Agatha Christie - Appointment with Death

"That will not remove the scratches, Mademoiselle." Poirot shook his head sadly.

"Perhaps not. Why on earth do you wear shoes like that in this sort of country?"

Poirot put his head a little on one side. "I like to have the appearance soigne," he said.

"I should give up trying for that in the desert," said Sarah.

"Women do not look their best in the desert," said Dr. Gerard dreamily. "Miss King here, yes-she always looks neat and well turned out. But that Lady Westholme in her great thick coats and skirts and those terribly unbecoming riding breeches and boots-quelle horreur de femme! And the poor Miss Pierce-her clothes so limp, like faded cabbage leaves, and the chains and the beads that clink! Even young Mrs. Boynton, who is a good-looking woman, is not what you call chic! Her clothes are uninteresting."

Sarah said restively: "Well, I don't suppose M. Poirot climbed up here to talk about clothes!"

"True," said Poirot. "I came to consult Dr. Gerard-his opinion should be of value to me-and yours too, Mademoiselle. You are young and up to date in your psychology. I want to know, you see, all that you can tell me of Mrs. Boynton."

"Don't you know all that by heart now?" asked Sarah.

"No. I have a feeling-more than a feeling-a certainty that the mental equipment of Mrs. Boynton is very important in this case. Such types as hers are no doubt familiar to Dr. Gerard."

"From my point of view she was certainly an interesting study," said the doctor.

"Tell me."

Dr. Gerard was nothing loath. He described his interest in the family group, his conversation with Jefferson Cope, and the latter's complete misreading of the situation.

"He is a sentimentalist, then," said Poirot thoughtfully.

"Oh, essentially! He has ideals-based, really, on a deep instinct of laziness. To take human nature at its best and the world as a pleasant place is undoubtedly the easiest course in life! Jefferson Cope has, consequently, not the least idea what people are really like."

"That might be dangerous sometimes," said Poirot.

Dr. Gerard went on: "He persisted in regarding what I may describe as 'the Boynton situation' as a case of mistaken devotion. Of the underlying hate, rebellion, slavery and misery he had only the faintest notion."

"It is stupid, that," Poirot commented.

"All the same," went on Dr. Gerard, "even the most willfully obtuse of sentimental optimists cannot be quite blind. I think, on the journey to Petra, Mr. Jefferson Cope's eyes were being opened."

And he described the conversation he had had with the American on the morning of Mrs. Boynton's death.

"That is an interesting story, that story of a servant girl, said Poirot thoughtfully. "It throws light on the old woman's methods."

Gerard said: "It was altogether an odd, strange morning, that! You have not been to Petra, M. Poirot? If you go, you must certainly climb to the Place of Sacrifice. It has an-how could I say?-an atmosphere!" He described the scene in detail adding: "Mademoiselle here sat like a young judge, speaking of the sacrifice of one to save many. You remember, Miss King?"

Sarah shivered. "Don't! Don't let's talk of that day."

"No, no," said Poirot. "Let us talk of events further back in the past. I am interested, Dr. Gerard, in your sketch of Mrs. Boynton's mentality. What I do not quite understand is this. Having brought her family into absolute subjection, why did she then arrange this trip abroad where surely there was danger of outside contacts and of her authority being weakened?"

Dr. Gerard leaned forward excitedly. "But, mon vieux, that is just it! Old ladies are the same all the world over. They get bored! If their specialty is placing patience, they sicken of the patience they know too well. They want to learn a new patience. And it is just the same with an old lady whose recreation (incredible as it may sound) is the dominating and tormenting of human creatures! Mrs. Boynton-to speak of her as une dompteuse-had tamed her tigers. There was perhaps some excitement as they passed through the stage of adolescence. Lennox's marriage to Nadine was an adventure. But then, suddenly, all was stale. Lennox is so sunk in melancholy that it is practically impossible to wound or stress him. Raymond and Carol show no signs of rebellion."

"Ginevra-Ah! La pauvre Ginevra-she, from her mother's point of view, gives the poorest sport of all! Ginevra has found a way of escape! She escapes from reality into fantasy. The more her mother goads her the more easily she gets a secret thrill out of being a persecuted heroine! From Mrs. Boynton's point of view it is all deadly dull. She seeks, like Alexander, new worlds to conquer. And so she plans the voyage abroad. There will be the danger of her tamed beasts rebelling, there will be opportunities for inflicting fresh pain! It sounds absurd does it not, but it was so! She wanted a new thrill."

Poirot took a deep breath. "It is perfect, that. Yes, I see exactly what you mean. It was so. It all fits in. She chose to live dangerously, la Maman Boynton and she paid the penalty!"

Sarah leaned forward, her pale intelligent face very serious.

"You mean," she said, "that she drove her victims too far and-and they turned on her-or-or one of them did?"

Poirot bowed his head.

Sarah said, and her voice was a little breathless: "Which of them?"

Poirot looked at her, at her hands clenched fiercely on the wild flowers, at the pale rigidity of her face.

He did not answer-was indeed saved from answering-for at that moment Gerard touched his shoulder and said: "Look."

A girl was wandering along the side of the hill. She moved with a strange rhythmic grace that somehow gave the impression that she was not quite real. The gold-red of her hair shone in the sunlight, a strange secretive smile lifted the beautiful corners of her mouth.

Poirot drew in his breath. He said: "How beautiful… How strangely, movingly beautiful. That is how Ophelia should be played-like a young goddess straying from another world, happy because she has escaped out of the bondage of human joys and griefs."

"Yes, yes, you are right," said Gerard. "It is a face to dream of, is it not? I dreamt of it. In my fever I opened my eves and saw that face-with its sweet unearthly smile… It was a good dream. I was sorry to wake…"

Then, with a return to his commonplace manner: "That is Ginevra Boynton," he said.

In another minute the girl had reached them. Dr. Gerard performed the introduction.

"Miss Boynton, this is M. Hercule Poirot."

"Oh!" She looked at him uncertainly. Her fingers joined together, twined themselves uneasily in and out. The enchanted nymph had come back from the country of enchantment. She was now just an ordinary, awkward girl, slightly nervous and ill at ease.

Poirot said: "It is a piece of good fortune meeting you here, Mademoiselle. I tried to see you in the hotel."

"Did you?" Her smile was vacant. Her fingers began plucking at the belt of her dress.

He said gently: "Will you walk with me a little way?"

She moved docilely enough, obedient to his whim. Presently she said, rather unexpectedly, in a queer hurried voice: "You are-you are a detective, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle,"

"A very well-known detective?"

"The best detective in the world," said Poirot, stating it as a simple truth, no more, no less.

Ginevra Boynton breathed very softly: "You have come here to protect me?"

Poirot stroked his moustache thoughtfully. He said: "Are you then in danger, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes. Yes!" She looked around with a quick suspicious dance. "I told Dr. Gerard about it in Jerusalem. He was very clever. He gave no sign at the time. But he followed me to that terrible place with the red rocks." She shivered. "They meant to kill me there. I have to be continually on my guard."