Crooked House - Agatha Christie [34]
My father said drily:
“You say there was no likelihood of criminal prosecution? Why then had you and your wife planned to go abroad without telling anybody of your intention?”
“You know that too?”
“Yes, Mr. Leonides.”
“But don’t you see?” He leaned forward eagerly. “I couldn’t face him with the truth. It would have looked, you see, as if I was asking for money. As though I wanted him to set me on my feet again. He—he was very fond of me. He would have wanted to help. But I couldn’t—I couldn’t go on—it would have meant making a mess of things all over again—I’m no good. I haven’t got the ability. I’m not the man my father was. I’ve always known it. I’ve tried. But it’s no good. I’ve been so miserable—God! you don’t know how miserable I’ve been! Trying to get out of the muddle, hoping I’d just get square, hoping the dear old man would never need to hear about it. And then it came—no more hope of avoiding the crash. Clemency—my wife—she understood, she agreed with me. We thought out this plan. Say nothing to anyone. Go away. And then let the storm break. I’d leave a letter for my father, telling him all about it—telling him how ashamed I was and begging him to forgive me. He’s been so good to me always—you don’t know! But it would be too late then for him to do anything. That’s what I wanted. Not to ask him—or even to seem to ask him for help. Start again on my own somewhere. Live simply and humbly. Grow things. Coffee—fruit. Just have the bare necessities of life—hard on Clemency, but she swore she didn’t mind. She’s wonderful—absolutely wonderful.”
“I see.” My father’s voice was dry. “And what made you change your mind?”
“Change my mind?”
“Yes. What made you decide to go to your father and ask for financial help after all?”
Roger stared at him.
“But I didn’t!”
“Come now, Mr. Leonides.”
“You’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t go to him. He sent for me. He’d heard, somehow, in the City. A rumour, I suppose. But he always knew things. Someone had told him. He tackled me with it. Then, of course, I broke down … I told him everything. I said it wasn’t so much the money—it was the feeling I’d let him down after he’d trusted me.”
Roger swallowed convulsively.
“The dear old man,” he said. “You can’t imagine how good he was to me. No reproaches. Just kindness. I told him I didn’t want help, that I preferred not to have it—that I’d rather go away as I’d planned to do. But he wouldn’t listen. He insisted on coming to the rescue—on putting Associated Catering on its legs again.”
Taverner said sharply:
“You are asking us to believe that your father intended to come to your assistance financially?”
“Certainly he did. He wrote to his brokers then and there, giving them instructions.”
I suppose he saw the incredulity on the two men’s faces. He flushed.
“Look here,” he said, “I’ve still got the letter. I was to post it. But of course later—with—with the shock and confusion, I forgot. I’ve probably got it in my pocket now.”
He drew out his wallet and started hunting through it. Finally he found what he wanted. It was a creased envelope with a stamp on it. It was addressed, as I saw by leaning forward, to Messrs Greatorex and Hanbury.
“Read it for yourselves,” he said, “if you don’t believe me.”
My father tore open the letter. Taverner went round behind him. I did not see the letter then, but I saw it later. It instructed Messrs Greatorex and Hanbury to realize certain investments and asked for a member of the firm to be sent down on the following day to take certain instructions re the affairs of Associated Catering. Some of it was unintelligible to me, but its purpose was clear enough. Aristide Leonides was preparing to put Associated Catering on its feet again.
Taverner said:
“We will give you a receipt for this, Mr. Leonides.”
Roger took the receipt. He got up and said:
“Is that all? You do see how it all was, don’t you?”
Taverner said: