Агата Кристи - Зло под солнцем / Evil Under the Sun

“She’s bad,” thought Linda with decision. “She’s quite, quite bad.”

But you couldn’t even leave it at that. You couldn’t just elevate your nose with a sniff of moral superiority and dismiss her from your mind. It was something she did to people. Father, now. Father was quite different… She puzzled over it. Father coming down to take her out from school. Father taking her once for a cruise. And Father at home – with Arlena there. All – all sort of bottled up and not – and not there. Linda thought:

“And it’ll go on like this. Day after day – month after month. I can’t bear it.”

Life stretched before her – endless – in a series of days darkened and poisoned by Arlena’s presence. She was childish enough still to have little sense of proportion. A year, to Linda, seemed like an eternity. A big dark burning wave of hatred against Arlena surged up in her mind. She thought:

“I’d like to kill her. Oh! I wish she’d die…”

She looked out above the mirror onto the sea below. This place was really rather fun. Or it could be fun. All those beaches and coves and queer little paths. Lots to explore. And places where one could go off by oneself and muck about. There were caves, too, so the Cowan boys had told her.

Linda thought: “If only Arlena would go away, I could enjoy myself.”

Her mind went back to the evening of their arrival. It had been exciting coming coming from the mainland. The tide had been up over the causeway. They had come in a boat. The hotel had looked exciting, unusual. And then on the terrace a tall dark woman had jumped up and said:

“Why, Kenneth!”

And her father, looking frightfully surprised, had exclaimed:

“Rosamund!”

Linda considered Rosamund Darnley severely and critically in the manner of youth. She decided that she approved of Rosamund. Rosamund, she thought, was sensible. And her hair grew nicely – as though it fitted her – most people’s hair didn’t fit them. And her clothes were nice. And she had a kind of funny amused face – as though it were amused at herself not at you. Rosamund had been nice to her, Linda. She hadn’t been gushing or said things. (Under the term of “saying things” Linda grouped a mass of miscellaneous dislikes.) And Rosamund hadn’t looked as though she thought Linda a fool. In fact she’d treated Linda as though she were a real human being. Linda so seldom felt like a real human being that she was deeply grateful when any one appeared to consider her one.

Father, too, had seemed pleased to see Miss Darnley. Funny – he’d looked quite different, all of a sudden. He’d looked – he’d looked – Linda puzzled it out – why, young, that was it! He’d laughed – a queer boyish laugh. Now Linda came to think of it, she’d very seldom heard him laugh. She felt puzzled. It was as though she’d got a glimpse of quite a different person.

She thought: “I wonder what Father was like when he was my age…”

But that was too difficult. She gave it up.

An idea flashed across her mind. What fun it would have been if they’d come here and found Miss Darnley here – just she and Father. A vista opened out just for a minute. Father, boyish and laughing. Miss Darnley, herself – and all the fun one could have on the island – bathing – caves – The blackness shut down again.

Arlena. One couldn’t enjoy oneself with Arlena about. Why not? Well, she, Linda, couldn’t, anyway. You couldn’t be happy when there was a person there you – hated. Yes, hated. She hated Arlena.

Very slowly that black burning wave of hatred rose up again. Linda’s face went very white. Her lips parted a little. The pupils of her eyes contracted. And her fingers stiffened and clenched themselves…

Kenneth Marshall tapped on his wife’s door. When her voice answered, he opened the door and went in. Arlena was just putting the finishing touches on her toilet. She was dressed in glittering green and looked a little like a mermaid. She was standing in front of the glass applying mascara to her eyelashes.

She said: “Oh, it’s you. Ken.”

“Yes. I wondered if you were ready.”

“Just a minute.”

Kenneth Marshall strolled to the window. He looked out on the sea. His face, as usual, displayed no emotion of any kind. It was pleasant and ordinary.

Turning around, he said: “Arlena?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve met Redfern before, I gather?”

Arlena said easily: “Oh, yes, darling. At a cocktail party somewhere. I thought he was rather a pet.”

“So I gather. Did you know that he and his wife were coming down here?”

Arlena opened her eyes very wide. “Oh, no, darling. It was the greatest surprise!”

Kenneth Marshall said quietly: “I thought, perhaps, that that was what put the idea of this place into your head. You were very keen we should come here.”

Arlena put down the mascara. She turned towards him. She smiled – a soft seductive smile.

She said: “Somebody told me about this place. I think it was the Rylands. They said it was simply too marvellous so unspoilt! Don’t you like it?”

Kenneth Marshall said: “I’m not sure.”

“Oh, darling, but you adore bathing and lazing about. I’m sure you’ll simply adore it here.”

“I can see that you mean to enjoy yourself.”

Her eyes widened a little. She looked at him uncertainly.

Kenneth Marshall said: “I suppose the truth of it is that you told young Redfern that you were coming here?”

Arlena said: “Kenneth darling, you’re not going to be horrid, are you?”

