Agatha Christie - Sparkling Cyanide

That interview with Victor had been the beginning of it all, had set the whole train in motion. Before then, the things she had felt and thought had been so far below the stream of her consciousness that she hadn't really known about them.

She was devoted to George Barton. She always had been. When she had first come to him, a cool, competent young woman of twenty-three, she had seen that he needed taking charge of. She had taken charge of him. She had saved him time, money and worry. She had chosen his friends for him, and directed him to suitable hobbies. She had restrained him from ill-advised business adventures, and encouraged him to take judicious risks on occasions. Never once in their long association had George suspected her of being anything other than subservient, attentive and entirely directed by himself. He took a distinct pleasure in her appearance, the neat shining dark head, the smart tailormades and the crisp shirts, the small pearls in her well-shaped ears, the pale discreetly powdered face and the faint restrained rose shade of her lipstick.

Ruth, he felt, was absolutely right. He liked her detached impersonal manner, her complete absence of sentiment or familiarity. In consequence he talked to her a good deal about his private affairs and she listened sympathetically and always put in a useful word of advice.

She had nothing to do, however, with his marriage. She did not like it. However, she accepted it and was invaluable in helping with the wedding arrangements, relieving Mrs Marle of a great deal of work. For a time after the marriage, Ruth was on slightly less confidential terms with her employer. She confided herself strictly to the office affairs. George left a good deal in her hands.

Nevertheless such was her efficiency that Rosemary soon found that George's Miss Lessing was an invaluable aid in all sorts of ways. Miss Lessing was always pleasant, smiling and polite.

George, Rosemary and Iris all called her Ruth and she often came to Elvaston Square to lunch. She was now twenty-nine and looked exactly the same as she had looked at twenty-three.

Without an intimate word ever passing between them, she was always perfectly aware of George's slightest emotional reactions. She knew when the first elation of his married life passed into an ecstatic content, she was aware when that content gave way to something else that was not so easy to define. A certain inattention to detail shown by him at this time was corrected by her own forethought.

However distrait George might be, Ruth Lessing never seemed to be aware of it. He was grateful to her for that.

It was on a November morning that he spoke to her of Victor Drake.

"I want you to do a rather unpleasant job for me, Ruth!"

She looked at him inquiringly. No need to say that certainly she would do it. That was understood.

"Every family's got a black sheep," said George.

She nodded comprehendingly.

"This is a cousin of my wife's – a thorough bad hat, I'm afraid. He's half ruined his mother – a fatuous sentimental soul who has sold out most of what few shares she has on his behalf. He started by forging a cheque at Oxford – they got that hushed up and since then he's been shipped about the world – never making good anywhere."

Ruth listened without much interest. She was familiar with the type. They grew oranges, started chicken farms, went as jackaroos to Australian stations, got jobs with meat-freezing concerns in New Zealand .

They never made good, never stayed anywhere long, and invariably got through any money that had been invested on their behalf. They had never interested her much.

She preferred success.

"He's turned up now in London and I find he's been worrying my wife. She hadn't set eyes on him since she was a schoolgirl, but he's a plausible sort of scoundrel and he's been writing to her for money, and I'm not going to stand for that. I've made an appointment with him for twelve o'clock this morning at his hotel. I want you to deal with it for me. The fact is I don't want to get into contact with the fellow. I've never met him and I never want to and I don't want Rosemary to meet him. I think the whole thing can be kept absolutely businesslike if it's fixed up through a third party."

"Yes, that is always a good plan. What is the arrangement to be?"

"A hundred pounds cash and a ticket to Buenos Aires . The money to be given him actually on board the boat."

Ruth smiled.

"Quite so. You want to be sure he actually sails!"

"I see you understand."

"It's not an uncommon case," she said indifferently.

"No, plenty of that type about." He hesitated. "Are you sure you don't mind doing this?"

"Of course not." She was a little amused. "I can assure you I am quite capable of dealing with the matter."

"You're capable of anything."

"What about booking his passage? What's his name, by the way?"

"Victor Drake. The ticket's here. I rang up the steamship company yesterday. It's the San Cristobal , sails from Tilbury tomorrow."

Ruth took the ticket, glanced over it to make sure of its correctness and put it in her handbag.

"That's settled. I'll see to it. Twelve o'clock. What address?"

"The Rupert, off Russell Square ."

She made a note of it.

"Ruth, my dear, I don't know what I should do without you –" He put a hand on her shoulder affectionately, it was the first time he had ever done such a thing. "You're my right hand, my other self."

She flushed, pleased.

"I've never been able to say much – I've taken all you do for granted – but it's not really like that. You don't know how much I rely on you for everything –" he repeated: "everything. You're the kindest, dearest, most helpful girl in the world!"

Ruth said, laughing to hide her pleasure and embarrassment, "You'll spoil me saying such nice things."

"Oh, but I mean them. You're part of the firm, Ruth. Life without you would be unthinkable."

She went out feeling a warm glow at his words. It was still with her when she arrived at the Rupert Hotel on her errand.

Ruth felt no embarrassment at what lay before her. She was quite confident of her powers to deal with any situation. Hard-luck stories and people never appealed to her. She was prepared to take Victor Drake as all in the day's work.

He was very much as she had pictured him, though perhaps definitely more attractive. She made no mistake in her estimate of his character. There was not much good in Victor Drake. As cold-hearted and calculating a personality as could exist, well masked behind an agreeable devilry. What she had not allowed for was his power of reading other people's souls, and the practised ease with which he could play on the emotions. Perhaps, too, she had underestimated her own resistance to his charm. For he had charm.

He greeted her with an air of delighted surprise.

"George's emissary? But how wonderful. What a surprise!"

In dry even tones, she set out George's terms. Victor agreed to them in the most amiable manner.

"A hundred pounds? Not bad at all. Poor old George. I'd have taken sixty – but don't tell him so! Conditions: – 'Do not worry lovely Cousin Rosemary – do not contaminate innocent Cousin Iris – do not embarrass worthy Cousin George.' All agreed to! Who is coming to see me off on the San Cristobal ? You are, my dear Miss Lessing? Delightful."

He wrinkled up his nose, his dark eyes twinkled sympathetically. He had a lean brown face and there was a suggestion about him of a Toreador – romantic conception! He was attractive to women and knew it!

"You've been with Barton some time, haven't you, Miss Lessing?"

"Six years."

"And he wouldn't know what to do without you! Oh yes, I know all about it. And I know all about you, Miss Lessing."

"How do you know?" asked Ruth sharply.