The Secret History - Donna Tartt [146]
When I got out, Henry’s car was parked down the street with the lights off. Upstairs at Charles and Camilla’s, everyone was sitting around the kitchen table with their sleeves rolled up, deep in Greek. When we came in they began to stir, and Charles got up and made a pot of coffee while I read my notes. Both movies were rather plotless and I had a hard time communicating the gist of them.
“But these are terrible,” said Francis. “I’m embarrassed that people will think we went to see such bad movies.”
“But wait,” said Camilla.
“I don’t get it, either,” Charles said. “Why did the sergeant bomb the village where the good people lived?”
“Yes,” Camilla said. “Why? And who was that kid with the puppy who just wandered up in the middle of it? How did he know Charlie Sheen?”
Charles had done a beautiful job on my Greek, and I was looking it over before class the next day when Julian came in. He paused in the doorway, looked at the empty chair and laughed. “Goodness,” he said. “Not again.”
“Looks like it,” said Francis.
“I must say, I hope our classes haven’t become as tedious as all that. Please tell Edmund that, should he choose to attend tomorrow, I shall make an effort to be especially engaging.”
By noon it was apparent that the weather forecast was in error. The temperature had dropped ten degrees, and more snow fell in the afternoon.
The five of us were to go out to dinner that night, and when the twins and I showed up at Henry’s apartment, we found him looking especially glum. “Guess who just phoned me,” he said.
“Who?”
“Marion.”
Charles sat down. “What did she want?”
“She wanted to know if I’d seen Bunny.”
“What’d you say?”
“Well, of course I said I hadn’t,” Henry said irritably. “They were supposed to meet on Sunday night and she hasn’t seen him since Saturday.”
“Is she worried?”
“Not particularly.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Nothing.” He sighed. “I just hope the weather breaks tomorrow.”
But it didn’t. Wednesday dawned bright and cold and two more inches of snow had accumulated in the night.
“Of course,” said Julian, “I don’t mind if Edmund misses a class now and then. But three in a row. And you know what a hard time he has catching up.”
“We can’t go on like this much longer,” said Henry at the twins’ apartment that night, as we were smoking cigarettes over uneaten plates of bacon and eggs.
“What can we do?”
“I don’t know. Except he’s been missing now for seventy-two hours, and it’ll start to look funny if we don’t act worried pretty soon.”
“No one else is worried,” said Charles.
“No one else sees as much of him as we do. I wonder if Marion’s home,” he said, glancing at the clock.
“Why?”
“Because maybe I should give her a call.”
“For God’s sake,” said Francis. “Don’t drag her into it.”
“I have no intention of dragging her into anything. I just want to make it plain to her that none of us have seen Bunny for three days.”
“And what do you expect her to do about it?”
“I hope she’ll call the police.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Well, if she doesn’t, we’re going to have to,” said Henry impatiently. “The longer he’s gone, the worse it will look. I don’t want a big ruckus, people asking questions.”
“Then why call the police?”
“Because if we go to them soon enough, I doubt there’ll be any ruckus at all. Perhaps they’ll send one or two people out here to poke around, thinking it’s probably a false alarm—”
“If no one’s found him yet,” I said, “I don’t see what makes you think that a couple of traffic cops from Hampden will do any better.”
“No one’s found him because no one’s looking. He’s not half a mile away.”
It took whoever answered a long time to bring Marion to the telephone. Henry stood patiently, gazing down at the floor; gradually his eyes began to wander, and after about five minutes he made an exasperated noise and looked up. “My goodness,” he said. “What’s taking them so long? Let me have a cigarette, would you, Francis?”
He had it in his mouth and Francis was lighting it for him when Marion came on