The Second Confession Read Free Page B

Wolfe had to make it plain that no one was roping him off. We’ve got our pride. So Saul and Fred and Orrie were at it.
    So was I, the next morning, Saturday, driving north along the winding Westchester parkways, noticing that the trees seemed to have more leaves than they knew what to do with, keeping my temper when some dope of a snail stuck to the left lane as if he had built it, doing a little snappy passing now and then just, to keep my hand in, dipping down off the parkway on to a secondary road, following it a couple of miles as directed, leaving it to turn into a gravelled drive between ivy-covered stone pillars, winding through a park and assorted horticultural exhibits until I broke cover and saw the big stone mansion, stopping at what looked as if it might be the right spot, and telling a middle-aged sad looking guy in a mohair uniform that I was the photographer they were expecting.
    Sperling and I had decided that I was the son of a business associate who was concentrating on photography, and who wanted pictures of Stony Acres for a corporation portfolio, for two reasons: first, because I had to be something, and second, because I wanted some good shots of Louis Rony.
    Four hours later, having met everybody and had lunch and used both cameras all over the place in as professional a manner as I could manage, I was standing at the edge of the swimming pool, chasing a fly off Gwenn’s leg. We were both dripping, having just climbed out.
    'Hey,' she said, 'the snap of that towel is worse than a fly bite-if there was a fly.' I assured her there had been.
    'Well, next time show it to me first and maybe I can handle it myself. Do that dive from the high board again, will you'Where’s the Leica?' She had been a pleasant surprise. From what her father had said I had expected an intellectual treat in a plain wrapper, but the package was attractive enough to take your attention off the contents. She was not an eye-stopper, and there was no question about her freckles, and while there was certainly nothing wrong with her face it was a little rounder than I would specify if I were ordering a la carte; but she was not in any way hard to look at, and those details which had been first disclosed when she appeared in her swimming rig were completely satisfactory. I would never have seen the fly if I had not been looking where it lit.
    I did the dive again and damn near pancaked. When I was back on the marble, wiping my hair back, Madeline was there, saying, 'What are you trying to do, Andy, break your back'You darned fool!' 'I’m making an impression,' I told her. 'Have you got a trapeze anywhere'I can hang by my toes.
    'Of course you can. I know your repertory better than you think I do. Come and sit down and I’ll mix you a drink.' Madeline was going to be in my way a little, in case I decided to humour Wolfe by trying to work on Gwenn. She was more spectacular than Gwenn, with her slim height and just enough curves not to call anywhere flat, her smooth dark oval face, and her big dark eyes which she liked tc keep half shut so she could suddenly open them on you and let you have it. I already knew that her husband was dead, having been shot down in a B-17 over Berlin in 1943, that she thought she had seen all there was but might be persuaded to try another look, that she liked the name Andy, and that she thought there was just a chance that I nught know a funny story she hadn’t heard. That was why she was going to be in my way a little.
    I went and sat with her on a bench in the sun, but she didn’t mix me a drink because three men were gathered around the refreshment cart and one of them attended to it-James U. Sperling, Junior. He was probably a year or two older than Madeline and resembled his father hardly at all. There was nothing about his slender straightness or his nice smooth tanned skin or his wide spoiled mouth that would have led anyone to say he looked like a miner. I had never seen him before but had heard