Caribbean Mystery - Agatha Christie [58]
“What it amounts to, Tim, is just this. I advise you most strongly to take your wife to see a good specialist.”
Tim flushed angrily.
“You mean a mental specialist, I suppose?”
“Now, now, don’t be upset by labels. A neurologist, a psychologist, someone who specializes in what the layman calls nervous breakdowns. There’s a good man in Kingston. Or there’s New York of course. There is something that is causing these nervous terrors of your wife’s. Something perhaps for which she hardly knows the reason herself. Get advice about her, Tim. Get advice as soon as possible.”
He clapped his hand on the young man’s shoulder and got up.
“There’s no immediate worry. Your wife has good friends and we’ll all be keeping an eye on her.”
“She won’t—you don’t think she’ll try it again?”
“I think it most unlikely,” said Dr. Graham.
“You can’t be sure,” said Tim.
“One can never be sure,” said Dr. Graham, “that’s one of the first things you learn in my profession.” Again he laid a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Don’t worry too much.”
“That’s easy to say,” said Tim as the doctor went out of the door. “Don’t worry, indeed! What does he think I’m made of?”
Twenty-one
JACKSON ON COSMETICS
“You’re sure you don’t mind, Miss Marple?” said Evelyn Hillingdon.
“No, indeed, my dear,” said Miss Marple. “I’m only too delighted to be of use in any way. At my age, you know, one feels very useless in the world. Especially when I am in a place like this, just enjoying myself. No duties of any kind. No, I’ll be delighted to sit with Molly. You go along on your expedition. Pelican Point, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Evelyn. “Both Edward and I love it. I never get tired of seeing the birds diving down, catching up the fish. Tim’s with Molly now. But he’s got things to do and he doesn’t seem to like her being left alone.”
“He’s quite right,” said Miss Marple. “I wouldn’t in his place. One never knows, does one? When anyone has attempted anything of that kind—Well, go along, my dear.”
Evelyn went off to join a little group that was waiting for her. Her husband, the Dysons and three or four other people. Miss Marple checked her knitting requirements, saw that she had all she wanted with her, and walked over towards the Kendals’ bungalow.
As she came up on to the loggia she heard Tim’s voice through the half-open french window.
“If you’d only tell me why you did it, Molly. What made you? Was it anything I did? There must be some reason. If you’d only tell me.”
Miss Marple paused. There was a little pause inside before Molly spoke. Her voice was flat and tired.
“I don’t know, Tim, I really don’t know. I suppose—something came over me.”
Miss Marple tapped on the window and walked in.
“Oh, there you are, Miss Marple. It is very good of you.”
“Not at all,” said Miss Marple. “I’m delighted to be of any help. Shall I sit here in this chair? You’re looking much better, Molly. I’m so glad.”
“I’m all right,” said Molly. “Quite all right. Just—oh, just sleepy.”
“I shan’t talk,” said Miss Marple. “You just lie quiet and rest. I’ll get on with my knitting.”
Tim Kendal threw her a grateful glance and went out. Miss Marple established herself in her chair.
Molly was lying on her left side. She had a half-stupefied, exhausted look. She said in a voice that was almost a whisper:
“It’s very kind of you, Miss Marple. I—I think I’ll go to sleep.”
She half turned away on her pillows and closed her eyes. Her breathing grew more regular though it was still far from normal. Long experience of nursing made Miss Marple almost automatically straighten the sheet and tuck it under the mattress on her side of the bed. As she did so her hand encountered something hard and rectangular under the mattress. Rather surprised she took hold of this and pulled it out. It was a book. Miss Marple threw a quick glance at the girl in the bed, but she lay there utterly quiescent. She was evidently asleep. Miss