After the Funeral - Agatha Christie [65]
“I’m glad we’ve got rid of him,” said Susan. “House agents are a bother. They will keep talking just when I want to do sums.”
“Ah,” said George. “Murder in an empty shop. How exciting it would be for the passersby to see the dead body of a beautiful young woman displayed behind plate glass. How they would goggle. Like goldfish.”
“There wouldn’t be any reason for you to murder me, George.”
“Well, I should get a fourth part of your share of our esteemed uncle’s estate. If one were sufficiently fond of money that should be a reason.”
Susan stopped taking measurements and turned to look at him. Her eyes opened a little.
“You look a different person, George. It’s really—extraordinary.”
“Different? How different?”
“Like an advertisement. This is the same man that you saw overleaf, but now he has taken Uppington’s Health Salts.”
She sat down on another packing case and lit a cigarette.
“You must have wanted your share of old Richard’s money pretty badly, George?”
“Nobody could honestly say that money isn’t welcome these days.”
George’s tone was light.
Susan said: “You were in a jam, weren’t you?”
“Hardly your business, is it, Susan?”
“I was just interested.”
“Are you renting this shop as a place of business?”
“I’m buying the whole house.”
“With possession?”
“Yes. The two upper floors were flats. One’s empty and went with the shop. The other, I’m buying the people out.”
“Nice to have money, isn’t it, Susan?”
There was a malicious tone in George’s voice. But Susan merely took a deep breath and said:
“As far as I’m concerned, it’s wonderful. An answer to prayer.”
“Does prayer kill off elderly relatives?”
Susan paid no attention.
“This place is exactly right. To begin with, it’s a very good piece of period architecture. I can make the living part upstairs something quite unique. There are two lovely moulded ceilings and the rooms are a beautiful shape. This part down here which has already been hacked about I shall have completely modern.”
“What is this? A dress business?”
“No. Beauty culture. Herbal preparations. Face creams!”
“The full racket?”
“The racket as before. It pays. It always pays. What you need to put it over is personality. I can do it.”
George looked at his cousin appreciatively. He admired the slanting planes of her face, the generous mouth, the radiant colouring. Altogether an unusual and vivid face. And he recognized in Susan that odd, indefinable quality, the quality of success.
“Yes,” he said, “I think you’ve got what it takes, Susan. You’ll get back your outlay on this scheme and you’ll get places with it.”
“It’s the right neighbourhood, just off a main shopping street and you can park a car right in front of the door.”
Again George nodded.
“Yes, Susan, you’re going to succeed. Have you had this in mind for a long time?”
“Over a year.”
“Why didn’t you put it up to old Richard? He might have staked you.”
“I did put it up to him.”
“And he didn’t see his way? I wonder why. I should have thought he’d have recognized the same mettle that he himself was made of.”
Susan did not answer, and into George’s mind there leapt a swift bird’s eye view of another figure. A thin, nervous, suspicious-eyed young man.
“Where does—what’s his name—Greg—come in on all this?” he asked. “He’ll give up dishing out pills and powders, I take it?”
“Of course. There will be a laboratory built out at the back. We shall have our own formulas for face creams and beauty preparations.”
George suppressed a grin. He wanted to say: “So baby is to have his playpen,” but he did not say it. As a cousin he did not mind being spiteful, but he had an uneasy sense that Susan’s feeling for her husband was a thing to be treated with care. It had all the qualities of a dangerous explosive. He wondered, as he had wondered on the day of the funeral, about that queer fish, Gregory. Something odd about the fellow. So nondescript in appearance—and yet, in some way, not nondescript….
He looked again at Susan, calmly and radiantly triumphant.
“You’ve got