Kenneth Marshall said: “Look here, Arlena. I know what you’re like. That’s rather a nice young couple. That boy’s fond of his wife really. Must you upset the whole blinking show?”

Arlena said: “It’s so unfair blaming me. I haven’t done anything anything at all. I can’t help it if – ”

He prompted her. “If what?”

Her eyelids fluttered.

“Well, of course, I know people do go crazy about me. But it’s not my doing. They just get like that.”

“So you do admit that young Redfern is crazy about you?”

Arlena murmured: “It’s really rather stupid of him.” She moved a step towards her husband. “But you know, don’t you, Ken, that I don’t really care for anyone but you?”

She looked up at him through her darkened lashes. It was a marvellous look – a look that few men could have resisted.

Kenneth Marshall looked down at her gravely. His face was composed. His voice quiet. He said:

“I think I know you pretty well, Arlena…”

When you came out of the hotel on the south side the terraces and the bathing beach were immediately below you. There was also a path that led off round the cliff on the southwest side of the island. A little way along it, a few steps led down to a series of recesses cut into the cliff and labelled on the hotel map of the island as Sunny Ledge. Here cut out of the cliff were niches with seats in them.

To one of these, immediately after dinner, came Patrick Redfern and his wife. It was a lovely clear night with a bright moon. The Redferns sat down. For a while they were silent.

At last Patrick Redfern said: “It’s a glorious evening, isn’t it, Christine?”

“Yes.”

Something in her voice may have made him uneasy. He sat without looking at her. Christine Redfern asked in her quiet voice:

“Did you know that woman was going to be here?”

He turned sharply. He said:

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.”

“Look here, Christine. I don’t know what has come over you – ”

She interrupted. Her voice held feeling now. It trembled.

“Over me? It’s what has come over you!”

“Nothing’s come over me.”

“Oh! Patrick! It has! You insisted on coming here. You were quite vehement. I wanted to go to Tintagel again where where we had our honeymoon. You were bent on coming here.”

“Well, why not? It’s a fascinating spot.”

“Perhaps. But you wanted to come here because she was going to be here.”

“She? Who is she?”

“Mrs Marshall. You – you’re infatuated with her.”

“For God’s sake, Christine, don’t make a fool of yourself. It’s not like you to be jealous.”

His bluster was a little uncertain. He exaggerated it.

She said: “We’ve been happy!”

“Happy? Of course we’ve been happy! We are happy. But we shan’t go on being happy if I can’t even speak to another woman without you kicking up a row.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Yes, it is. In marriage one has got to have – well – friendships with other people. This suspicious attitude is all wrong. I – I can’t speak to a pretty woman without your jumping to the conclusion that I’m in love with her – ” He stopped. He shrugged his shoulders.

Christine Redfern said: “You are in love with her…”

“Oh, don’t be a fool, Christine! I’ve – I’ve barely spoken to her.”

“That’s not true.”

“Don’t for goodness’ sake get into the habit of being jealous of every pretty woman we come across.”

Christine Redfern said: “She’s not just any pretty woman! She’s – she’s different! She’s a bad lot! Yes, she is. She’ll do you harm. Patrick, please, give it up. Let’s go away from here.”

Patrick Redfern stuck out his chin mutinously. He looked somehow very young as he said defiantly:

“Don’t be ridiculous, Christine. And and don’t let’s quarrel about it.”

“I don’t want to quarrel.”

“Then behave like a reasonable human being. Come on, let’s go back to the hotel.”

He got up. There was a pause, then Christine Redfern got up too.

She said: “Very well…”

In the recess adjoining, on the seat there, Hercule Poirot sat and shook his head sorrowfully. Some people might have scrupulously removed themselves from earshot of a private conversation. But not Hercule Poirot. He had no scruples of that kind.

“Besides,” as he explained to his friend Hastings at a later date, “it was a question of murder.”

Hastings said, staring: “But the murder hadn’t happened, then.”

Hercule Poirot sighed. He said:

“But already, mon cher, it was very clearly indicated.”

“Then why didn’t you stop it?”

And Hercule Poirot, with a sigh, said, as he had said once before in Egypt, that if a person is determined to commit murder it is not easy to prevent them. He does not blame himself for what happened. It was, according to him, inevitable.

Когда Розамунд Дарнли подсела к Эркюлю Пуаро, тот даже не попытался скрыть свою радость. Как он уже признался, он восхищался Розамунд, как никакой другой женщиной на свете. Ему нравились изящные линии ее фигуры, гордо вскинутая головка, манера держаться. Нравились аккуратные гладкие волны ее темных волос и ироничная улыбка. На Розамунд Дарнли было платье из темно-синей ткани с белой отделкой. Оно выглядело очень просто, но за этой простотой стояли большие деньги. Мисс Дарнли, владелица «Роз монд», являлась одним из самых известных лондонских модельеров.

– Мне здесь не нравится, – сказала она. – Я недоумеваю, зачем сюда приехала!