Free The Man Who Loved His Wife by Vera Caspary

clothes whenever he chose.
    She stood at the edge of the pool. Water dripped down her long legs and gathered in puddles at her feet. Her toenails were tinted with coral enamel and her bathing suit was as green and shimmering as a mermaid’s tail. Garden lights were reflected in drops of water on her neck and arms.
    â€œHow are you?” asked Ralph.
    â€œFine. And you?” she said.
    â€œOkay.” Ralph took an uncertain step backward, looked away, but could not resist the temptation to look at her again and make love with his eyes. “I’d better be getting on,” he said diffidently.
    â€œWhy don’t you have a swim? It’s a big relief on a night like this.” Don welcomed young masculine company. He had become bored with Cindy’s squeals, Fletcher’s moods, and Elaine’s indifference. “Let me get you a pair of trunks.”
    This pool had been the focus of Ralph’s growing summers. He dived into his past, heard the shouts of youthful cronies, the voice of his foster-mother begging for quiet and offering cakes. He swam dreamily, eyes closed, until he was recalled to the present by the voices around the pool: Don Hustings’s easterncollege affectations, his wife’s nervous giggle, the mangled efforts of Elaine’s husband. Perhaps the harsh notes were distortions of Ralph’s conscious.
    He did not relish the role of clandestine lover.
    â€œYou shouldn’t have come here.” Elaine had dived in and come up beside him.
    â€œI had to see you again.”
    â€œI asked you not to.”
    â€œDamn it, I’m in love with you.”
    She swam away. With long strokes Ralph was beside her again. “What are we going to do?”
    Fletcher watched them moving along the pool, side by side. He was irritable because no red king had turned up to relieve a row of cards guarded by a black queen. He muttered something that no one could understand. At the far end of the pool and with a rubber cap over her ears, Elaine—usually so perceptive—could not make out a word. “Yes, dear,” she said sweetly, and swam toward him, but collided with Cindy who had dived in without looking to see if anyone was in the way.
    Elaine camp up coughing and spluttering, hoisted herself out of the pool, pulled off her cap and, still coughing, danced up and down, tossing her head from side to side to drain water out of her ears. In a flash Fletcher was beside her, pounding her back. The sensation pleased him. His sense of power grew.
    â€œDarling, please, you don’t know how strong you are.”
    She had quit coughing so that there was no reason beyond pleasure for Fletcher to go on beating her back. He stopped with the air of a king granting clemency. Magnanimity did not end here. He would not allow Ralph to leave without joining them for a drink. The two young men had climbed out of the pool, and as Fletcher watched them shaking themselves like wet dogs, he compared their bodies with his own.
    For sheer brawn neither could come near him. His torso was bare above his white duck custom-made shorts. Around his neck, knotted like a brigand’s kerchief, was a silk scarf that concealed and guarded the stoma. Except for this small, hidden area his body was deeply tanned. Ralph Julian, as tall asFletcher, was as pale as a Victorian beauty. With neither the time nor complexion for sunburn, he allowed his flesh to stay as white as a ghost’s. The pale, freckled skin barely covered the gaunt bones. Don was darker than Fletcher, sturdily built, but short.
    The sense of size and masculinity restored Fletcher’s temper. He told Elaine to get out of her wet bathing suit, sent Don to fetch drinks, ordered Cindy to quit chattering, bade Ralph sit there and amuse him. Everyone obeyed.
    Don brought the drinks. The service was impeccable. His son-in-law, Fletcher reflected, would make an excellent bartender or butler. When Elaine came out, the three men were