The Talented Mr Ripley / Талантливый мистер Рипли. Патриция ХайсмитЧитать онлайн книгу.
ran up the steps.
A lot of selfish motives mattered now, he thought as he went into the room. As soon as he could get a passport, he would sail for Europe, probably in a first-class cabin. Waiters to bring him things when he pushed a button! Dressing for dinner, talking with people at his table like a gentleman! He could congratulate himself on tonight, he thought. He had behaved just right. Mr Greenleaf couldn't have the impression that he had arranged the invitation to Europe. Just the opposite. He wouldn't let Mr Greenleaf down. He'd do his very best[7] with Dickie. Mr Greenleaf was such a decent fellow himself, he believed that everybody else in the world was decent, too. Tom didn't believe such people existed.
Slowly he took off his jacket, watching every move he made as if he was watching somebody else's movements. He was standing much straighter now, and there was a different look in his face. It was one of the few times in his life that he felt pleased with himself.
When he woke up the next morning Bob was not there, and Tom was glad that Bob wasn't home this morning. He didn't want to tell Bob about the European trip. He wouldn't tell anybody. Tom began to whistle. He was invited to dinner tonight at the Greenleafs' apartment on Park Avenue[8].
Fifteen minutes later, he showered, shaved, and dressed in a suit. He wanted to look well in his passport photo. Tom was walking up and down the room with a cup of black coffee in his hand, waiting for the morning mail. What should he do this afternoon? Go to some art exhibitions, so he could chat about them tonight with the Greenleafs. Do some research on Mr Greenleaf's company, so he could show Mr Greenleaf that he took an interest in his work? Tom went downstairs to take the mail. It was the letter addressed to George McAlpin. Tom opened it and saw a cheque for one hundred and nineteen dollars and fifty-four cents, for payment to the Collector of Internal Revenue[9]. Good old lady! Paid without hesitation, without even a telephone call. He went upstairs again, tore up the envelope and put her cheque into a pocket of one of his jackets in the closet. This raised his total in cheques to one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three dollars and fourteen cents, he calculated in his head. A pity that he couldn't cash them. Or that these idiots didn't pay in cash yet, or wrote cheques to George McAlpin. Tom had McAlpin's bank identification card that he had found somewhere with an old date on it. But he was afraid to cash the cheques. So this was no more than just a practical joke, really. Good clean sport. He wasn't stealing money from anybody. Before he went to Europe, he thought, he would destroy the cheques.
Shouldn't he try just one more in these last ten days before he sailed? Tom thought – it was easy, and persuaded himself to try just one more. Tom had a lot of forms from the Internal Revenue office[10] where he had worked as a clerk a few weeks ago. He took a box with the forms from his suitcase in the closet.
There were seven more possible victims on his list. The list included special people – artists and writers and freelance people who made from seven to twelve thousand a year. Tom knew that such people seldom hired professional tax men to compute their taxes. It was only logical to suppose they had made a two– or three-hundred dollar error in their tax computations.
Tom examined the names on his list. There was journalist, musician, illustrator, photographer, artist…Tom remembered – Reddington, artist. He was a comic-book artist.
Tom chose the form 'NOTICE OF ERROR IN COMPUTATION'[11] and started to copy the information below the artist's name on his list.
'HELLO-O, Tom, my boy!' Mr Greenleaf said in a voice that promised good martinis, a delicious dinner, and a bed for the night in case he got too tired to go home. 'Emily, this is Tom Ripley!'
'I'm so happy to meet you!' she said warmly.
'How do you do, Mrs Greenleaf?'
She was very much what he expected – blonde, rather tall and slender, with enough formality to keep him on his good behaviour. Mr Greenleaf led them into the living-room. Yes, he had been here before with Dickie.
'Mr Ripley's been here before,' Mr Greenleaf said. 'He's come here with Richard.'
'Oh, has he? I don't believe I met you.' She smiled. 'Are you from New York?'
