Caribbean Mystery - Agatha Christie [30]
And again the soft rich chuckle rolled out on the night.
II
“Evelyn….”
“Yes?”
Evelyn Hillingdon spoke mechanically, without interest. She did not look at her husband.
“Evelyn, would you mind if we chucked all this and went home to England?”
She had been combing her short dark hair. Now her hands came down from her head sharply. She turned towards him.
“You mean—but we’ve only just come. We’ve not been out here in the islands for more than three weeks.”
“I know. But—would you mind?”
Her eyes searched him incredulously.
“You really want to go back to England? Back home?”
“Yes.”
“Leaving—Lucky?”
He winced.
“You’ve known all the time, I suppose, that—that it was going on?”
“Pretty well. Yes.”
“You’ve never said anything.”
“Why should I? We had the whole thing out years ago. Neither of us wanted to make a break. So we agreed to go our separate ways—but keep up the show in public.” Then she added before he could speak, “But why are you so set on going back to England now?”
“Because I’m at breaking point. I can’t stick it any longer, Evelyn. I can’t.” The quiet Edward Hillingdon was transformed. His hands shook, he swallowed, his calm unemotional face seemed distorted by pain.
“For God’s sake, Edward, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter except that I want to get out of here—”
“You fell wildly in love with Lucky. And now you’ve got over it. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yes. I don’t suppose you’ll ever feel the same.”
“Oh let’s not go into that now! I want to understand what’s upsetting you so much, Edward.”
“I’m not particularly upset.”
“But you are. Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No, it isn’t,” said Evelyn. “Let’s put it in plain concrete terms. You’ve had an affair with a woman. That happens often enough. And now it’s over. Or isn’t it over? Perhaps it isn’t over on her side. Is that it? Does Greg know about it? I’ve often wondered.”
“I don’t know,” said Edward. “He’s never said anything. He always seems friendly enough.”
“Men can be extraordinarily obtuse,” said Evelyn thoughtfully. “Or else—Perhaps Greg has got an outside interest of his own!”
“He’s made passes at you, hasn’t he?” said Edward. “Answer me—I know he has—”
“Oh yes,” said Evelyn, carelessly, “but he makes passes at everyone. That’s just Greg. It doesn’t ever really mean much, I imagine. It’s just part of the Greg he-man act.”
“Do you care for him, Evelyn? I’d rather know the truth.”
“Greg? I’m quite fond of him—he amuses me. He’s a good friend.”
“And that’s all? I wish I could believe you.”
“I can’t really see how it can possibly matter to you,” said Evelyn dryly.
“I suppose I deserve that.”
Evelyn walked to the window, looked out across the veranda and came back again.
“I wish you would tell me what’s really upsetting you, Edward.”
“I’ve told you.”
“I wonder.”
“You can’t understand, I suppose, how extraordinary a temporary madness of this kind can seem to you after you’ve got over it.”
“I can try, I suppose. But what’s worrying me now is that Lucky seems to have got some kind of stranglehold upon you. She’s not just a discarded mistress. She’s a tigress with claws. You must tell me the truth, Edward. It’s the only way if you want me to stand by you.”
Edward said in a low voice: “If I don’t get away from her soon—I shall kill her.”
“Kill Lucky? Why?”
“Because of what she made me do….”
“What did she make you do?”
“I helped her to commit a murder—”
The words were out—There was silence—Evelyn stared at him.
“Do you know what you are saying?”
“Yes. I didn’t know I was doing it. There were things she asked me to get for her—at the chemist’s. I didn’t know—I hadn’t the least idea what she wanted them for—She got me to copy out a prescription she had….”
“When was this?”
“Four years ago. When we were in Martinique. When—when Greg’s wife—”
“You mean Greg’s first wife—Gail? You mean Lucky poisoned her?”
“Yes—and I helped her. When I realized—”
Evelyn interrupted him.
“When you realized what had happened, Lucky pointed out to you that you had written out the prescription, that you had got the drugs, that you and