Appointment With Death - Agatha Christie [25]
She realized, half-humorously, that she was over-tired and on edge. A wash in hot water and a dusting of powder over her face and she felt herself again—cool, poised, and ashamed of her recent panic.
She passed a comb through her thick black hair, squinting sideways at her reflection in the wavering light of a small oil-lamp in a very inadequate glass.
Then she pushed aside the tent-flap and came out into the night prepared to descend to the big marquee below.
‘You—here?’
It was a low cry—dazed, incredulous.
She turned to look straight into Raymond Boynton’s eyes. So amazed they were! And something in them held her silent and almost afraid. Such an unbelievable joy…It was as though he had seen a vision of Paradise—wondering, dazed, thankful, humble! Never, in all her life, was Sarah to forget that look. So might the damned look up and see Paradise…
He said again: ‘You…’
It did something to her—that low, vibrant tone. It made her heart turn over in her breast. It made her feel shy, afraid, humble and yet suddenly arrogantly glad. She said quite simply: ‘Yes.’
He came nearer—still dazed—still only half believing.
Then suddenly he took her hand.
‘It is you,’ he said. ‘You’re real. I thought at first you were a ghost—because I’d been thinking about you so much.’ He paused and then said, ‘I love you, you know…I have from the moment I saw you in the train. I know that now. And I want you to know it so that—so that you’ll know it isn’t me—the real me—who—who behaves so caddishly. You see I can’t answer for myself even now. I might do–anything! I might pass you by or cut you, but I do want you to know that it isn’t me—the real me—who is responsible for that. It’s my nerves. I can’t depend on them…When she tells me to do things—I do them! My nerves make me! You will understand, won’t you? Despise me if you have to—’
She interrupted him. Her voice was low and unexpectedly sweet. ‘I won’t despise you.’
‘All the same, I’m pretty despicable! I ought to—to be able to behave like a man.’
It was partly an echo of Gerard’s advice, but more out of her own knowledge and hope that Sarah answered—and behind the sweetness of her voice there was a ring of certainty and conscious authority.
‘You will now.’
‘Shall I?’ His voice was wistful. ‘Perhaps…’
‘You’ll have courage now. I’m sure of it.’
He drew himself up—flung back his head.
‘Courage? Yes, that’s all that’s needed. Courage!’
Suddenly he bent his head, touched her hand with his lips. A minute later he had left her.
Chapter 12
Sarah went down to the big marquee. She found her three fellow travelers there. They were sitting at table eating. The guide was explaining that there was another party here.
‘They came two days ago. Go day after tomorrow. Americans. The mother, very fat, very difficult get here! Carried in chair by bearers—they say very hard work—they get very hot—yes.’
Sarah gave a sudden spurt of laughter. Of course, take it properly, the whole thing was funny!
The fat dragoman looked at her gratefully. He was not finding his task too easy. Lady Westholme had contradicted him out of Baedeker three times that day and had now found fault with the type of bed provided. He was grateful to the one member of his party who seemed to be unaccountably in a good temper.
‘Ha!’ said Lady Westholme. ‘I think these people were at the Solomon. I recognized the old mother as we arrived here. I think I saw you talking to her at the hotel, Miss King.’
Sarah blushed guiltily, hoping Lady Westholme had not overheard much of that conversation.
‘Really, what possessed me!’ she thought to herself in an agony.
In the meantime Lady Westholme had made a pronouncement. ‘Not interesting people at all. Very provincial,’ she said.
Miss Pierce made eager sycophantish noises and Lady Westholme embarked on a history of various interesting and prominent Americans whom she had met recently.
The weather being so unusually hot for the time of year, an early start was arranged