Агата Кристи – Death on the Nile / Смерть на Ниле (страница 5)
“I never know how people manage to do that.”
“It's a kind of special gift,” said Tim. “If only you have sufficiently extravagant tastes, and absolutely no sense of money values, people will give you any amount of credit.”
“Yes, but you come to the Bankruptcy Court[47] in the end.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Anyway, I'm for excitement and novelty. The joy of never knowing what may turn up from day to day. And the pleasure of making money for yourself – by your own brains and skill.”
“A successful deal on the Stock Exchange[48] in fact!”
He laughed. “Why not?”
“And what about an equal loss on the Stock Exchange?”
“That, dear, is rather tactless. And quite inappropriate today. What about this Egypt plan?”
“Well – ”
He cut in, smiling at her: “That's settled. We've both always wanted to see Egypt.”
“When do you suggest?”
“Oh, next month. January's about the best time there. We'll enjoy the delightful society in this hotel a few weeks longer.”
Mrs Allerton sighed and said, “I wish there were a few more young people for you here.”
Tim Allerton shook his head decidedly.
“I don't. You and I get along rather comfortably without outside distractions.”
“You'd like it if Joanna were here.”
“I wouldn't.” His tone was unexpectedly resolute. “You're all wrong there. Joanna amuses me, but I don't really like her, and to have her around much gets on my nerves. I'm thankful she isn't here.”
He added, almost below his breath, “There's only one woman in the world I've got a real respect and admiration for, and I think, Mrs Allerton, you know very well who that woman is.”
His mother blushed and looked quite confused.
Tim said gravely: “ There aren't very many really nice women in the world. You happen to be one of them.”
Chapter 8
In an apartment overlooking Central Park in New York, Mrs Robson exclaimed: “You really are the luckiest girl, Cornelia.”
Cornelia Robson flushed. She was a big clumsy-looking girl with brown doglike eyes.
“Oh, it will be wonderful!” she gasped.
Old Miss Van Schuyler was satisfied with this correct attitude of poor relations.
“I've always dreamed of a trip to Europe,” sighed Cornelia, “but I just didn't feel I'd ever get there.”
“Miss Bowers will come with me as usual, of course,” said Miss Van Schuyler, “but as a social companion I find her limited – very limited. There are many little things that Cornelia can do for me.”
“I'd just love to, Cousin Marie,” said Cornelia eagerly.
“Well, well, then that's settled,” said Miss Van Schuyler. “Just run and find Miss Bowers, my dear. It's time for my eggnog.”
Cornelia left. Her mother said: “My dear Marie, I'm really most grateful to you! You know I think Cornelia suffers a lot from not being a social success. If I could afford to take her to places – but you know how it's been since Ned died.”
“I'm very glad to take her,” said Miss Van Schuyler. “Cornelia has always been a nice handy girl, willing to run errands, and not so selfish as some of these young people nowadays.”
Mrs Robson rose and kissed her rich relative's wrinkled face.
“I'm just ever so grateful,” she declared.
On the stairs she met a tall capable looking woman who was carrying a glass containing a yellow foamy liquid.
“Well, Miss Bowers, so you're off to Europe?”
“Why, yes, Mrs Robson.”
“What a lovely trip!”
“Why, yes, I should think it would be very enjoyable.”
“But you've been abroad before?”
“Oh, yes, Mrs Robson. I went over to Paris with Miss Van Schuyler last fall. But I've never been to Egypt before.”
Mrs Robson hesitated.
“I do hope – there won't be any – trouble.”
She had lowered her voice. Miss Bowers, however, replied in her usual tone:
“Oh, no, Mrs Robson; I shall take good care of that. I keep a very sharp look-out always.[49]”
But there was still a faint shadow on Mrs Robson's face as she slowly continued down the stairs.
Chapter 9
In his office down town Mr Andrew Pennington was opening his personal mail. Suddenly his fist clenched itself and came down on his desk with a bang; his face crimsoned and two big veins stood out on his forehead. He pressed a buzzer on his desk and a smart looking stenographer appeared. “Tell Mr Rockford to step in here.”
“Yes, Mr Pennington.”
A few minutes later, Stemdale Rockford, Pennington's partner, entered the office.
“ What's up, Pennington?”
Pennington looked up from the letter he was re-reading.
He said, “Linnet's married.”
“What?”
“You heard what I said! Linnet Ridgeway's married!”
“How? When? Why didn't we hear about it?”
Pennington glanced at the calendar on his desk.
“She wasn't married when she wrote this letter, but she's married now. Morning of the fourth. That's today.”
Rockford dropped into a chair.
“No warning? Nothing? Who's the man?”
Pennington referred again to the letter.
“Doyle. Simon Doyle.”
“What sort of a fellow is he? Ever heard of him?”
“No. She doesn't say much…” He scanned the lines of clear, upright handwriting. “Got an idea there's something hole-and-corner about the business.[50] That doesn't matter. The whole point is, she's married.”
The eyes of the two men met. Rockford nodded.
“This needs a bit of thinking out,” he said quietly.