Agatha Christie: Endless Night

I couldn't help thinking it was odd. She'd never shown the faintest appreciation of our house when she'd come to it. I wondered as I'd wondered once or twice before what her links with her half-brother really were. Had she really a great devotion to him? Sometimes I'd almost thought that she disliked him, perhaps hated him. She spoke of him certainly in a very odd way. But whatever her actual emotions were, he meant something to her.

Meant something important.

I shook my head slowly.

"I can see that you might think I'd want to sell the place and leave here because of Ellie's death," I said. "But actually that's not so at all. We lived here and were happy and this is the place I shall remember her best. I shan't sell Gipsy's Acre – not for any consideration! You can be quite sure of that."

Our eyes met. It was like a kind of tussle between us. Then hers dropped.

I took my courage in both hands and spoke.

"It's no business of mine, but you were married once. Was the name of your husband Stanford Lloyd?"

She looked at me for a moment without speaking. Then she said abruptly:

"Yes," and turned away.

Confusion… That's all I can remember when I look back. Newspapermen asking questions – wanting interviews – masses of letters and telegrams – Greta coping with them -

The first really startling thing was that Ellie's family were not as we had supposed in America. It was quite a shock to find that most of them were actually in England. It was understandable, perhaps, that Cora van Stuyvesant should be. She was a very restless woman, always dashing across to Europe, to Italy, to Paris, to London and back again to America, to Palm Beach, out West to the ranch; here, there and everywhere. On the actual day of Ellie's death she had been not more than fifty miles away still pursuing her whim of having a house in England. She had rushed over to stay in London for two or three days and gone to fresh house agents for fresh orders to view and had been touring round the country seeing half a dozen on that particular day.

Stanford Lloyd, it turned out, had flown over in the same plane ostensibly for a business meeting in London. These people learnt of Ellie's death, not from the cables which we had dispatched to the United States but from the public press.

An ugly wrangle developed about where Ellie should be buried. I had assumed it was only natural that she'd be buried here where she had died. Here where she and I had lived.

But Ellie's family objected violently to this. They wanted the body brought to America to be buried with her forebearers. Where her grandfather and her father, her mother and others had been laid to rest. I suppose it was natural, really, when one comes to think of it.

Andrew Lippincott came down to talk to me about it. He put the matter in a reasonable way.

"She never left any directions as to where she wished to be buried," he pointed out to me.

"Why should she?" I demanded hotly. "How old was she – twenty-one? You don't think at twenty-one you're going to die. You don't start thinking then the way you want to be buried. If we'd ever thought about it we'd assume we'd be buried together somewhere even if we didn't die at the same time. But who thinks of death in the middle of life?"

"A very just observation," said Mr. Lippincott. Then he said, "I'm afraid you'll also have to come to America, you know. There's a great deal of business interests you'll have to look into."

"What sort of business? What have I got to do with business?"

"You could have a great deal to do with it," he said. "Don't you realise that you're the principal beneficiary under the will?"

"You mean because I'm Ellie's next of kin or something?"

"No. Under her will."

"I didn't know she ever made a will."

"Oh yes," said Mr. Lippincott. "Ellie was quite a businesslike young woman. She'd had to be, you know. She'd lived in the middle of that kind of thing. She made a will on coming of age and almost immediately after she was married. It was lodged with her lawyer in London with a request that one copy should be sent to me." He hesitated and then said, "If you do come to the States, which I advise, I also think that you should place your affairs in the hands of some reputable lawyer there. Because in the case of a vast fortune, large quantities of real estate, stocks, controlling interests in varying industries, you will need technical advice."

"I'm not qualified to deal with things like that," I said. "Really, I'm not."

"I quite understand," said Mr. Lippincott.

"Couldn't I place the whole thing in your hands?"

"You could do so."

"Well then, why don't I?"

"All the same, I think you should be separately represented. I am already acting for some members of the family and a conflict of interests might arise. If you will leave it in my hands, I will see that your interests are safeguarded by your being represented by a thoroughly able attorney."

"Thank you," I said, "you're very kind."

"If I may be slightly indiscreet – " he looked a little un-comfortable – it pleased me rather thinking of Lippincott being indiscreet.

"Yes?" I said.

"I should advise you to be very careful of anything you sign. Any business documents. Before you sign anything, read it thoroughly and carefully."

"Would the kind of document you're talking about mean anything to me if I do read it?"

"If it is not all clear to you, you will then hand it over to your legal adviser."

"Are you warning me against somebody or someone?" I said, with a suddenly aroused interest.

"That is not at all a proper question for me to answer," said Mr. Lippincott. "I will go this far. Where large sums of money are concerned it is advisable to trust nobody."

So he was warning me against someone, but he wasn't going to give me any names. I could see that. Was it against Cora? Or had he had suspicions, perhaps suspicions of some long standing – of Stanford Lloyd, that florid banker so full of bonhomie, so rich and carefree, who had recently been over here "on business"? Might it be Uncle Frank who might approach me with some plausible documents. I had a sudden vision of myself, a poor innocent boob, swimming in a lake surrounded by evilly disposed crocodiles, all smiling false smiles of amity.

"The world," said Mr. Lippincott, "is a very evil place."

It was perhaps a stupid thing to say, but quite suddenly I asked him a question.

"Does Ellie's death benefit anyone?" I asked.

He looked at me sharply.

"That's a very curious question. Why do you ask that?"

"I don't know," I said, "it just came into my head."

"It benefits you," he said.

"Of course," I said. "I take that for granted. I really meant – does it benefit anyone else?"

Mr. Lippincott was silent for quite a long time.

"If you mean," he said, "does Fenella's will benefit certain other people in the way of legacies, that is so in a minor degree. Some old servants, an old governess, one or two charities but nothing of any particular moment. There's a legacy to Miss Andersen but not a large one for she has already, as you probably know, settled a very considerable sum on Miss Andersen."

I nodded. Ellie had told me she was doing that.

"You were her husband. She had no other near relations. But I take it that your question did not mean specifically that."

"I don't know quite what I meant by it," I said. "But somehow or other, you've succeeded, Mr. Lippincott, in making me feel suspicious. Suspicious of I don't know whom or why. Only, well suspicious. I don't understand finance," I added.

"No, that is quite apparent. Let me say only that I have no exact knowledge, no exact suspicions of any kind. At someone's death there is usually an accounting of their affairs. This may take place quickly or it may be delayed for a period of many years."