Black Coffee - Agatha Christie [44]
‘Yes,’ Hastings told her. He joined her on the settee. ‘It’s Inspector Japp of Scotland Yard. He’s gone to see your cousin now, to ask him a few questions.’
‘Will he want to ask me questions, do you think?’
‘I don’t imagine so. But even if he does,’ Hastings assured her, ‘there’s nothing to be alarmed about.’
‘Oh, I’m not alarmed,’ Barbara declared. ‘In fact, I think it would be absolutely wizard! But it would be so tempting to embroider a bit, just to make a sensation. I adore sensation, don’t you?’
Hastings looked puzzled. ‘I – I really don’t know. No, I don’t think I adore sensation.’
Barbara Amory regarded him quizzically. ‘You know, you intrigue me,’ she declared. ‘Where have you been all your life?’
‘Well, I’ve spent several years in South America.’
‘I knew it!’ Barbara exclaimed. She gestured, with her hand over her eyes. ‘The wide open spaces. That’s why you’re so deliciously old-fashioned.’
Hastings now looked offended. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said stiffly.
‘Oh, but I adore it,’ Barbara hastened to explain. ‘I think you’re a pet, an absolute pet.’
‘What exactly do you mean by old-fashioned?’
‘Well,’ Barbara continued, ‘I’m sure you believe in all sorts of stuffy old things, like decency, and not telling lies except for a very good reason, and putting a good face on things.’
‘Quite,’ agreed Hastings in some surprise. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Me? Well, for example, do you expect me to keep up the fiction that Uncle Claud’s death is a regrettable incident?’
‘Isn’t it?’ Hastings sounded shocked.
‘My dear!’ exclaimed Barbara. She rose, and perched herself on the edge of the coffee table. ‘As far as I’m concerned, it’s the most marvellous thing that ever happened. You don’t know what an old skinflint he was. You don’t know how he ground us all down!’ She stopped, overcome by the strength of her feelings.
Embarrassed, Hastings began, ‘I – I – wish you wouldn’t –’ but was interrupted by Barbara. ‘You don’t like honesty?’ she asked. ‘That’s just what I thought you’d be like. You’d prefer me to be wearing black instead of this, and to be talking in a hushed voice about “Poor Uncle Claud! So good to us all.” ’
‘Really!’ Hastings exclaimed.
‘Oh, you needn’t pretend,’ Barbara went on, ‘I knew that’s what you’d turn out to be like, if I got to know you properly. But what I say is that life isn’t long enough for all that lying and pretence. Uncle Claud wasn’t good to us at all. I’m certain we’re all glad he’s dead, really, in our heart of hearts. Yes, even Aunt Caroline. Poor dear, she’s stood him longer than any of us.’
Barbara suddenly calmed down. When she spoke again, it was in a milder tone. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking. Scientifically speaking, Aunt Caroline might have poisoned Uncle Claud. That heart attack last night was really very queer. I don’t believe it was a heart attack at all. Just suppose that suppressing her feelings all these years had led to Aunt Caroline developing some powerful complex –’
‘I suppose it’s theoretically possible,’ Hastings murmured guardedly.
‘I wonder who pinched the formula, though,’ Barbara continued. ‘Everyone says it was the Italian, but personally I suspect Tredwell.’
‘Your butler? Good heavens! Why?’
‘Because he never went near the study!’
Hastings looked perplexed. ‘But then –’
‘I’m very orthodox in some ways,’ Barbara remarked. ‘I’ve been brought up to suspect the least likely person. That’s who it is in all the best murder mysteries. And Tredwell is certainly the least likely person.’
‘Except you, perhaps,’ Hastings suggested with a laugh.
‘Oh, me!’ Barbara smiled uncertainly as she rose and moved away from him. ‘How curious –’ she murmured to herself.
‘What’s curious?’ Hastings asked, rising to his feet.
‘Something I’ve just thought of. Let