Crooked House - Agatha Christie [60]
It was very interesting to watch. I only wished my eyes could be everywhere at once.
I did not pay much attention to Brenda and Laurence. The provision for Brenda in this will was the same. I watched primarily Roger and Philip, and after them Magda and Clemency.
My first impression was that they all behaved very well.
Philip’s lips were pressed closely together, his handsome head was thrown back against the tall chair in which he was sitting. He did not speak.
Magda, on the contrary, burst into speech as soon as Mr. Gaitskill finished, her rich voice surging over his thin tones like an incoming tide drowning a rivulet.
“Darling Sophia—how extraordinary—how romantic. Fancy old Sweetie Pie being so cunning and deceitful—just like a dear old baby. Didn’t he trust us? Did he think we’d be cross? He never seemed to be fonder of Sophia than the rest of us. But really, it’s most dramatic.”
Suddenly Magda jumped lightly to her feet, danced over to Sophia and swept her a very grand court curtsey.
“Madame Sophia, your penniless and broken-down-old mother begs you for alms.” Her voice took on a Cockney whine. “Spare us a copper, old dear. Your Ma wants to go to the pictures.”
Her hand, crooked into a claw, twitched urgently at Sophia.
Philip, without moving, said through stiff lips:
“Please, Magda, there’s no call for any unnecessary clowning.”
“Oh, but Roger,” cried Magda, suddenly turning to Roger. “Poor darling Roger. Sweetie was going to come to the rescue and then, before he could do it, he died. And now Roger doesn’t get anything. Sophia,” she turned imperiously, “you simply must do something about Roger.”
“No,” said Clemency. She had moved forward a step. Her face was defiant. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Roger came shambling over to Sophia like a large amiable bear.
He took her hands affectionately.
“I don’t want a penny, my dear girl. As soon as this business is cleared up—or has died down, which is more what it looks like—then Clemency and I are off to the West Indies and the simple life. If I’m ever in extremis I’ll apply to the head of the family”—he grinned at her engagingly—“but until then I don’t want a penny. I’m a very simple person really, my dear—you ask Clemency if I’m not.”
An unexpected voice broke in. It was Edith de Haviland’s.
“That’s all very well,” she said. “But you’ve got to pay some attention to the look of the thing. If you go bankrupt, Roger, and then slink off to the ends of the earth without Sophia’s holding out a helping hand, there will be a good deal of ill-natured talk that will not be pleasant for Sophia.”
“What does public opinion matter?” asked Clemency scornfully.
“We know it doesn’t to you, Clemency,” said Edith de Haviland sharply, “but Sophia lives in this world. She’s a girl with good brains and a good heart, and I’ve no doubt that Aristide was quite right in his selection of her to hold the family fortunes—though to pass over your two sons in their lifetime seems odd to our English ideas—but I think it would be very unfortunate if it got about that she behaved greedily over this—and had let Roger crash without trying to help him.”
Roger went over to his aunt. He put his arms round her and hugged her.
“Aunt Edith,” he said. “You are a darling—and a stubborn fighter, but you don’t begin to understand. Clemency and I know what we want—and what we don’t want!”
Clemency, a sudden spot of colour showing in each thin cheek, stood defiantly facing them.
“None of you,” she said, “understand Roger. You never have! I don’t suppose you ever will! Come on, Roger.”
They left the room as Mr. Gaitskill began clearing his throat and arranging his papers. His countenance was one of deep disapprobation. He had disliked the foregoing scenes very much. That was clear.
My eyes came at last to Sophia herself. She stood straight and handsome by the fireplace, her chin up, her eyes steady. She had just been left an immense fortune, but my principal thought was how alone she had suddenly