Donna Tartt - The Secret History

'Well, for whatever reason,' said Francis, 'he's done us a tremendous favor.'

'I don't know,' said Henry. 'Kidnapping is a serious crime. If this turns into a criminal investigation they may stumble across something we'd rather they didn't know.'

'How could they? What does any of this have to do with us?'

'I don't mean anything big. But there are a great many little things which would be just as damning if anyone took the trouble to add them up. I was a fool to put those plane tickets on my credit card, for instance. We'd have a difficult time explaining that. And your trust fund, Francis? And our bank accounts?

Massive withdrawals over the last six months, and nothing to show for it. Bunny's got an awful lot of new clothes hanging in his closet that he couldn't possibly have paid for himself 'Somebody would have to dig pretty deep to find that.'

'Someone would only have to make two or three well-placed phone calls.'

Just then the telephone rang.

'Oh, God,' Francis wailed.

'Don't answer it,' said Henry.

But Francis picked it up anyway, as I knew he would. 'Yes,' he said carefully. Pause. 'Well, hello to you too, Mr Corcoran,' he said, sitting down and giving us the OK signal with thumb and forefinger. 'Have you heard anything?'

A very long pause. Francis listened attentively for some minutes, looking at the floor and nodding; after a while he began to bob his foot up and down impatiently.

'What's going on?' Charles whispered.

Francis held the phone away from his ear and made a gabby mouth sign with his hand.

'I know what he wants,' Charles said bleakly. 'He wants us to come over to his hotel and have dinner.'

'Actually, sir, we've already had our dinner,' Francis was saying. '… No, of course not… Yes. Oh, yes sir, I've been trying to get in touch with you, but you know how confused things are… Certainly…'

Finally he hung up. We stared at him.

He shrugged. 'Well,' he said, 'I tried. He's expecting us at the hotel in twenty minutes.'

'Us?'

'I'm not going by myself 'Is he alone?'

'No.' Francis had drifted into the kitchen; we could hear him opening and shutting cabinets. 'It's the whole crew except for Teddy, and they're expecting him any minute.'

There was a slight pause.

'What are you doing in there?' said Henry.

'Making myself a drink.'

'Make me one, too,' said Charles.

'Scotch all right?'

'I'd rather bourbon if you've got it.'

'Make that two,' said Camilla.

'Just bring the whole bottle in, why don't you,' Henry said.

After they left, I lay on Francis's couch, smoking his cigarettes and drinking his Scotch, and watched 'Jeopardy.' One of the contestants was from San Gilberto, which is really close to where I grew up, only five or six miles away. All those suburbs tend to run into one another out there, so you can't always tell where one ends and the next begins.

After that came a made-for-television movie. It was about the threat of the earth colliding with another planet and how all the scientists in the world united to avert the catastrophe. A hack astronomer, who is constantly on talk shows and whose name you would probably recognize, played himself in a cameo role.

For some reason, I felt uneasy about watching the news alone when it came on at eleven, so I turned to PBS and watched something called 'History of Metallurgy.' It was actually quite interesting, but I was tired and a bit drunk, and I fell asleep before it ended.

When I awoke, a blanket had been thrown over me, and the room was blue with a cold dawn light. Francis sat in the windowsill with his back to me; he was wearing his clothes from the night before and he was eating maraschino cherries from ajar balanced on his knee.

I sat up. 'What time is it?'

'Six,' he said without turning around, his mouth full.

'Why didn't you wake me up?'

'I didn't get in until four-thirty. Too drunk to drive you home.

Want a cherry?'

He was still drunk. His collar was open and his clothes disordered; his voice was flat and toneless.

'Where were you all night?'

'With the Corcorans.'

'Not drinking.'

'Of course.'

Till four?'

'They were still going at it when we left. There were five or six cases of beer in the bathtub.'

'I didn't know it was going to be a frivolous occasion.'

'It was donated by the Food King,' said Francis. 'The beer, I mean. Mr Corcoran and Brady got hold of some of it and brought it to the hotel.'

'Where are they staying?'

'I don't know,' he said dully. 'Terrible place. One of those big flat motels with a neon sign and no room service. All the rooms were connected. Hugh's children screaming and throwing potato rhips, the television going in every room. It was hell… Really,' he said humorlessly as I started to laugh, 'I think I could get through anything after last night. Survive a nuclear war. Fly a plane. Somebody – one of those damned toddlers, I guess – got my favorite scarf off the bed and wrapped up part of a chicken leg in it. That nice silk one with the pattern of clocks on it. It's just ruined.'

'Were they upset?'

'Who, the Corcorans? Of course not. I don't think they even noticed.'

'I don't mean about the scarf 'Oh.' He got another cherry from the jar. 'They were all upset I suppose, in a way. Nobody talked about much else but they didn't seem out of their minds or anything. Mr Corcoran would act all sad and worried for a while, then the next thing you knew he'd be playing with the baby, giving everybody beer.'

'Was Marion there?'

'Yes. Cloke, too. He went for a drive with Brady and Patrick and came back reeking of pot. Henry and I sat on the radiator all night and talked to Mr Corcoran. I guess Camilla went over to say hello to Hugh and his wife and got trapped. I don't even know what happened to Charles.'

After a moment or so, Francis shook his head. 'I don't know,' he said. 'Does it ever strike you, in a horrible sort of way, how funny this is?'

'Well, it's not all that funny really.'

'I guess not,' he said, lighting a cigarette with shaky hands.

'And Mr Corcoran said the National Guard is coming up today, too. What a mess.'

For some time I had been staring at the jar of cherries without realizing fully what they were. 'Why are you eating those?' I said.

'I don't know,' he said, staring down at the jar. 'They taste really bad.'

'Throw them away.'

He struggled with the window sash. It sailed up with a grinding noise.

A blast of icy air hit me in the face. 'Hey,' I said.

He threw the jar out the window and then leaned on the sash with all his weight. I went over to help him. Finally, it crashed down, and the draperies floated down to rest placidly by the windows. The cherry juice had left a spattered red trajectory on the snow.

'Kind of a Jean Cocteau touch, isn't it?' Francis said. 'I'm exhausted. If you don't mind, I'm going to have a bath now.'

He was running the water and I was on my way out when the phone rang.

It was Henry. 'Oh,' he said. 'I'm sorry. I thought I dialed Francis.'

'You did. Hold on a second.' I put down the phone and called for him.

He came in in his trousers and undershirt, his face half-lathered, a razor in his hand. 'Who is it?'

'Henry.'

'Tell him I'm in the bath.'

'He's in the bath,' I said.

'He is not in the bath,' said Henry. 'He is standing in the room with you. I can hear him.'

I gave Francis the telephone. He held it away from his face so he wouldn't get any soap on the receiver.

I could hear Henry talking indistinctly. After a moment, Francis's sleepy eyes widened.

'Oh, no,' he said. 'Not me.'

Henry's voice again, curt and businesslike.

'No. I mean it, Henry. I'm tired and I'm going to sleep and there's no way-'