Агата Кристи – Death on the Nile / Смерть на Ниле (страница 3)
“I am a man of leisure,” he said sadly. “I have made the economies in my time and I have now the means to enjoy a life of idleness.[26]”
“I envy you.”
“No, no, you would be unwise to do so. I can assure you, it is not so gay as it sounds.” He sighed. “How true is the saying that man was forced to invent work in order to escape the need to think.”
M. Blondin threw up his hands.[27]
“But there is so much! There is travel!”
“Yes, there is travel. Already I have done not so badly. This winter I shall visit Egypt, I think. The climate, they say, is superb! One will escape from the fogs, the greyness, the monotony of the constantly falling rain.”
“Ah! Egypt,” sighed M. Blondin.
“One can even voyage there now, I believe, by train, escaping all sea travel except the Channel[28].”
Smooth-footed, deft-handed waiters served the table.[29]
The Negro orchestra broke into an ecstasy of strange noises. London danced.
Hercule Poirot looked on, registering impressions in his mind.
How bored and weary most of the faces were! Some of those stout men, however, were enjoying themselves. The fat woman in purple was looking radiant…
A good number of young people – some bored, some definitely unhappy. How absurd to call youth the time of happiness – youth, the time of greatest vulnerability!
His glance softened as it rested on one particular couple. A well-matched pair – tall broad-shouldered man, slender delicate girl. Two bodies that moved in a perfect rhythm of happiness.
The dance stopped abruptly. Hands clapped and it started again. After a second encore the couple returned to their table close by Poirot. The girl was flushed, laughing. As she sat, he could study her face, laughing to her companion. There was something else beside laughter in her eyes.
Hercule Poirot shook his head doubtfully.
“She cares too much, that little one,” he said to himself.
“It is not safe. No, it is not safe.”
And then a word caught his ear, “Egypt.”
Their voices came to him clearly – the girl's young, fresh, arrogant, with just a trace of foreign R's[30], and the man's pleasant, low-toned, well-bred English.
“I'm not counting my chickens before they're hatched[31], Simon. I tell you Linnet won't let us down!”
“I might let her down.”
“Nonsense – it's just the right job for you.”
“As a matter of fact I think it is… I haven't really any doubts as to my capability. And I want to make good – for your sake!”
The girl laughed softly, a laugh of pure happiness.
“We'll wait three months – to make sure you don't get the sack – and then we'll go to Egypt for our honeymoon. I've always wanted to go to Egypt all my life. The Nile and the pyramids and the sand.”
He said, his voice slightly indistinct: “We'll see it together, Jackie… together. Won't it be marvellous?”
“I wonder.[32] Will it be as marvellous to you as it is to me? Do you really care – as much as I do?”
Her voice was suddenly sharp – almost with fear.
The man's answer came quickly, “Don't be absurd, Jackie.”
Then she shrugged her shoulders.
“Let's dance.”
Hercule Poirot murmured to himself:
“Un qui aime et un qui se laisse aimer.[33] Yes, I wonder too.”
Chapter 6
Joanna Southwood said, “And suppose he's a terrible tough?”[34]
Linnet shook her head. “Oh, he won't be. I can trust Jacqueline's taste.”
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.[35]”
“Do the people who lived in them like going?”
“Most of them are delighted. One or two are being rather stupid about it. They don't seem to realize how vastly improved their living conditions will be!”
Joanna laughed.
“You are a tyrant, admit it. A beneficent tyrant if you like!”
“I'm not the least bit a tyrant.”
“But you like your own way!”
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!”
As Lord Windlesham joined them, Linnet said, turning to him, “Joanna is saying the nastiest things to me.”
Joanna got up from her seat. She made no apology for leaving them.
He was silent for a minute or two. Then he went straight to the point.[36]
“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'd enjoy it.”
“Why, of course, Charltonbury's divine.”
She spoke with enthusiasm, but inwardly she felt a sudden chill. But why? Charltonbury was modestly famous. Windlesham's ancestors had held it since the time of Elizabeth[37]. To be mistress of Charltonbury was a position in society. Windlesham was one of the most desirable parties 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.
If she married Windlesham, Wode Hall would be given up.
She, Linnet Ridgeway, wouldn't exist any longer. She would be Countess of Windlesham, not queen any longer.