Curtain - Agatha Christie [29]
‘Eyesight,’ I suggested.
He negatived the suggestion immediately. ‘Non-sense. Eyesight’s as good as ever it was. That is – have to wear glasses for reading, of course. But far sight’s all right.’
He repeated a minute or two later: ‘Yes – all right. Not that it matters . . .’ His voice trailed off into an absent-minded mutter.
Miss Cole said, looking round: ‘What a beautiful evening it is.’
She was quite right. The sun was drawing to the west and the light was a rich golden, bringing out the deeper shades of green in the trees in a deep glowing effect. It was an evening, still and calm, and very English, such as one remembers when in far-off tropical countries. I said as much.
Colonel Luttrell agreed eagerly. ‘Yes, yes, often used to think of evenings like this – out in India, you know. Makes you look forward to retiring and settling down, what?’
I nodded. He went on, his voice changing: ‘Yes, settling down, coming home – nothing’s ever quite what you picture it – no – no.’
I thought that that was probably particularly true in his case. He had not pictured himself running a guest house, trying to make it pay, with a nagging wife forever snapping at him and complaining.
We walked slowly towards the house. Norton and Boyd Carrington were sitting on the veranda and the Colonel and I joined them whilst Miss Cole went on into the house.
We chatted for a few minutes. Colonel Luttrell seemed to have brightened up. He made a joke or two and seemed far more cheerful and wide awake than usual.
‘Been a hot day,’ said Norton. ‘I’m thirsty.’
‘Have a drink, you fellows. On the house, what?’ The Colonel sounded eager and happy.
We thanked him and accepted. He got up and went in.
The part of the terrace where we were sitting was just outside the dining-room window, and that window was open.
We heard the Colonel inside opening a cupboard, then heard the squeak of a corkscrew and the subdued pop as the cork of the bottle came out.
And then, sharp and high, came the unofficial voice of Mrs Colonel Luttrell!
‘What are you doing, George?’
The Colonel’s voice was subdued to a mutter. We only heard a mumbled word here and there – ‘fellows outside’ – ‘drink’ –
The sharp, irritating voice burst out indignantly: ‘You’ll do no such thing, George. The idea now. How do you think we’ll ever make this place pay if you go round standing everybody drinks? Drinks here will be paid for. I’ve got a business-head if you haven’t. Why, you’d be bankrupt tomorrow if it wasn’t for me! I’ve got to look after you like a child. Yes, just like a child. You’ve got no sense at all. Give me that bottle. Give it to me, I say.’
Again there was an agonized low protesting mumble. Mrs Luttrell answered snappishly: ‘I don’t care whether they do or they don’t. The bottle’s going back in the cupboard, and I’m going to lock the cupboard too.’
There was the sound of a key being turned in the lock.
‘There now. That’s the way of it.’
This time the Colonel’s voice came more clearly: ‘You’re going too far, Daisy. I won’t have it.’
‘You won’t haveit? And who areyou
I’d liketoknow? Who runs this house? I do. And don’t you forget it.’
There was a faint swish of draperies and Mrs Luttrell evidently flounced out of the room.
It was some few moments before the Colonel reappeared. He looked in those few moments to have grown much older and feebler.
There was not one of us who did not feel deeply sorry for him and who would not willingly have murdered Mrs Luttrell.
‘Awfully sorry, you chaps,’ he said, his voice sounding stiff and unnatural. ‘Seem to have run out of whisky.’
He must have realized that we could not have helped overhearing what had passed. If he had not realized it, our manner would soon have told him. We were all miserably uncomfortable, and Norton quite lost his head, hurriedly saying first that he didn’t really want a drink – too near dinner, wasn’t it – and then elaborately changing the subject and making a series of the most unconnected remarks.