The Talented Mr. Ripley

Chapter one

A Journey for Tom Ripley

Tom looked behind him and saw the man coming out of the Green Cage. He walked faster. There was no doubt the man was following him. Tom had noticed him five minutes ago, staring at him from a table. Tom had paid for his drink in a hurry and left.

At the corner, Tom leaned forward and ran across Fifth Avenue. There was Raoul's. Should he take a chance and go in for another drink? Or should he run over to Park Avenue and try to escape by hiding in dark doorways? He went into Raoul's.

As he walked up to an empty seat at the bar, he looked around to see if he knew anyone. There was that big man with red hair, whose name he always forgot, sitting at a table with a blonde girl. But who was that man outside? Was that the kind of man they would send after him? He didn't look like a police officer or a detective. He looked like a businessman, someone's father, well-dressed with gray hair. Was that the kind of man they sent on a job like this? He would chat with you in a bar, and then bang! - one hand on the shoulder and the other hand holding a policeman's identification. Tom Ripley, you're under arrest! Tom watched the door.

Here he was, coming inside, taking a place at the bar. Tom stared at him. They couldn't give you more than ten years, Tom thought. Maybe fifteen, but with good behavior - As the man started to speak, Tom suffered a moment of desperate regret. Why was he pretending to work for the income tax office? Yes, he received checks for hundreds of dollars from stupid people who believed him when he said they owed money. But he never cashed the checks. It was really just a silly game that made him feel powerful.

"Pardon me, are you Tom Ripley?"

"Yes."

"My name is Herbert Greenleaf. Richard Greenleaf's father." The look on his face would have been less confusing if he had been holding a gun. The face was friendly, smiling, and hopeful. "You're a friend of Richard's, aren't you?"

Tom searched his memory. Dickie Greenleaf. A tall, blond guy. He had quite a lot of money, Tom remembered. "Oh, Dickie Greenleaf, yes."

"Charles and Marta Schriever told me about you. I know so few of Richard's friends, but they seemed to think you know him quite well. Somebody told them you drank at the Green Cage."