Crooked House - Agatha Christie [61]
So far she had not spoken—indeed she had been given no chance, but very soon now speech would be forced from her. Already, beneath the affection of her family, I could sense latent hostility. Even in Magda’s graceful playacting there had been, I fancied, a subtle malice. And there were other darker undercurrents that had not yet come to the surface.
Mr. Gaitskill’s throat clearings gave way to precise and measured speech.
“Allow me to congratulate you, Sophia,” he said. “You are a very wealthy woman. I should not advise any—er—precipitate action. I can advance you what ready money is needed for current expenses. If you wish to discuss future arrangements I shall be happy to give you the best advice in my power. Make an appointment with me at Lincoln’s Inn when you have had plenty of time to think things over.”
“Roger,” began Edith de Haviland obstinately.
Mr. Gaitskill snapped in quickly.
“Roger,” he said, “must fend for himself. He’s a grown man—er, fifty-four, I believe. And Aristide Leonides was quite right, you know. He isn’t a business man. Never will be.” He looked at Sophia. “If you put Associated Catering on its legs again, don’t be under any illusions that Roger can run it successfully.”
“I shouldn’t dream of putting Associated Catering on its legs again,” said Sophia.
It was the first time she had spoken. Her voice was crisp and businesslike.
“It would be an idiotic thing to do,” she added.
Gaitskill shot a glance at her from under his brows, and smiled to himself. Then he wished everyone goodbye and went out.
There were a few moments of silence, a realization that the family circle was alone with itself.
Then Philip got up stiffly.
“I must get back to the library,” he said. “I have lost a lot of time.”
“Father—” Sophia spoke uncertainly, almost pleadingly.
I felt her quiver and draw back as Philip turned cold hostile eyes on her.
“You must forgive me not congratulating you,” he said. “But this has been rather a shock to me. I would not have believed that my father would have so humiliated me—that he would have disregarded my lifetime’s devotion—yes—devotion.”
For the first time, the natural man broke through the crust of icy restraint.
“My God,” he cried. “How could he do this to me? He was always unfair to me—always.”
“Oh no, Philip, no, you mustn’t think that,” cried Edith de Haviland. “Don’t regard this as another slight. It isn’t. When people get old, they turn naturally to a younger generation … I assure you it’s only that … and besides, Aristide had a very keen business sense. I’ve often heard him say that two lots of death duties—”
“He never cared for me,” said Philip. His voice was low and hoarse. “It was always Roger—Roger. Well, at least”—an extraordinary expression of spite suddenly marred his handsome features—“father realized that Roger was a fool and a failure. He cut Roger out, too.”
“What about me?” said Eustace.
I had hardly noticed Eustace until now, but I perceived that he was trembling with some violent emotion. His face was crimson, there were, I thought, tears in his eyes. His voice shook as it rose hysterically.
“It’s a shame!” said Eustace. “It’s a damned shame! How dare grandfather do this to me? How dare he? I was his only grandson. How dare he pass me over for Sophia? It’s not fair. I hate him. I hate him. I’ll never forgive him as long as I live. Beastly tyrannical old man. I wanted him to die. I wanted to get out of this house. I wanted to be my own master. And now I’ve got to be bullied and messed around by Sophia, and be made to look a fool. I wish I was dead….”
His voice broke and he rushed out of the room.
Edith de Haviland gave a sharp click of her tongue.
“No self-control,”