. Don t worry aboutme, Harriet.I do take a reasonable amount of care of myself.We re neither of uschildren, anymore.She put an arm across his back. No, we re not children. They were much thesame height, so their kiss was almost too easy. I miss that. So do I. They started up the trail together, walking side by side. Anyone new inyour life? No one important, she said with a shrug. And you? There was one woman, very sensual, but& I don t know.Like covering adisaster.Everything afterward is an anticlimax.They had reached the first turning in the road and were startled to see thestrange guest from cabin 33 coming toward them.Mr.Lorpicar nodded to bothHarriet and Sutton, but did not speak, continuing down the path with anexpression at once determined and abstracted. That s one strange duck, Harriet said as they resumed their walk. He s the one in cabin 33, isn t he? Jim Sutton asked, giving the retreating figurea quick look over his shoulder. I think so. She dug her hands deep into the pockets of her hiking slacks,watching Jim Sutton with covert concern. I saw him after lunch with that Harper girl, I ve seen her before, I know I have.I just can t place her&  They were at the crest of a gentle rise and through the pinesthey could see the back of the Lodge. I hate it when I can t remember faces.Harriet smiled gently. You ll think of it.Probably it isn t this girl at all, butanother one, equally colorless.Both her parents look like frightened hares. Shethought about this as they approached the Lodge. You d think one of them wouldbe a tyrant to have the daughter turn out that way.I thought that one of themmight be pious or invalidish, but they re as painfully ordinary as the girl is. Such language for a psychiatrist, Jim Sutton admonished her, and then theywent up the steps into the Lodge, into the lounge, and they did not talk aboutEmillie Harper or the peculiar Mr.Lorpicar anymore.Nick Wyler was a hale sort of man, whose body and gestures were always a littletoo large for his surroundings.He enjoyed his own flamboyance, and was sincerelyupset if others did not enjoy it, too.His wife, Eleanore, was a stately woman, givento wearing long skirts and Guatemalan peasant blouses.They had taken cabin A68,right on the lake, one of the largest and most expensive cabins at Lost Saints Lodge. Rogers, you re outdoing yourself, Nick Wyler announced as he came into thedining room. I m impressed, very impressed.Mr.Rogers made a polite gesture which was very nearly a bow. It s good of youto say so. That mysterious owner of yours does things right.You may tell him I said so.He gave a sweeping gesture that took in the entire dining room and implied the restof the building. Really beautiful restoration.None of the schlock that s turning upall over the place.I d bet my eye teeth that the lowboy in the foyer is genuine.English, eighteenth century. He beamed and waited for his expertise to beconfirmed. Actually, it s Dutch, Mr.Rogers said at his most apologetic. It was built at theHague in 1761. Before Nick Wyler could take issue with this, or embark on anotherround of compliments, Mr.Rogers had turned away and was leading Mrs.Emmonsand Mrs.Granger to their table by the window. The chef s special this evening, ladies, is stuffed pork chops.And in addition tothe usual dessert menu, the chef has prepared a custard-filled tart.If you ll simplytell the waiter, he ll see that your selections are brought promptly. I like him, Mrs.Granger confided in a loud, gravelly voice. He knows whatservice means.Mr [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]