Agatha Christie - Yowards Zero

"Go on," said Kay.

"And then we sat down on a couple of chairs and talked. She was very nice — very nice indeed."

"Delightful for you," said Kay.

"And we got talking, you know, about one thing and another. She was quite natural and normal — and — and all that."

"Remarkable!" said Kay.

"And she asked how you were — "

"Very kind of her!"

"And we talked about you for a bit. Really, Kay, she couldn't have been nicer."

"Darling Audrey!"

"And then it sort of came to me — you know — how nice it would be if — if you two could be friends — if we could all get together. And it occurred to me that perhaps we might manage it at Gull's Point this summer. Sort of place it could happen quite naturally."

"You thought of that?"

"I — well — yes, of course. It was all my idea."

"You've never said anything to me about having any such idea."

"Well, I only happened to think of it just then."

"I see. Anyway, you suggested it and Audrey thought it was a marvellous brainwave?"

For the first time something in Kay's manner seemed to penetrate to Nevile's consciousness.

He said: "Is anything the matter, Gorgeous?"

"Oh, no, nothing! Nothing at all! It didn't occur to you or Audrey whether I should think it a marvellous idea?"

Nevile stared at her.

"But, Kay, why on earth should you mind?"

Kay bit her lip.

Nevile went on: "You said yourself — only the other day — "

"Oh, don't go into all that again! I was talking about other people — not us."

"But that's partly what made me think of it."

"More fool me. Not that I believe that."

Nevile was looking at her with dismay.

"But, Kay, why should you mind? I mean, there's nothing for you to mind about!"

"Isn't there?"

"Well, I mean — any jealousy or that — would be on the other side." He paused, his voice changed. "You see, Kay, you and I treated Audrey damned badly. No, I don't mean that. It was nothing to do with you. I treated her very badly. It's no good just saying that I couldn't help myself. I feel that if this could come off I'd feel better about the whole thing. It would make me a lot happier."

Kay said slowly: "So you haven't been happy?"

"Darling idiot, what do you mean? Of course I've been happy, radiantly happy. But — "

Kay cut in.

"But — that's it! There's always been a 'but' in this house. Some damned creeping shadow about the place. Audrey's shadow."

Nevile stared at her.

"You mean to say you're jealous of Audrey?" he said.

"I'm not jealous of her. I'm afraid of her … Nevile, you don't know what Audrey's like."

"Not know what she's like when I've been married to her for over eight years?"

"You don't know," Kay repeated, "what Audrey is like."

"Preposterous!" said Lady Tressilian. She drew herself up on her pillow and glared fiercely round the room.

"Absolutely preposterous! Nevile must be mad."

"It does seem rather odd," said Mary Aldin.

Lady Tressilian had a striking-looking profile with a slender bridged nose, down which, when so inclined, she could look with telling effect. Though now over seventy and in frail health, her native vigour of mind was in no way impaired. She had, it is true, long periods of retreat from life and its emotions when she would lie with half-closed eyes, but from these semi-comas she would emerge with all her faculties sharpened to the uttermost, and with an incisive tongue. Propped up by pillows in a large bed set across one corner of her room, she held her court like some French Queen. Mary Aldin, a distant cousin, lived with her and looked after her. The two women got on together excellently. Mary was thirty-six, but had one of those smooth ageless faces that change little with passing years. She might have been thirty or forty-five. She had a good figure, an air of breeding, and dark hair to which one lock of white across the front gave a touch of individuality. It was at one time a fashion, but Mary's white lock of hair was natural and she had had it since her girlhood.

She looked down now reflectively at Nevile Strange's letter, which Lady Tressilian had handed to her.

"Yes," she said. "It does seem rather odd."

"You can't tell me," said Lady Tressilian, "that this is Nevile's own idea! Somebody put it into his head. Probably that new wife of his."

"Kay. You think it was Kay's idea?"

"It would be quite like her. New and vulgar. If husbands and wives have to advertise their difficulties in public and have recourse to divorce, then they might at least part decently. The new wife and the old wife making friends is quite disgusting, to my mind. Nobody has any standards nowadays!"

"I suppose it is just the modern way," said Mary.

"It won't happen in my house," said Lady Tressilian. "I consider I've done all that could be asked of me having that scarlet-toed creature here at all."

"She is Nevile's wife."

"Exactly. Therefore I felt that Matthew would have wished it. He was devoted to the boy and always wanted him to look on this as his home. Since to refuse to receive his wife would have made an open breach, I gave way and asked her here. I do not like her — she's quite the wrong wife for Nevile — no background, no roots!"

"She's quite well born," said Mary placatingly.

"Bad stock!" said Lady Tressilian. "Her father, as I've told you, had to resign from all his clubs after that card business. Luckily he died shortly after. And her mother was notorious on the Riviera . What a bringing-up for the girl! Nothing but hotel life — and that mother! Then she meets Nevile on the tennis courts, makes a dead set at him and never rests until she gets him to leave his wife — of whom he was extremely fond — and go off with her! I blame her entirely for the whole thing!"

Mary smiled faintly. Lady Tressilian had the old-fashioned characteristic of always blaming the woman and being indulgent towards the man in the case.

"I suppose, strictly speaking, Nevile was equally to blame," she suggested.

"Nevile was very much to blame," agreed Lady Tressilian. "He had a charming wife who had always been devoted — perhaps too devoted — to him. Nevertheless, if it hadn't been for that girl's persistence, I am convinced he would have come to his senses. But she was determined to marry him! Yes, my sympathies are entirely with Audrey. I am very fond of Audrey."

Mary sighed. "It has all been very difficult," she said.

"Yes, indeed. One is at a loss to know how to act in such difficult circumstances. Matthew was fond of Audrey, and so am I, and one cannot deny that she was a very good wife to Nevile, though perhaps it is a pity that she could not have shared his amusements more. She was never an athletic girl. The whole business was very distressing. When I was a girl, these things simply did not happen. Men had their affairs, naturally, but they were not allowed to break up married life."

"Well, they happen now," said Mary bluntly.

"Exactly. You have so much common sense, dear. It is of no use recalling bygone days. These things happen, and girls like Kay Mortimer steal other women's husbands and nobody thinks the worse of them!"

"Except people like you, Camilla!"

"I don't count. That Kay creature doesn't worry whether I approve of her or not. She's too busy having a good time. Nevile can bring her here when he comes and I'm even willing to receive her friends — though I do not much care for that very theatrical-looking young man who is always hanging round her — what is his name?"

"Ted Latimer?"

"That is it. A friend of her Riviera days — and I should very much like to know how he manages to live as he does."

"By his wits," suggested Mary.

"One might pardon that. I rather fancy he lives by his looks. Not a pleasant friend for Nevile's wife! I disliked the way he came down last summer and stayed at the Easterhead Bay Hotel while they were here."