Агата Кристи - Endless Night / Бесконечная ночь. Книга для чтения на английском языке

‘For all you want out of life you’ve got to have money.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘and I don’t see how I’m going to get it.’

‘No,’ said Greta, ‘you won’t get it by hard work. You’re not the kind.’

‘Work!’ I said. ‘I’d have to work for years! I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to be middle-aged.’ I said, ‘You know the story about that chap Schliemann, how he worked, toiled, and made a fortune so that he could have his life’s dream come true and go to Troy and dig it up and find the graves of Troy. He got his dream but he had to wait till he was forty. But I don’t want to wait till I’m a middle-aged man. Old. One foot in the grave. I want it now when I’m young and strong. You do too, don’t you?’

‘Yes. And I know the way you can do it. It’s easy. I wonder you haven’t thought of it already. You can get girls easily enough, can’t you? I can see that. I can feel it.’

‘Do you think I care about girls – or ever have really? There’s only one girl I want,’ I said. ‘You. And you know that. I belong to you. I knew it the moment I saw you. I knew always that I’d meet someone like you. And I have. I belong to you.’

‘Yes,’ said Greta, ‘I think you do.’

‘We both want the same things out of life,’ I said.

‘I tell you it’s easy,’ said Greta. ‘Easy. All you’ve got to do is to marry a rich girl, one of the richest girls in the world. I can put you in the way of doing that.’

‘Don’t be fantastic,’ I said.

‘It’s not fantastic, it’ll be easy.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘that’s no good to me. I don’t want to be the husband of a rich wife. She’ll buy me things and we’ll do things and she’ll keep me in a golden cage, but that’s not what I want. I don’t want to be a tied-up slave.’

‘You needn’t be. It’s the sort of thing that needn’t last for long. Just long enough. Wives do die, you know.’

I stared at her.

‘Now you’re shocked,’ she said.

‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m not shocked.’

‘I thought you wouldn’t be. I thought perhaps already —?’ She looked at me inquiringly, but I wasn’t going to answer that. I still had some self-preservation left. There are some secrets one doesn’t want anyone to know. Not that they were much in the way of secrets, but I didn’t like to think of them. I didn’t like to think of the first one. Silly though. Puerile. Nothing that mattered. I had had a boy’s passion for a classy wrist-watch that a boy… А friend of mine at school – had been given. I wanted it. I wanted it badly. It had cost a lot of money. А rich godfather had given it to him. Yes, I wanted that, but I didn’t think I’d ever have a chance of getting it. Then there was the day we went skating together. The ice wasn’t strong enough to bear. Not that we thought of it beforehand. It just happened. The ice cracked. I skated across to him. He was hanging on. He had gone through a hole and he was hanging on to the ice which was cutting his hands. I went across to pull him out, of course, but just as I got there I saw the glint of the wrist-watch. I thought ‘Supposing he goes under and drowns.’ I thought how easy it would be…

It seemed almost unconsciously, I think, that I unfastened the strap, grabbed the watch and pushed his head under instead of trying to pull him out… Just held his head under. He couldn’t struggle much, he was under the ice. People saw and came towards us. They thought I was trying to pull him out! They got him out in due course, with some difficulty. They tried artificial respiration on him but it was too late. I hid my treasure away in a special place where I kept things now and then. Things I didn’t want Mum to see because she’d ask me where I got them. She came across that watch one day when she was fooling about with my socks. Asked me if that wasn’t Pete’s watch? I said of course it wasn’t – it was one I’d swopped with a boy at school.

I was always nervous with Mum – I always felt she knew too much about me. I was nervous with her when she found the watch. She suspected, I think. She couldn’t know, of course. Nobody knew. But she used to look at me. In a funny way. Everybody thought I’d tried to rescue Pete. I don’t think she ever thought so. I think she knew. She didn’t want to know, but her trouble was that she knew too much about me. I felt a bit guilty sometimes, but it wore off, fairly soon.

And then later on, when I was in camp. It was during our military training time. Chap called Ed and I had been to a sort of gambling place. I’d had no luck at all, lost everything I had, but Ed had won a packet. He changed his chips and he and I were coming home and he was stuffed up with notes. His pockets were bulging with them. Then a couple of toughs came round the corner and went for us. They were pretty handy with the flick knives they’d got. I got cut in the arm but Ed got a proper sort of stab. He went down under it. Then there was a noise of people coming. The toughs hooked it. I could see that if I was quick… I was quick! My reflexes are pretty good – I wrapped a handkerchief round my hand and I pulled out the knife from Ed’s wound and I stuck the knife in again a couple of times in better places. He gave a gasp and passed out. I was scared, of course, scared for a second or two and then I knew it was going to be all right. So I felt – well – naturally I felt proud of myself for thinking and acting quick! I thought, ‘Poor old Ed, he always was a fool.’ It took me no time at all to transfer those notes to my own pocket! Nothing like having quick reflexes, seizing your opportunity. The trouble is the opportunities don’t come very often. Some people, I suppose, get scared when they know they’ve killed someone. But I wasn’t scared. Not this time.

Mind you, it’s not a thing you want to do too often. Not unless it might be really worth your while. I don’t know how Greta sensed that about me. But she’d known. I don’t mean that she’d known that I’d actually killed a couple of people. But I think she knew the idea of killing wouldn’t shock or upset me. I said:

‘What’s all this fantastic story, Greta?’

She said, ‘I am in a position to help you. I can bring you in touch with one of the richest girls in America. I more or less look after her. I live with her. I have a lot of influence over her.’

‘Do you think she’d look at someone like me?’ I said. I didn’t believe it for a moment. Why should a rich girl who could have her pick of any attractive, sexy man she liked go for me?

‘You’ve got a lot of sex appeal,’ said Greta. ‘Girls go for you, don’t they?’

I grinned and said I didn’t do too badly.

‘She’s never had that kind of thing. She’s been looked after too well. The only young men she’s been allowed to meet are conventional kids, bankers’ sons, tycoons’ sons. She’s groomed to make a good marriage in the moneyed class. They’re terrified of her meeting handsome foreigners who might be after her money. But naturally she’s keener on people like that. They’d be new to her, something she’s never seen before. You’ve got to make a big play for her. You’ve got to fall in love with her at first sight and sweep her off her feet! It’ll be easy enough. She’s never had anyone to make a real sexy approach to her. You could do it.’

‘I could try,’ I said doubtfully.

‘We could set it up,’ said Greta.

‘Her family would step in and stop it.’

‘No they wouldn’t,’ said Greta, ‘they wouldn’t know anything about it. Not until it was too late. Not until you’d got married secretly.’

‘So that’s your idea.’

So we talked about it. We planned. Not in detail, mind you. Greta went back to America, but she kept in touch with me. I went on with various jobs. I’d told her about Gipsy’s Acre and that I wanted it, and she said that was just fine for setting up a romantic story. We laid our plans so that my meeting with Ellie would take place there. Greta would work Ellie up about having a house in England and getting away from the family as soon as she came of age.