After the Funeral - Agatha Christie [74]
“Don’t be a fool.” Timothy swallowed the brandy. “Go to bed? I intend to protect my interests.”
“Really, George, I’m surprised at you,” said Maude. “What your uncle says is perfectly true. His wishes come first. If he wants the Spode dessert service he shall have it!”
“It’s quite hideous anyway,” said Susan.
“Hold your tongue, Susan,” said Timothy.
The thin young man who sat beside Susan raised his head. In a voice that was a little shriller than his ordinary tones, he said:
“Don’t speak like that to my wife!”
He half rose from his seat.
Susan said quickly: “It’s all right, Greg. I don’t mind.”
“But I do.”
Helen said: “I think it would be graceful on your part, George, to let your uncle have the dessert service.”
Timothy spluttered indignantly: “There’s no ‘letting’ about it!”
But George, with a slight bow to Helen said, “Your wish is law, Aunt Helen. I abandon my claim.”
“You didn’t really want it, anyway, did you?” said Helen.
He cast a sharp glance at her, then grinned:
“The trouble with you, Aunt Helen, is that you’re too sharp by half! You see more than you’re meant to see. Don’t worry, Uncle Timothy, the Spode is yours. Just my idea of fun.”
“Fun, indeed.” Maude Abernethie was indignant. “Your uncle might have had a heart attack!”
“Don’t you believe it,” said George cheerfully. “Uncle Timothy will probably outlive us all. He’s what is known as a creaking gate.”
Timothy leaned forward balefully.
“I don’t wonder,” he said, “that Richard was disappointed in you.”
“What’s that?” The good humour went out of George’s face.
“You came up here after Mortimer died, expecting to step into his shoes—expecting that Richard would make you his heir, didn’t you? But my poor brother soon took your measure. He knew where the money would go if you had control of it. I’m surprised that he even left you a part of his fortune. He knew where it would go. Horses, gambling, Monte Carlo, foreign casinos. Perhaps worse. He suspected you of not being straight, didn’t he?”
George, a white dint appearing each side of his nose, said quietly:
“Hadn’t you better be careful of what you are saying?”
“I wasn’t well enough to come here for the funeral,” said Timothy slowly, “but Maude told me what Cora said. Cora always was a fool—but there may have been something in it! And if so, I know who I’d suspect—”
“Timothy!” Maude stood up, solid, calm, a tower of forcefulness. “You have had a very trying evening. You must consider your health. I can’t have you getting ill again. Come up with me. You must take a sedative and go straight to bed. Timothy and I, Helen, will take the Spode dessert service and the Boule Cabinet as mementoes of Richard. There is no objection to that, I hope?”
Her glance swept round the company. Nobody spoke, and she marched out of the room supporting Timothy with a hand under his elbow, waving aside Miss Gilchrist who was hovering half-heartedly by the door.
George broke the silence after they had departed.
“Femme formidable!” he said. “That describes Aunt Maude exactly. I should hate ever to impede her triumphal progress.”
Miss Gilchrist sat down again rather uncomfortably and murmured:
“Mrs. Abernethie is always so kind.”
The remark fell rather flat.
Michael Shane laughed suddenly and said: “You know, I’m enjoying all this! ‘The Voysey Inheritance’ to the life. By the way, Rosamund and I want that malachite table in the drawing room.”
“Oh, no,” cried Susan. “I want that.”
“Here we go again,” said George, raising his eyes to the ceiling.
“Well, we needn’t get angry about it,” said Susan. “The reason I want it is for my new Beauty shop. Just a note of colour—and I shall put a great bouquet of wax flowers on it. It would look wonderful. I can find wax flowers easily enough, but a green malachite table isn’t so common.”
“But, darling,” said Rosamund, “that’s just why we want it. For the new set. As you say, a note of colour—and so absolutely period. And either wax flowers or stuffed hummingbirds. It will be absolutely right.”
“I see what you mean, Rosamund,