Агата Кристи - Смерть на Ниле / Death on the Nile

Hercule Poirot murmured to himself:

‘ Une qui aime et un qui se laisse aimer . Yes, I wonder too.’

Joanna Southwood said: ‘And suppose he’s a terrible tough?’

Linnet shook her head.

‘Oh, he won’t be. I can trust Jacqueline’s taste.’

Joanna murmured:

‘Ah, but people don’t run true to form in love affairs.’

Linnet shook her head impatiently. Then she changed the subject.

‘I must go and see Mr Pierce about those plans.’

‘Plans?’

‘Yes, some dreadful insanitary old cottages. I’m having them pulled down and the people moved.’

‘How sanitary and public-spirited of you, darling!’

‘They’d have had to go anyway. Those cottages would have overlooked my new swimming pool.’

‘Do the people who live in them like going?’

‘Most of them are delighted. One or two are being rather stupid about it – really tiresome in fact. They don’t seem to realize how vastly improved their living conditions will be!’

‘But you’re being quite high-handed about it, I presume.’

‘My dear Joanna, it’s to their advantage really.’

‘Yes, dear. I’m sure it is. Compulsory benefit.’

Linnet frowned. Joanna laughed.

‘Come now, you are a tyrant, admit it. A beneficent tyrant if you like!’

‘I’m not the least bit of a tyrant.’

‘But you like your own way!’

‘Not especially.’

‘Linnet Ridgeway, can you look me in the face and tell me of any one occasion on which you’ve failed to do exactly as you wanted?’

‘Heaps of times.’

‘Oh, yes, “heaps of times”-just like that – but no concrete example. And you simply can’t think up one, darling, however hard you try! The triumphal progress of Linnet Ridgeway in her golden car.’

Linnet said sharply: ‘You think I’m selfish?’

‘No – just irresistible. The combined effect of money and charm. Everything goes down before you. What you can’t buy with cash you buy with a smile. Result: Linnet Ridgeway, the Girl Who Has Everything.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Joanna!’

‘Well, haven’t you got everything?’

‘I suppose I have… It sounds rather disgusting, somehow!’

‘Of course it’s disgusting, darling! You’ll probably get terribly bored and blasé by and by. In the meantime, enjoy the triumphal progress in the golden car. Only I wonder, I really do wonder, what will happen when you want to go down a street which has a board saying No Thoroughfare.’

‘Don’t be idiotic, Joanna.’ As Lord Windlesham joined them, Linnet said, turning to him: ‘Joanna is saying the nastiest things to me.’

‘All spite, darling, all spite,’ said Joanna vaguely as she got up from her seat.

She made no apology for leaving them. She had caught the glint in Windlesham’s eye.

He was silent for a minute or two. Then he went straight to the point.

‘Have you come to a decision, Linnet?’

Linnet said slowly:

‘Am I being a brute? I suppose, if I’m not sure, I ought to say No-’

He interrupted her:

‘Don’t say it. You shall have time – as much time as you want. But I think, you know, we should be happy together.’

‘You see,’ Linnet’s tone was apologetic, almost childish, ‘I’m enjoying myself so much – especially with all this.’ She waved a hand. ‘I wanted to make Wode Hall into my real ideal of a country house, and I do think I’ve got it nice, don’t you?’

‘It’s beautiful. Beautifully planned. Everything perfect. You’re very clever, Linnet.’ He paused a minute and went on: ‘And you like Charltonbury, don’t you? Of course it wants modernizing and all that – but you’re so clever at that sort of thing. You enjoy it.’

‘Why, of course, Charltonbury’s divine.’

She spoke with ready enthusiasm, but inwardly she was conscious of a sudden chill. An alien note had sounded, disturbing her complete satisfaction with life. She did not analyse the feeling at the moment, but later, when Windlesham had left her, she tried to probe the recesses of her mind.

Charltonbury – yes, that was it – she had resented the mention of Charltonbury. But why? Charltonbury was modestly famous. Windlesham’s ancestors had held it since the time of Elizabeth. To be mistress of Charltonbury was a position unsurpassed in society. Windlesham was one of the most desirable partis in England.

Naturally he couldn’t take Wode seriously… It was not in any way to be compared with Charltonbury.

Ah, but Wode was hers ! She had seen it, acquired it, rebuilt and re-dressed it, lavished money on it. It was her own possession, her kingdom.

But in a sense it wouldn’t count if she married Windlesham. What would they want with two country places? And of the two, naturally Wode Hall would be the one to be given up.

She, Linnet Ridgeway, wouldn’t exist any longer. She would be Countess of Windlesham, bringing a fine dowry to Charltonbury and its master. She would be queen consort, not queen any longer.

‘I’m being ridiculous,’ said Linnet to herself.

But it was curious how she did hate the idea of abandoning Wode…

And wasn’t there something else nagging at her? Jackie’s voice with that queer blurred note in it saying: ‘I shall die if I can’t marry him! I shall die. I shall die…’

So positive, so earnest. Did she, Linnet, feel like that about Windlesham? Assuredly she didn’t. Perhaps she could never feel like that about anyone. It must be – rather wonderful – to feel like that…

The sound of a car came through the open window.

Linnet shook herself impatiently. That must be Jackie and her young man. She’d go out and meet them.

