Agatha Christie: Evil Under the Sun

His bluster was a little uncertain. He exaggerated it.

She said:

‘We’ve been so happy.’

‘Happy? Of course we’ve been happy! We are happy. But we shan’t go on being happy if I can’t even speak to another woman without you kicking up a row.’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘Yes, it is. In marriage one has got to have-well-friendships with other people. This suspicious attitude is all wrong. I-I can’t speak to a pretty woman without your jumping to the conclusion that I’m in love with her-’

He stopped. He shrugged his shoulders.

Christine Redfern said:

‘Youare in love with her…’

‘Oh, don’t be a fool, Christine! I’ve-I’ve barely spoken to her.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Don’t for goodness’ sake get into the habit of being jealous of every pretty woman we come across.’

Christine Redfern said:

‘She’s not just any pretty woman! She’s-she’s different! She’s a bad lot! Yes, she is. She’ll do you harm, Patrick, please, give it up. Let’s go away from here.’

Patrick Redfern stuck out his chin mutinously. He looked, somehow, very young as he said defiantly:

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Christine. And-and don’t let’s quarrel about it.’

‘I don’t want to quarrel.’

‘Then behave like a reasonable human being. Come on, let’s go back to the hotel.’

He got up. There was a pause, then Christine Redfern got up too.

She said:

‘Very well…’

In the recess adjoining, on the seat there, Hercule Poirot sat and shook his head sorrowfully.

Some people might have scrupulously removed themselves from earshot of a private conversation. But not Hercule Poirot. He had no scruples of that kind.

‘Besides,’ as he explained to his friend Hastings at a later date, ‘it was a question of murder.’

Hastings said, staring:

‘But the murder hadn’t happened, then.’

Hercule Poirot sighed. He said:

‘But already, mon cher, it was very clearly indicated.’

‘Then why didn’t you stop it?’

And Hercule Poirot, with a sigh, said as he had said once before in Egypt, that if a person is determined to commit murder it is not easy to prevent them. He does not blame himself for what happened. It was, according to him, inevitable.

Rosamund Darnley and Kenneth Marshall sat on the short springy turf of the cliff overlooking Gull Cove. This was on the east side of the island. People came here in the morning sometimes to bathe when they wanted to be peaceful.

Rosamund said:

‘It’s nice to get away from people.’

Marshall murmured inaudibly:

‘M-m, yes.’

He rolled over, sniffing at the short turf.

‘Smells good. Remember the downs at Shipley?’

‘Rather.’

‘Pretty good, those days.’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ve not changed much, Rosamund.’

‘Yes, I have. I’ve changed enormously.’

‘You’ve been very successful and you’re rich and all that, but you’re the same old Rosamund.’

Rosamund murmured:

‘I wish I were.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Nothing. It’s a pity, isn’t it, Kenneth, that we can’t keep the nice natures and high ideals that we had when we were young?’

‘I don’t know that your nature was ever particularly nice, my child. You used to get into the most frightful rages. You half-choked me once when you flew at me in a temper.’

Rosamund laughed. She said:

‘Do you remember the day that we took Toby down to get water rats?’

They spent some minutes in recalling old adventures.

Then there came a pause.

Rosamund’s fingers played with the clasp of her bag. She said at last:

‘Kenneth?’

‘Um.’ His reply was indistinct. He was still lying on his face on the turf.

‘If I say something to you that is probably outrageously impertinent will you never speak to me again?’

He rolled over and sat up.

‘I don’t think,’ he said seriously, ‘that I would ever regard anything you said as impertinent. You see, you belong.’

She nodded in acceptance of all that last phrase meant. She concealed only the pleasure it gave her.

‘Kenneth, why don’t you get a divorce from your wife?’

His face altered. It hardened-the happy expression died out of it. He took a pipe from his pocket and began filling it.

Rosamund said:

‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.’

He said quietly:

‘You haven’t offended me.’

‘Well then, why don’t you?’

‘You don’t understand, my dear girl.’

‘Are you-so frightfully fond of her?’

‘It’s not just a question of that. You see, I married her.’

‘I know. But she’s-pretty notorious.’

He considered that for a moment, ramming in the tobacco carefully.

‘Is she? I suppose she is.’

‘You could divorce her, Ken.’

‘My dear girl, you’ve got no business to say a thing like that. Just because men lose their heads about her a bit isn’t to say that she loses hers.’

Rosamund bit off a rejoinder. Then she said:

‘You could fix it so that she divorced you-if you prefer it that way.’

‘I dare say I could.’

‘You ought to, Ken. Really, I mean it. There’s the child.’

‘Linda?’

‘Yes, Linda.’

‘What’s Linda to do with it?’

‘Arlena’s not good for Linda. She isn’t really. Linda, I think, feels things a good deal.’

Kenneth Marshall applied a match to his pipe. Between puffs he said:

‘Yes-there’s something in that. I suppose Arlena and Linda aren’t very good for each other. Not the right thing for a girl perhaps. It’s a bit worrying.’

Rosamund said:

‘I like Linda-very much. There’s something-fine about her.’

Kenneth said:

‘She’s like her mother. She takes things hard like Ruth did.’

Rosamund said:

‘Then don’t you think-really-that you ought to get rid of Arlena?’

‘Fix up a divorce?’

‘Yes. People are doing that all the time.’

Kenneth Marshall said with sudden vehemence:

‘Yes, and that’s just what I hate.’

‘Hate?’ She was startled.

‘Yes. Sort of attitude to life there is nowadays. If you take on a thing and don’t like it, then you get yourself out of it as quick as possible! Dash it all, there’s got to be such a thing as good faith. If you marry a woman and engage yourself to look after her, well it’s up to you to do it. It’s your show. You’ve taken it on. I’m sick of quick marriage and easy divorce. Arlena’s my wife, that’s all there is to it.’

Rosamund leaned forward. She said in a low voice:

‘So it’s like that with you? “Till death do us part”?’

Kenneth Marshall nodded his head.

He said:

‘That’s just it.’

Rosamund said:

‘I see.’

Mr Horace Blatt, returning to Leathercombe Bay down a narrow twisting lane, nearly ran down Mrs Redfern at a corner.

As she flattened herself into the hedge, Mr Blatt brought his Sunbeam to a halt by applying the brakes vigorously.

‘Hullo-ullo-ullo,’ said Mr Blatt cheerfully.

He was a large man with a red face and a fringe of reddish hair round a shining bald spot.

It was Mr Blatt’s apparent ambition to be the life and soul of any place he happened to be in. The Jolly Roger Hotel, in his opinion, given somewhat loudly, needed brightening up. He was puzzled at the way people seemed to melt and disappear when he himself arrived on the scene.

‘Nearly made you into strawberry jam, didn’t I?’ said Mr Blatt gaily.

Christine Redfern said:

‘Yes, you did.’