'No, I'm from Boston[12],' Tom said. That was true.
About thirty minutes later they went into a dining-room where a table was set for three with candles, dinner napkins, and a whole cold chicken.
The conversation was dull, and the dinner excellent.
'Did you go to school in Boston?' Mr Greenleaf asked.
'No, sir. I went to Princeton[13] for a while, then I moved to my Aunt Dottie in Boston and went to college there.' Tom waited, hoping Mr Greenleaf would ask him something about Princeton, but he didn't. Tom could discuss anything about Princeton, the system of teaching history, the campus, the atmosphere at the weekend dances, the student political tendencies. He knew it from a Princeton junior whom he had met last summer and who talked of nothing but Princeton. Tom asked him for more and more information, hoping he might be able to use it some time later.
Mrs Greenleaf came in with a photograph album, and Tom sat beside her on the sofa. Richard as a baby, Richard taking his first step, Richard dressed as a soldier, with long blond hair. The album was not interesting to him until it showed Richard at sixteen, long-legged and slim. Tom could see that Richard didn't change a lot between sixteen and twenty-three or – four, when the pictures of him stopped. Tom was surprised to see how little the bright, naive smile changed. Tom also had a feeling that Richard was not very intelligent; at least he looked not very intelligent with his smile from ear to ear.
'These are from Europe.' Mrs Greenleaf said, giving him some other pictures. They were more interesting: Dickie in a cafe in Paris, Dickie on a beach.
'This is Mongibello, by the way,' Mrs Greenleaf said, giving a picture of Dickie near a boat on the sand. The picture showed rocky mountains and little white houses along the shore. 'And here's the girl there, the only other American who lives there.'
'Marge Sherwood,' Mr Greenleaf added.
The girl was in a bathing suit on the beach, her arms around her knees, healthy and naive-looking, with short blonde hair. There was a good picture of Richard in shorts. He was smiling, but it was not the same smile, Tom saw. Richard looked more balanced in the European pictures.
Tom noticed that Mrs Greenleaf was very sad. Now he saw tears in her eyes.
'Mrs Greenleaf,' Tom said kindly, 'I want you to know that I'll do everything I can to make Dickie come back.'
'Bless you, Tom, bless you.' She touched Tom's hand.
'I hope you'll come again to visit us before you go, Tom,' she said. 'Since Richard went to Europe, we seldom have any young men here. I miss them.'
'I'd be happy to come again,' Tom said.
Mr Greenleaf went out of the room with her. Tom remained standing, his hands at his sides, his head high. In a large mirror on the wall he could see himself: the honest, self-respecting young man again. He looked quickly away. He was doing the right thing, behaving the right way. Yet he had a feeling of guilt. When he had said to Mrs Greenleaf, I'll do everything I can… Well, he meant it. He wasn't trying to fool anybody.
He began to sweat, and he tried to relax. What was he so worried about? That was the only time tonight when he felt uncomfortable, unreal, the way he felt when he was lying. The only true thing he had said was: My parents died when I was very small. I was raised by my aunt Dottie in Boston.
Mr Greenleaf came into the room. Tom felt a sudden terror of him, an impulse to attack him before he was attacked.
'Some brandy?' offered Mr Greenleaf.
It's like a movie, Tom thought. In a minute, Mr Greenleaf or somebody else's voice would say, 'Okay, cut![14]' and he would relax again and be back
He'd do his very best – Он сделает всё возможное, приложит все усилия
Park Avenue – одна из главных магистралей Нью-Йорка, где расположены штаб-квартиры многих корпораций.
Collector of Internal Revenue – директор департамента государственных сборов
Internal Revenue office – Бюро налогов и сборов
Notice of error computation – уведомление об ошибке при расчёте суммы налога
Boston – крупнейший город в США, столица штата Массачусетс.
Princeton – Принстонский университет, один из самых престижных вузов США.
Cut! – Стоп! Снято!