She was standing in the open doorway as Jacqueline and Simon Doyle got out of the car.

‘Linnet!’ Jackie ran to her. ‘This is Simon. Simon, here’s Linnet. She’s just the most wonderful person in the world.’

Linnet saw a tall, broad-shouldered young man, with very dark blue eyes, crisply curling brown hair, a square chin, and a boyish, appealing, simple smile…

She stretched out a hand. The hand that clasped hers was firm and warm… She liked the way he looked at her, the naïve genuine admiration.

Jackie had told him she was wonderful, and he clearly thought that she was wonderful…

A warm sweet feeling of intoxication ran through her veins.

‘Isn’t this all lovely?’ she said. ‘Come in, Simon, and let me welcome my new land agent properly.’

And as she turned to lead the way she thought: ‘I’m frightfully – frightfully happy. I like Jackie’s young man… I like him enormously…’

And then a sudden pang: ‘Lucky Jackie…’

Tim Allerton leant back in his wicker chair and yawned as he looked out over the sea. He shot a quick sidelong glance at his mother.

Mrs Allerton was a good-looking, white-haired woman of fifty. By imparting an expression of pinched severity to her mouth every time she looked at her son, she sought to disguise the fact of her intense affection for him. Even total strangers were seldom deceived by this device and Tim himself saw through it perfectly.

He said:

‘Do you really like Majorca, Mother?’

‘Well-,’ Mrs Allerton considered, ‘it’s cheap.’

‘And cold,’ said Tim with a slight shiver.

He was a tall, thin young man, with dark hair and a rather narrow chest. His mouth had a very sweet expression, his eyes were sad and his chin was indecisive. He had long delicate hands.

Threatened by consumption some years ago, he had never displayed a really robust physique. He was popularly supposed ‘to write’, but it was understood among his friends that enquiries as to literary output were not encouraged.

‘What are you thinking of, Tim?’

Mrs Allerton was alert. Her bright dark-brown eyes looked suspicious.

Tim Allerton grinned at her:

‘I was thinking of Egypt.’

‘Egypt?’ Mrs Allerton sounded doubtful.

‘Real warmth, darling. Lazy golden sands. The Nile. I’d like to go up the Nile, wouldn’t you?’

‘Oh, I’d like it.’ Her tone was dry. ‘But Egypt’s expensive, my dear. Not for those who have to count the pennies.’

Tim laughed. He rose, stretched himself. Suddenly he looked alive and eager. There was an excited note in his voice.

‘The expense will be my affair. Yes, darling. A little flutter on the Stock Exchange. With thoroughly satisfactory results. I heard this morning.’

‘This morning?’ said Mrs Allerton sharply. ‘You only had one letter and that-’

She stopped and bit her lip.

Tim looked momentarily undecided whether to be amused or annoyed. Amusement gained the day.

‘And that was from Joanna,’ he finished coolly. ‘Quite right, Mother. What a queen of detectives you’d make! The famous Hercule Poirot would have to look to his laurels if you were about.’

Mrs Allerton looked rather cross.

‘I just happened to see the handwriting-’

‘And knew it wasn’t that of a stockbroker? Quite right. As a matter of fact it was yesterday I heard from them. Poor Joanna’s handwriting is rather noticeable – sprawls about all over the envelope like an inebriated spider.’

‘What does Joanna say? Any news?’

Mrs Allerton strove to make her voice sound casual and ordinary. The friendship between her son and his second cousin, Joanna Southwood, always irritated her. Not, as she put it to herself, that there was ‘anything in it’. She was quite sure there wasn’t. Tim had never manifested a sentimental interest in Joanna, nor she in him. Their mutual attraction seemed to be founded on gossip and the possession of a large number of friends and acquaintances in common. They both liked people and discussing people. Joanna had an amusing if caustic tongue.

It was not because Mrs Allerton feared that Tim might fall in love with Joanna that she found herself always becoming a little stiff in manner if Joanna were present or when letters from her arrived.

It was some other feeling hard to define – perhaps an unacknowledged jealousy in the unfeigned pleasure Tim always seemed to take in Joanna’s society. He and his mother were such perfect companions that the sight of him absorbed and interested in another woman always startled Mrs Allerton slightly. She fancied, too, that her own presence on these occasions set some barrier between the two members of the younger generation. Often she had come upon them eagerly absorbed in some conversation and, at sight of her, their talk had wavered, had seemed to include her rather too purposefully and as in duty bound. Quite definitely, Mrs Allerton did not like Joanna Southwood. She thought her insincere, affected, and essentially superficial. She found it very hard to prevent herself saying so in unmeasured tones.

In answer to her question, Tim pulled the letter out of his pocket and glanced through it. It was quite a long letter, his mother noted.

‘Nothing much,’ he said. ‘The Devenishes are getting a divorce. Old Monty’s been had up for being drunk in charge of a car. Windlesham’s gone to Canada. Seems he was pretty badly hit when Linnet Ridgeway turned him down. She’s definitely going to marry this land agent person.’

‘How extraordinary! Is he very dreadful?’

‘No, no, not at all. He’s one of the Devonshire Doyles. No money, of course – and he was actually engaged to one of Linnet’s best friends. Pretty thick, that.’

‘I don’t think it’s at all nice,’ said Mrs Allerton, flushing.