After the Funeral - Agatha Christie [96]
“You killed her—in that brutal way—for five thousand pounds?” Susan’s voice was incredulous.
“Five thousand pounds,” said Poirot, “would have rented and equipped a tea shop….”
Miss Gilchrist turned to him.
“At least,” she said. “You do understand. It was the only chance I’d ever get. I had to have a capital sum.” Her voice vibrated with the force and obsession of her dream. “I was going to call it the Palm Tree. And have little camels as menu holders. One can occasionally get quite nice china—export rejects—not that awful white utility stuff. I meant to start it in some nice neighbourhood where nice people would come in. I had thought of Rye… Or perhaps Chichester… I’m sure I could have made a success of it.” She paused a minute, then added musingly, “Oak tables—and little basket chairs with striped red and white cushions….”
For a few moments, the tea shop that would never be, seemed more real than the Victorian solidity of the drawing room at Enderby….
It was Inspector Morton who broke the spell.
Miss Gilchrist turned to him quite politely.
“Oh, certainly,” she said. “At once. I don’t want to give any trouble, I’m sure. After all, if I can’t have the Palm Tree, nothing really seems to matter very much….”
She went out of the room with him and Susan said, her voice still shaken:
“I’ve never imagined a ladylike murderer. It’s horrible….”
Twenty-five
“But I don’t understand about the wax flowers,” said Rosamund.
She fixed Poirot with large reproachful blue eyes.
They were at Helen’s flat in London. Helen herself was resting on the sofa and Rosamund and Poirot were having tea with her.
“I don’t see that wax flowers had anything to do with it,” said Rosamund. “Or the malachite table.”
“The malachite table, no. But the wax flowers were Miss Gilchrist’s second mistake. She said how nice they looked on the malachite table. And you see, Madame, she could not have seen them there. Because they had been broken and put away before she arrived with the Timothy Abernethies. So she could only have seen them when she was there as Cora Lansquenet.”
“That was stupid of her, wasn’t it?” said Rosamund.
Poirot shook a forefinger at her.
“It shows you, Madame, the dangers of conversations. It is a profound belief of mine that if you can induce a person to talk to you for long enough, on any subject whatever! sooner or later they will give themselves away. Miss Gilchrist did.”
“I shall have to be careful,” said Rosamund thoughtfully.
Then she brightened up.
“Did you know? I’m going to have a baby.”
“Aha! So that is the meaning of Harley Street and Regent’s Park?”
“Yes. I was so upset, you know, and so surprised—that I just had to go somewhere and think.”
“You said, I remember, that that does not very often happen.”
“Well, it’s much easier not to. But this time I had to decide about the future. And I’ve decided to leave the stage and just be a mother.”
“A role that will suit you admirably. Already I foresee delightful pictures in the Sketch and the Tatler.”
Rosamund smiled happily.
“Yes, it’s wonderful. Do you know, Michael is delighted. I didn’t really think he would be.”
She paused and added:
“Susan’s got the malachite table. I thought, as I was having a baby—”
She left the sentence unfinished.
“Susan’s cosmetic business promises well,” said Helen. “I think she is all set for a big success.”
“Yes, she was born to succeed,” said Poirot. “She is like her uncle.”
“You mean Richard, I suppose,” said Rosamund. “Not Timothy?”
“Assuredly not like Timothy,” said Poirot.
They laughed.
“Greg’s away somewhere,” said Rosamund. “Having a rest cure Susan says?”
She looked inquiringly at Poirot who said nothing.
“I can’t think why he kept on saying he’d killed Uncle Richard,” said Rosamund. “Do you think it was a form of Exhibitionism?”
Poirot