The Houseguest by Thomas Berger Page B

were it not that Audrey had gone through the sweater drawers on Saturday morning, searching through the lookalikes for the particular cardigan into the pocket of which, back in town, she had tucked the latest letter from her traveling friend Molly, that which contained Molly’s schedule for the following month, more than a fortnight of which had now passed.
    And as of that time all the drawers were filled. Thus the cleaning women were exonerated even before being tried. Which left Mrs. Finch, who of course had for many years had access to all summertime possessions of the family and guests and had never been known to steal any articles of clothing. Why would she start now and in such a conspicuous manner, taking at once the entire cashmere collection?
    There could be no evading the fact that the possibilities had been immediately reduced to her daughter-in-law. She knew nothing of Lydia—in any event, nothing that had been confirmed. Bobby had married this girl in some county clerk’s office in rural parts, not far from the university from which they had both only just graduated. Audrey had met Lydia for the first time when the newlyweds arrived on the island a week before, only hours before the coming of Chuck Burgoyne, after which she had been distracted from reflecting on a situation in which she found a touch of squalor, and all the more so when she heard, for the first time, that Bobby had been living with the young woman for most of the last year of college—yet had never mentioned her in his occasional telephone calls, which were always and solely concerned with begging more money from home. Neither Audrey nor Doug had gone to the commencement ceremony, but then no invitation had been received.
    As to Lydia’s bloodline, it could scarcely be less prepossessing, the family business, however profitable, being private refuse collection, and indeed the less said of her the better, a principle devoutly honored by both Audrey and Doug, but if the girl proved to be a kleptomaniac, what could one do? Then again, better her foible be kept within the family than revealed to the outside world. What if she were apprehended in a shop? One of Audrey’s cousins had had a messy divorce that got into the papers years before, but that had been a glamorous embarrassment, what with the references to figures with meaningful names to journalism: statesmen, financiers, and the like, her cousin’s reputed promiscuity having been an issue. And some relative of Doug’s had once got into some trouble with the Securities and Exchange Commission. But no one in any familial association with Audrey had ever been charged with ignoble common theft.
    Tact was called for here. Lydia had left the house and grounds only to go once, with Bobby, to visit the club. That had been three or four days back, before the sweaters were missing. Therefore they must now be no farther away than her room. Could she be that brazen—or demented? But it took a special sensibility to perform such a theft at all—from an in-law and one’s hostess, when furthermore you were the only person under the same roof who could fit into the garments in question.
    But perhaps it was intended to be conspicuous, as a provocation of some sort. Who could say what were the motives of other people, especially those of not only another generation but also another class? It might even be a kind of malicious joke, designed to elicit a hysterical response from herself; then, once she had lost self-command, the sweaters would be returned secretly and revealed with much derisive laughter. Of course, this was to make an inordinate flight forward of the kind against which she had been sternly warned by her doctor, who insisted that only a little self-discipline was needed to withstand the impulses of a masochism that was by no means of natural origin but demonstrably acquired.
    She was well aware that she encouraged others, especially men, to take advantage