After the Funeral - Agatha Christie [66]
Susan said slowly: “Yes, I think he would.”
She paused and then went on:
“He didn’t like Greg, you know….”
“Ah.” George raised his eyebrows. “His mistake.”
“Yes.”
“Oh, well. Anyway, things are going well now—all going according to plan.”
As he said the words he was struck by the fact that they seemed particularly applicable to Susan.
The idea made him, just for a moment, a shade uncomfortable.
He didn’t really like a woman who was so cold-bloodedly efficient.
Changing the subject he said:
“By the way, did you get a letter from Helen? About Enderby?”
“Yes, I did. This morning. Did you?”
“Yes. What are you going to do about it?”
“Greg and I thought of going up the weekend after next—if that suits everyone else. Helen seemed to want us all together.”
George laughed shrewdly.
“Or somebody might choose a more valuable piece of furniture than somebody else?”
Susan laughed.
“Oh, I suppose there is a proper valuation. But a valuation for probate will be much lower than the things would be in the open market. And besides, I’d quite like to have a few relics of the founder of the family fortunes. Then I think it would be amusing to have one or two really absurd and charming specimens of the Victorian age in this place. Make a kind of thing of them! That period’s coming in now. There was a green malachite table in the drawing room. You could build quite a colour scheme around it. And perhaps a case of stuffed hummingbirds—or one of those crowns made of waxed flowers. Something like that—just as a keynote—can be very effective.”
“I trust your judgement.”
“You’ll be there, I suppose?”
“Oh, I shall be there—to see fair play if nothing else.”
Susan laughed.
“What do you bet there will be a grand family row?” she asked.
“Rosamund will probably want your green malachite table for a stage set!”
Susan did not laugh. Instead she frowned.
“Have you seen Rosamund lately?”
“I have not seen beautiful Cousin Rosamund since we all came back third-class from the funeral.”
“I’ve seen her once or twice… She—she seemed rather odd—”
“What was the matter with her? Trying to think?”
“No. She seemed—well—upset.”
“Upset about coming into a lot of money and being able to put on some perfectly frightful play in which Michael can make an ass of himself?”
“Oh, that’s going ahead and it does sound frightful—but all the same, it may be a success. Michael’s good, you know. He can put himself across the footlights—or whatever the term is. He’s not like Rosamund, who’s just beautiful and ham.”
“Poor beautiful ham Rosamund.”
“All the same Rosamund is not quite so dumb as one might think. She says things that are quite shrewd, sometimes. Things that you wouldn’t have imagined she’d even noticed. It’s—it’s quite disconcerting.”
“Quite like our Aunt Cora—”
“Yes….”
A momentary uneasiness descended on them both—conjured up it seemed, by the mention of Cora Lansquenet.
Then George said with a rather elaborate air of unconcern:
“Talking of Cora—what about that companion woman of hers? I rather think something ought to be done about her.”
“Done about her? What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s up to the family, so to speak. I mean I’ve been thinking Cora was our Aunt—and it occurred to me that this woman mayn’t find it easy to get another post.”
“That occurred to you, did it?”
“Yes. People are so careful of their skins. I don’t say they’d actually think that this Gilchrist female would take a hatchet to them—but at the back of their minds they’d feel that it might be unlucky. People are superstitious.”
“How odd that you should have thought of all that, George? How would you know about things like that?”
George said drily:
“You forget that I’m a lawyer. I see a lot of the queer illogical side of people. What I’m getting at is, that I think we might do something about the woman, give her a small allowance or something, to tide her over, or