The Blunderer Read Free

for the Lobster Pot’s string of blue lights, but he couldn’t see them anywhere.
    â€œBetter go back to the main road and take it from that filling station the way I always do,” Walter said.
    Clara laughed. “And you’ve only been here five times, if not more!”
    â€œWhat’s the difference?” Walter asked with elaborate casualness. “We’re in no hurry, are we?”
    â€œNo, but it’s insane to waste time and energy when with a little intelligence you could have taken the right road from the start!”
    Walter refrained from telling her she was wasting more energy than he. The tense line of her body, the face straining towards the windscreen pained him, made him feel that the week’s vacation had been for nothing, the wonderful morning after the fishing trip for nothing. Forgotten the next day like the other wonderful nights, mornings, he could count over the last year, little oases, far apart. He tried to think of something pleasant to say to her before they got out of the car.
    â€œI like you in that shawl,” he said, smiling. She wore it loose about her bare shoulders and looped through her arms. He had always appreciated the way she wore her clothes and the taste she showed in choosing them.
    â€œIt’s a stole,” she said.
    â€œA stole. I love you, darling.” He bent to kiss her, and she lifted her lips to him. He kissed her gently, so as not to spoil her lipstick.
    Clara ordered cold lobster with mayonnaise, which she adored, and Walter ordered a broiled fish and a bottle of Riesling.
    â€œI thought you’d have meat tonight, Walter. If you have fish again, Jeff gets nothing today!”
    â€œAll right,” Walter said. “I’ll order a steak. Jeff can have most of it.”
    â€œYou say it in such a martyred tone!”
    The steaks were not very good at the Lobster Pot. Walter had ordered steak the other night because of Jeff. Jeff refused to eat fish. “It’s perfectly okay with me, Clara. Let’s not argue about anything our last night.”
    â€œWho’s arguing? You’re trying to start something!”
    But, after all, the steak had been ordered. Clara had had her way, and she sighed and looked off into space, apparently thinking of something else. Strange, Walter thought, that Clara’s economy extended even to Jeff’s food, though in every other respect Jeff was indulged. Why was that? What in Clara’s background had made her into a person who turned every penny? Her family was neither poor nor wealthy. That was another mystery of Clara that he would probably never solve.
    â€œKits,” he said affectionately. It was his pet name for her, and he used it sparingly so it would not wear out. “Let’s just have fun this evening. It’ll probably be a long time till we have another vacation together. How about a dance over at the Melville after dinner?”
    â€œAll right,” Clara said, “but don’t forget we have to be up at seven tomorrow.”
    â€œI won’t forget.” It was only a six-hour drive home, but Clara wanted to be home by mid-afternoon in order to have tea with the Philpotts, her bosses at the Knightsbridge Brokerage. Walter slid his hand over hers on the table. He loved her hands. They were small but not too small, well-shaped, and rather strong. Her hand fitted his when he held it.
    Clara did not look at him. She was looking into space, not dreamily but intently. She had a small, rather pretty face, though its expression was cool and withdrawn, and her mouth looked sad in repose. It was a face of subtle planes, hard for a stranger to remember.
    He glanced behind him, looking for Jeff. Clara had let him off the leash, and he was trotting around the big room, sniffing at people’s feet, accepting titbits from their plates. He would always eat fish from other people’s plates, Walter thought. It embarrassed Walter, because the