Agatha Christie - Towards Zero

"Oh, I suppose it is rude of me to stare. I was wondering about you — what you are really like."

"Please," she said hurriedly and rose from the table. She said as she went into the drawing-room with her arm through Audrey's: "Old Mr. Treves is coming to dinner to-morrow, too."

"Who's he?" asked Nevile.

"He brought an introduction from the Rufus Lords. A delightful old gentleman. He's staying at the Balmoral Court . He's got a weak heart and looks very frail, but his faculties are perfect and he has known a lot of interesting people. He was a solicitor or a barrister — I forget which."

"Everybody down here is terribly old," said Kay discontentedly.

She was standing just under a tall lamp. Thomas was looking that way, and he gave her that same slow interested attention that he gave to anything that was immediately occupying his line of vision.

He was struck suddenly with her intense and passionate beauty. A beauty of vivid colouring, of abundant and triumphant vitality. He looked across from her to Audrey, pale and moth-like in a silvery grey dress.

He smiled to himself and murmured: "Rose Red and Snow White."

"What?" It was Mary Aldin at his elbow.

He repeated the words. "Like the old fairy story, you know — "

Mary Aldin said: "It's a very good description — "

Mr. Treves sipped his glass of port appreciatively. A very nice wine. A very nice wine. And an excellently cooked and served dinner. Clearly Lady Tressilian had no difficulties with her servants.

The house was well managed, too, in spite of the mistress of it being an invalid.

A pity, perhaps, that the ladies did not leave the dining-room when the port went round. He preferred the old-fashioned routine — But these young people had their own ways.

His eyes rested thoughtfully on that brilliant and beautiful young woman who was the wife of Nevile Strange.

It was Kay's night to-night. Her vivid beauty glowed and shone in the candlelit room. Beside her, Ted Latimer's sleek dark head bent to hers. He was playing up to her. She felt triumphant and sure of herself.

The mere sight of such radiant vitality warmed Mr. Treves' old bones. Youth — there was really nothing like youth!

No wonder the husband had lost his head and left his first wife. Audrey was sitting next to him. A charming creature and a lady — but then that was the kind of woman who invariably did get left, in Mr. Treves' experience.

He glanced at her. Her head was bent down and she was staring at her plate. Something in the complete immobility of her attitude struck Mr. Treves. He looked at her more keenly. He wondered what she was thinking about. Charming the way the hair sprang up from that small shell-like ear …

With a little start, Mr. Treves came to himself as he realised that a move was being made. He got hurriedly to his feet.

In the drawing-room Kay Strange went straight to the gramophone and put on a record of dance music.

Mary Aldin said apologetically to Mr. Treves: "I'm sure you hate jazz."

"Not at all," said Mr. Treves, untruly but politely.

"Later, perhaps, we might have some bridge?" she suggested. "But it is no good starting a rubber now, as I know Lady Tressilian is looking forward to having a chat with you."

"That will be delightful. Lady Tressilian never joins you down here?"

"No, she used to come down in an invalid chair. That is why we had a lift put in. But nowadays she prefers her own room. There she can talk to whomsoever she likes, summoning them by a kind of Royal Command."

"Very aptly put, Miss Aldin. I am always sensible of the Royal touch in Lady Tressilian's manner."

In the middle of the room Kay was moving in a slow dance step.

She said: "Just take that table out of the way, Nevile."

Her voice was autocratic, assured. Her eyes were shining, her lips parted.

Nevile obediently moved the table. Then be took a step towards her, but she turned deliberately towards Ted Latimer.

"Come on, Ted, let's dance."

Ted's arm went round her immediately. They danced, swaying, bending, their steps perfectly together. It was a lovely performance to watch.

Mr. Treves murmured: '"Er — quite professional."

Mary Aldin winced slightly at the word — yet surely Mr. Treves had spoken in simple admiration. She looked at his little wise nut-cracker face. It bore, she thought, an absent-minded look, as though he were following some train of thought of his own.

Nevile stood hesitating a moment, then he walked to where Audrey was standing by the window.

"Dance, Audrey?"

His tone was formal, almost cold. Mere politeness, you might have said, inspired his request. Audrey Strange hesitated a minute before nodding her head and taking a step towards him.

Mary Aldin made some commonplace remarks, to which Mr. Treves did not reply. He had so far shown no signs of deafness and his courtesy was punctilious — she realised that it was absorption that held him aloof. She could not quite make out if he was watching the dancers, or was staring across the room at Thomas Royde, standing alone at the other end.

With a little start Mr. Treves said: "Excuse me, my dear lady, you were saying?"

"Nothing. Only that it was an unusually fine September."

"Yes, indeed — rain is badly needed locally, so they tell me at my hotel."

"You are comfortable there, I hope?"

"Oh, yes, though I must say I was vexed when I arrived to find — "

Mr. Treves broke off.

Audrey had disengaged herself from Nevile. She said with an apologetic little laugh: "It's really too hot to dance."

She went towards the open window and out on to the terrace.

"Oh! Go after her, you fool," murmured Mary. She meant the remark to be under her breath, but it was loud enough for Mr. Treves to turn and stare at her in astonishment.

She reddened and gave an embarrassed laugh. "I'm speaking my thoughts aloud," she said ruefully. "But really he does irritate me so. He's so slow."

"Mr. Strange?"

"Oh, no, not Nevile. Thomas Royde."

Thomas Royde was just preparing to move forward, but by now Nevile, after a moment's pause, had followed Audrey out of the window.

For a moment Mr. Treves' eye, interestedly speculative, rested on the window, then his attention returned to the dancers.

"A beautiful dancer, young Mr. — Latimer, did you say the name was?"

"Yes. Edward Latimer."

"Ah, yes, Edward Latimer. An old friend, I gather, of Mrs. Strange?"

"Yes."

"And what does this very — er — decorative young gentleman do for a living?"

"Well, really, I don't quite know.'"

"In-deed, "said Mr. Treves, managing to put a good deal of comprehension into one harmless word.

Mary went on: "He is staying at the Easterhead Bay Hotel."

"A very pleasant situation," said Mr. Treves.

He added dreamily after a moment or two: "Rather as interesting shaped head — a curious angle from the crown to the neck — rendered less noticeable by the way he has his hair cut, but distinctly unusual." After another pause, he went on still more dreamily: "The last man I saw with a head like that got ten years' penal servitude for a brutal attack on an elderly jeweller."

"Surely," exclaimed Mary, "you don't mean — "

"Not at all, not at all," said Mr. Treves. "You mistake me entirely. I am suggesting no disparagement of a guest of yours. I was merely pointing out that a hardened and brutal criminal can be in appearance a most charming and personable young man. Odd, but so it is."

He smiled gently at her. Mary said: "You know, Mr. Treves, I think I am a little frightened of you."

"Nonsense, dear lady."

"But I am. You are — such a very shrewd observer."

"My eyes," said Mr. Treves complacently, "are as good as ever they were." He paused and added: "Whether that is fortunate or unfortunate, I cannot at the moment decide."