Agatha Christie - Sad Cypress

Roddy said without looking at her, "Yes, exactly right. You've always got excellent judgment, Elinor." He turned to look out of the window again.

Elinor held her breath for a minute, then she began to speak with nervous haste, the words tumbling out incoherently:

"There's something more. I want to – it's only right – I mean, you've got to have your proper share, Roddy."

As he wheeled round, anger on his face, she hurried on: "No, listen, Roddy. This is just bare justice! The money that was your uncle's – that he left to his wife – naturally he always assumed it would come to you. Aunt Laura meant it to, too. I know she did, from lots of things she said. If I have her money, you should have the amount that was his – it's only right. I – I can't bear to feel that I've robbed you – just because Aunt Laura funked making a will. You must – you must see sense about this!"

Roderick's long, sensitive face had gone dead white. He said, "My God, Elinor, do you want to make me feel an utter cad? Do you think for one moment I could – could take this money from you?"

"I'm not giving it to you. It's just – fair."

Roddy cried out, "I don't want your money!"

"It isn't mine!"

"It's yours by law – and that's all that matters! For God's sake, don't let's be anything but strictly business-like! I won't take a penny from you. You're not going to do the Lady Bountiful to me!"

Elinor cried out, "Roddy!"

He made a quick gesture. "Oh, my dear, I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm saying. I feel so bewildered – so utterly lost."

Elinor said gently, "Poor Roddy."

He had turned away again and was playing with the tassel of the window blind. He said in a different tone, a detached one, "Do you know what – Mary Gerrard proposes doing?"

"She's going to train as a masseuse, so she says."

He said, "I see."

There was a silence. Elinor drew herself up; she flung back her head. Her voice when she spoke was suddenly compelling: "Roddy, I want you to listen to me carefully!"

He turned to her, slightly surprised. "Of course, Elinor."

"I want you, if you will, to follow my advice."

"And what is your advice?"

Elinor said calmly, "You are not particularly tied? You can always get a holiday, can't you?"

"Oh, yes."

"Then do – just that. Go abroad somewhere for – say, three months. Go by yourself. Make new friends and see new places. Let's speak quite frankly. At this moment you think you're in love with Mary Gerrard. Perhaps you are. But it isn't a moment for approaching her – you know that only too well. Our engagement is definitely broken off. Go abroad, then, as a free man, and at the end of the three months, as a free man, make up your mind. You'll know then whether you – really love Mary or whether it was only a temporary infatuation. And if you are quite sure you do love her – well, then, come back and go to her and tell her so, and that you're quite sure about it, and perhaps then she'll listen."

Roddy came to her. He caught her hand in his.

"Elinor, you're wonderful! So clear-headed! So marvellously impersonal! There's no trace of pettiness or meanness about you. I admire you more than I can ever say. I'll do exactly what you suggest. Go away, cut free from everything – and find out whether I've got the genuine disease or if I've just been making the most ghastly fool of myself. Oh, Elinor, my dear, you don't know how truly fond I am of you. I do realize you were always a thousand times too good for me. Bless you, dear, for all your goodness."

Quickly, impulsively, he kissed her and went out.

It was as well, perhaps, that he did not look back and see her face.

It was a couple of days later that Mary acquainted Nurse Hopkins with her improved prospects.

That practical woman was warmly congratulatory. "That's a great piece of luck for you, Mary," she said. "The old lady may have meant well by you, but unless a thing's down in black and white, intentions don't go for much! You might easily have got nothing at all."

"Miss Elinor said that the night Mrs. Welman died she told her to do something for me."

Nurse Hopkins snorted. "Maybe she did. But there's many would have forgotten conveniently afterward. Relations are like that. I've seen a few things, I can tell you! People dying and saying they know they can leave it to their dear son or their dear daughter to carry out their wishes. Nine times out of ten, dear son and dear daughter find some very good reason to do nothing of the kind. Human nature's human nature, and nobody likes parting with money if they're not legally compelled to! I tell you, Mary, my girl, you've been lucky. Miss Carlisle's straighter than most."

Mary said slowly, "And yet – somehow – I feel she doesn't like me."

"With good reason, I should say," said Nurse Hopkins bluntly. "Now, don't look so innocent, Mary! Mr. Roderick's been making sheep's eyes at you for some time now."

Mary went red.

Nurse Hopkins went on: "He's got it badly, in my opinion. Fell for you all of a sudden. What about you, my girl? Got any feeling for him?"

Mary said hesitatingly, "I – I don't know. I don't think so. But, of course, he's very nice."

"H'm," said Nurse Hopkins. "He wouldn't be my fancy! One of those men who are finicky and a bundle of nerves. Fussy about their food, too, as likely as not. Men aren't much at the best of times. Don't be in too much of a hurry, Mary, my dear. With your looks you can afford to pick and choose. Nurse O'Brien passed the remark to me the other day that you ought to go on the films. They like blondes, I've always heard."

Mary said, with a slight frown creasing her forehead, "Nurse, what do you think I ought to do about Father? He thinks I ought to give some of this money to him."

"Don't you do anything of the kind," said Nurse Hopkins wrathfully. "Mrs. Welman never meant that money for him. It's my opinion he'd have lost his job years ago if it hadn't been for you. A lazier man never stepped!"

Mary said, "It seems funny when she'd all that money that she never made a will to say how it was to go."

Nurse Hopkins shook her head. "People are like that. You'd be surprised. Always putting it off."

Mary said, "It seems downright silly to me."

Nurse Hopkins said with a faint twinkle, "Made a will yourself, Mary?"

Mary stared at her. "Oh, no."

"And yet you're over twenty-one."

"But I – I haven't got anything to leave – at least I suppose I have now."

Nurse Hopkins said sharply, "Of course you have. And a nice tidy little sum, too."

Mary said, "Oh, well, there's no hurry."

"There you go," said Nurse Hopkins dryly. "Just like everyone else. Because you're a healthy young girl isn't a reason why you shouldn't be smashed up in a charabanc or a bus, or run over in the street, any minute."

Mary laughed. She said, "I don't even know how to make a will."

"Easy enough. You can get a form at the post office. Let's go and get one right away."

In Nurse Hopkins's cottage the form was spread out and the important matter discussed. Nurse Hopkins was enjoying herself thoroughly. A will, as she said, was next best to a death, in her opinion.

Mary said, "Who'd get the money if I didn't make a will?"

Nurse Hopkins said rather doubtfully, "Your father, I suppose."

Mary said sharply, "He shan't have it. I'd rather leave it to my auntie in New Zealand."

"It wouldn't be much use leaving it to your father, anyway – he's not long for this world, I should say."

Mary had heard Nurse Hopkins make this kind of pronouncement too often to be impressed by it.

"I can't remember my auntie's address. We've not heard from her for years."

"I don't suppose that matters," said Nurse Hopkins. "You know her Christian name?"