Agatha Christie: Hercule Poirot's Christmas

‘All the old exhibits in their place, I see,’ he remarked. ‘I don’t believe anything has changed since I went away twenty years ago.’

He followed Tressilian into the drawing-room. The old man murmured:

‘I will see if I can find Mr or Mrs Alfred,’ and hurried out.

Harry Lee had marched into the room and had then stopped, staring at the figure who was seated on one of the window-sills. His eyes roamed incredulously over the black hair and the creamy exotic pallor.

‘Good Lord!’ he said. ‘Are you my father’s seventh and most beautiful wife?’

Pilar slipped down and came towards him.

‘I am Pilar Estravados,’ she announced. ‘And you must be my Uncle Harry, my mother’s brother.’

Harry said, staring:

‘So that’s who you are! Jenny’s daughter.’

Pilar said: ‘Why did you ask me if I was your father’s seventh wife? Has he really had six wives?’

Harry laughed.

‘No, I believe he’s only had one official one. Well-Pil-what’s your name?’

‘Pilar, yes.’

‘Well, Pilar, it really gives me quite a turn to see something like you blooming in this mausoleum.’

‘This-maus-please?’

‘This museum of stuffed dummies! I always thought this house was lousy! Now I see it again I think it’s lousier than ever!’

Pilar said in a shocked voice:

‘Oh, no, it is very handsome here! The furniture is good and the carpets – thick carpets everywhere – and there are lots of ornaments. Everything is very good quality and very, very rich!’

‘You’re right there,’ said Harry, grinning. He looked at her with amusement. ‘You know, I can’t help getting a kick out of seeing you in the midst–’

He broke off as Lydia came rapidly into the room.

She came straight to him.

‘How d’you do, Harry? I’m Lydia – Alfred’s wife.’

‘How de do, Lydia.’ He shook hands, examining her intelligent mobile face in a swift glance and approving mentally of the way she walked – very few women moved well.

Lydia in her turn took quick stock of him.

She thought: ‘He looks a frightful tough – attractive though. I wouldn’t trust him an inch…’

She said smiling:

‘How does it look after all these years? Quite different, or very much the same?’

‘Pretty much the same.’ He looked round him. ‘This room’s been done over.’

‘Oh, many times.’

He said:

‘I meant by you. You’ve made it – different.’

‘Yes, I expect so…’

He grinned at her, a sudden impish grin that reminded her with a start of the old man upstairs.

‘It’s got more class about it now! I remember hearing that old Alfred had married a girl whose people came over with the Conqueror.’

Lydia smiled. She said:

‘I believe they did. But they’ve rather run to seed since those days.’

Harry said:

‘How’s old Alfred? Just the same blessed old stick-in-the-mud as ever?’

‘I’ve no idea whether you will find him changed or not.’

‘How are the others? Scattered all over England?’

‘No – they’re all here for Christmas, you know.’

Harry’s eyes opened.

‘Regular Christmas family reunion? What’s the matter with the old man? He used not to give a damn for sentiment. Don’t remember his caring much for his family, either. He must have changed!’

‘Perhaps.’ Lydia’s voice was dry.

Pilar was staring, her big eyes wide and interested.

Harry said:

‘How’s old George? Still the same skinflint? How he used to howl if he had to part with a halfpenny of his pocket-money!’

Lydia said:

‘George is in Parliament. He’s member for Westeringham.’

‘What? Popeye in Parliament? Lord, that’s good.’

Harry threw back his head and laughed.

It was rich stentorian laughter – it sounded uncontrolled and brutal in the confined space of the room. Pilar drew in her breath with a gasp. Lydia flinched a little.

Then, at a movement behind him, Harry broke off his laugh and turned sharply. He had not heard anyone coming in, but Alfred was standing there quietly. He was looking at Harry with an odd expression on his face.

Harry stood a minute, then a slow smile crept to his lips. He advanced a step.

‘Why,’ he said, ‘it’s Alfred!’

Alfred nodded.

‘Hallo, Harry,’ he said.

They stood staring at each other. Lydia caught her breath. She thought:

‘How absurd! Like two dogs – looking at each other…’

Pilar’s gaze widened even further. She thought to herself:

‘How silly they look standing there… Why do they not embrace? No, of course the English do not do that. But they might say something. Why do they just look?’

Harry said at last:

‘Well, well. Feels funny to be here again!’

‘I expect so – yes. A good many years since you – got out.’

Harry threw up his head. He drew his finger along the line of his jaw. It was a gesture that was habitual with him. It expressed belligerence.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m glad I have come’ – he paused to bring out the word with greater significance – ‘home…’

‘I’ve been, I suppose, a very wicked man,’ said Simeon Lee.

He was leaning back in his chair. His chin was raised and with one finger he was stroking his jaw reflectively. In front of him a big fire glowed and danced. Beside it sat Pilar, a little screen of papier-mache held in her hand. With it she shielded her face from the blaze. Occasionally she fanned herself with it, using her wrist in a supple gesture. Simeon looked at her with satisfaction.

He went on talking, perhaps more to himself than to the girl, and stimulated by the fact of her presence.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’ve been a wicked man. What do you say to that, Pilar?’

Pilar shrugged her shoulders. She said:

‘All men are wicked. The nuns say so. That is why one has to pray for them.’

‘Ah, but I’ve been more wicked than most.’ Simeon laughed. ‘I don’t regret it, you know. No, I don’t regret anything. I’ve enjoyed myself… every minute! They say you repent when you get old. That’s bunkum. I don’t repent. And as I tell you, I’ve done most things… all the good old sins! I’ve cheated and stolen and lied… lord, yes! And women – always women! Someone told me the other day of an Arab chief who had a bodyguard of forty of his sons – all roughly the same age! Aha! Forty! I don’t know about forty, but I bet I could produce a very fair bodyguard if I went about looking for the brats! Hey, Pilar, what do you think of that? Shocked?’

Pilar stared.

‘No, why should I be shocked? Men always desire women. My father, too. That is why wives are so often unhappy and why they go to church and pray.’

Old Simeon was frowning.

‘I made Adelaide unhappy,’ he said. He spoke almost under his breath, to himself. ‘Lord, what a woman! Pink and white and pretty as they make’em when I married her! And afterwards? Always wailing and weeping. It rouses the devil in a man when his wife is always crying… She’d no guts, that’s what was the matter with Adelaide. If she’d stood up to me! But she never did – not once. I believed when I married her that I was going to be able to settle down, raise a family – cut loose from the old life…’

His voice died away. He stared – stared into the glowing heart of the fire.

‘Raise a family… God, what a family!’ He gave a sudden shrill pipe of angry laughter. ‘Look at’em – look at’em! Not a child among them – to carry on! What’s the matter with them? Haven’t they got any of my blood in their veins? Not a son among’em, legitimate or illegitimate. Alfred, for instance – heavens above, how bored I get with Alfred! Looking at me with his dog’s eyes. Ready to do anything I ask. Lord, what a fool! His wife, now – Lydia – I like Lydia. She’s got spirit. She doesn’t like me, though. No, she doesn’t like me. But she has to put up with me for that nincompoop Alfred’s sake.’ He looked over at the girl by the fire. ‘Pilar – remember – nothing is so boring as devotion.’