"'That's' an idea! They've got beautiful stone up there! Remember that—"
"It isn't the marble of Paros, but it might do," Vic said crisply, buttering a radish.
Then it was the drainage system. Tony had a wonderful idea for the drainage that would make an artificial brook through the property. Vic never quite understood where all the water would come from in the first place, but he was not impressed by Tony's idea, which Melinda thought original because Tony had evidently told her it was original.
"The Romans were doing that two thousand years ago," Vic said. "They did it in Avignon."
"Where's Avignon, Daddy?" Trixie asked.
Vic suddenly realized that Trixie had missed her Sunday tutoring on account of Mr. Cameron. "Avignon is in southern France. It used to be the residence of the popes, oh—five hundred years ago, I guess. You'll have to go there some day. And they have a song: ''Sur le pont d'Avignon—l'on y danse, l'on y danse—sur le pont d'Avignon—l'on y danse tout en rond—''" He got her to sing it with him. They went on and on while they set the dessert on the table, on and on while Melinda frowned as if the singing were giving her a headache. Trixie never got tired of something like this, and they sang and sang through the dishwashing, and Vic taught her the second verse, and they sang that until Melinda burst out:
"Oh, for God's sake, Vic, 'stop' it!"
When Vic next saw Horace, on Saturday morning in the hardware store in Little Wesley, Horace brought up Mr. Cameron. They were walking out of the store together toward their cars in the king lot next to the supermarket. Horace said:
"Well, I understand Ferris is going to buy the land over near the Cowans' place." Ferris was the name of the wealthy New Yorker who was Cameron's client.
"Yes. How'd you know?"
"Phil told me. He said Melinda stopped by one day with the contractor. I understand she's been helping him out."
"It gives her something to do," Vic said quickly, and in an uninterested tone.
Horace nodded, and if he had been going to say anything else about Melinda and Cameron, he didn't say it. When they reached their cars, Horace said, "Mary and I are going to try our luck with a sparerib barbecue tomorrow night. The MacPhersons were coming over, but they can't make it. Why don't you and Melinda come by around five o'clock?"
Vic would have enjoyed it ordinarily, sitting around the Mellers' lawn, watching the sun go down, and sniffing the charcoal aroma of the roasting spareribs. Now the first thing that came to his mind was that Melinda might not be free. It was the first time he had let himself realize it, that she was spending nearly every afternoon, had spent half this morning and was still out somewhere with Tony Cameron. "Thanks, Horace. Can I let you know? As far as I know, we can."
"Fine," Horace said, smiling. "I hope you can. It's going to be winter soon. No more outdoor barbecues."
Vic went home, the back of his car full of groceries for the weekend—Melinda wasn't doing much marketing lately—and with a new bit for his auger. He had broken a bit the other day when he had been angry, or rather when he had been thinking maddening thoughts. His thoughts had been playing around Tony and Melinda: What were their friends going to say about this? When were they going to start talking? Had Cameron and Melinda had an affair yet? They had had enough time and opportunity to, and Cameron's unchanged manner toward him would he quite in character with Cameron. Cameron the pachyderm. At moments Vic could smile at the situation. Cameron was so uncomplex. There was something even appealingly naive and innocent about his big square face, and something very juvenile and open in the way he assumed it was perfectly all right if he went off with another man's wife and kept her for eight hours at a stretch. Vic knew, of course, that Melinda was encouraging him in this direction with her usual line, "Oh, yes, I love Vic, but—" Not that Melinda necessarily wanted Cameron as a lover—Vic found that impossible to believe—but she wanted a romantic atmosphere to surround them when they were together, wanted to keep the road clear.
Melinda was not in when he got home. Trixie was away at the movies. Roger greeted him at the door, his stubby tail wagging, and Vic let him out on the lawn, watched him absently as he sat down and made a puddle. Well, Vic thought, Mr. Cameron was here for only another two weeks. His work on the Ferris house would be finished the end of November. Cameron himself had said that.
Melinda came in at six-thirty, with Cameron. Cameron had acquired a glowing pink sunburn. When he smiled his face seemed to blaze with joy and self-satisfaction.
"Brought my own beer this time!" Cameron said, swinging up a carton of half-quart cans.
"Good! Fine!" Vic said in the tone he might have used to a child. Then to Melinda, "Can I talk to you for a minute?" She came into the kitchen with him.
"We're invited to the Mellers' tomorrow at five for a barbecue. Would you like to go?"
Her face, flushed and excited from her outing with Cameron, brightened still more. "Sure! Love to!"
"Okay, I'll tell Horace," Vic said, relieved. He smiled, too. "I suppose I can bring Tony if I want to, can't I?"
Vic turned back to her. He had been going to the telephone. "No, I don't think you can bring Tony."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't think he's the Mellers' cup of tea."
"Oh, la-dee-da!" Melinda tossed her head. "Since when do you say what's the Mellers' cup of tea?"
"I happen to know."
"I'll ask them myself," Melinda said, starting off for
