Агата Кристи – Death on the Nile / Смерть на Ниле (страница 8)
And even as he stood there watching the girl, the next scene in the drama was played.
Voices sounded above. The girl on the seat stood up. Linnet Doyle and her husband came down the path. Linnet's voice was happy and confident. The look of strain had quite disappeared. Linnet was happy.
The girl who was standing there took a step or two forward. The other two stopped dead.
“Hullo, Linnet,” said Jacqueline de Bellefort. “So here you are! We never seem to stop running into each other.[70] Hullo, Simon, how are you?”
Linnet Doyle had shrunk back against the rock with a little cry.[71] Simon Doyle's good-looking face was suddenly convulsed with rage. He moved forward as though he would have liked to strike the slim girlish figure.
Then Simon turned his head and noticed Poirot. He said awkwardly, “Hullo, Jacqueline; we didn't expect to see you here.”
The girl flashed white teeth at them.[72]
“Quite a surprise?” she asked. Then, with a little nod, she walked up the path. Poirot moved delicately in the opposite direction. As he went he heard Linnet Doyle say:
“Simon – for God's sake! Simon – what can we do?”
Chapter 2
Dinner was over. The terrace outside the Cataract Hotel was softly lit. Most of the guests staying at the hotel were there sitting at little tables.
Simon and Linnet Doyle came out, a tall, distinguished looking grey-haired man, with a keen, clean-shaven American face, beside them.
As the little group hesitated for a moment in the doorway, Tim Allerton rose from his chair near by and came forward.
“You don't remember me, I'm sure,” he said pleasantly to Linnet, “but I'm Joanna Southwood's cousin.”
“Of course – how stupid of me! You're Tim Allerton. This is my husband and this is my American trustee, Mr Pennington.”
Tim said, “You must meet my mother.”
A few minutes later they were sitting together in a party – Linnet in the corner, Tim and Pennington each side of her, both talking to her. Mrs Allerton talked to Simon Doyle.
The swing doors revolved. A small man came out and walked across the terrace.
Mrs Allerton said: “You're not the only celebrity here, my dear. That funny little man is Hercule Poirot.”
She had spoken lightly, just to bridge an awkward pause[73], but Linnet seemed struck by the information.
“Hercule Poirot? Of course – I've heard of him.”
Poirot had strolled across to the edge of the terrace when he heard Mrs Otterbourne say,
“Sit down, Monsieur Poirot. What a lovely night.”
He obeyed.
“Mais oui,[74] Madame, it is indeed beautiful.”
He smiled politely at her. Mrs Otterbourne went on in her high complaining voice: “Quite a lot of notabilities here now, aren't there? I expect we shall see a paragraph about it in the papers soon. Society beauties, famous novelists – ” She paused with a slight laugh.
Poirot saw the sulky frowning girl opposite him flinch.
“You have a novel on the way at present, Madame?” he inquired.
Mrs Otterbourne gave her little self-conscious laugh again.
“I'm being dreadfully lazy. I really must set to.[75] My public is getting terribly impatient – and my publisher, poor man! Appeals by every post! Even cables![76]” Again he felt the girl shift in the darkness.
“I don't mind telling you, Monsieur Poirot[77], I am partly here for local colour.
“One must be strong,” went on Mrs Otterbourne. “I speak the truth. Sex – ah! Monsieur Poirot – why is everyone so afraid of sex? The pivot of the universe! You have read my books?”
“Alas, Madame! You see, I do not read many novels. My work – ”
Mrs Otterbourne said firmly: “I must give you a copy of
“That is most kind of you, Madame. I will read it with pleasure.”
Mrs Otterbourne was silent a minute or two. She looked swiftly from side to side. “Perhaps – I'll just slip up and get it for you now.”[78]
“Oh, Madame, pray do not trouble yourself 1. Later – ”
“No, no. It's no trouble.” She rose. “I'd like to show you – ”
“What is it, Mother?”
Rosalie was suddenly at her side.
“Nothing, dear. I was just going up to get a book for Monsieur Poirot.”
“You don't know where it is, dear. I'll go.”
“Yes, I do.”
The girl went swiftly across the terrace and into the hotel.
“Let me congratulate you, Madame, on a very lovely daughter,” said Poirot, with a bow.
“Rosalie? Yes, yes – she is good-looking. But she's very hard, Monsieur Poirot. She always thinks she knows best. She imagines she knows more about my health than I do myself – ”
Poirot signalled to a passing waiter.
Mrs Otterbourne shook her head vigorously.
“No, no. I am practically a tee-totaller. You may have noticed I never drink anything but water – or perhaps lemonade. I cannot bear the taste of spirits.”
“Then may I order you a lemon squash, Madame?”
He gave the order – one lemon squash and one Benedictine[79][80].
The swing door revolved. Rosalie passed through and came toward them, a book in her hand.
“Here you are,” she said. Her voice was quite expressionless.
“Monsieur Poirot has just ordered me a lemon squash,” said her mother.
“And you, Mademoiselle, what will you take?”
“Nothing.” She added, suddenly conscious of the curtness, “Nothing, thank you.”
Poirot took the volume which Mrs Otterbourne held out to him. It still bore its original jacket, representing a lady with scarlet fingernails, sitting on a tiger skin, in the traditional costume of Eve. Above her was a tree with the leaves of an oak, bearing large and improbably coloured apples.
It was entitled
Poirot bowed and murmured, “I am honoured, Madame[81].”
As he raised his head, his eyes met those of the authoress's daughter. He was astonished at the pain in them.
It was at that moment that the drinks arrived. Poirot lifted his glass gallantly.
“A votre sante[82], Madame – Mademoiselle.”
Mrs Otterbourne, sipping her lemonade, murmured, “So refreshing – delicious!”
Silence fell on the three of them.[83] They looked down to the black rocks in the Nile. There was something fantastic about them in the moonlight. They were like prehistoric monsters lying half out of the water. There was a feeling in the air of hush – of expectancy.[84]