Curtain - Agatha Christie [49]
Elizabeth Cole and Norton – yes, it might be.
And suddenly, from nowhere, a vague feeling of uneasiness and disquiet assailed me. It was not safe – it was not right – to plan happiness here. There was something malignant about the air of Styles. I felt it now – this minute, felt suddenly old and tired – yes, and afraid.
A minute later the feeling passed. Nobody had noticed it, I think, except Boyd Carrington. He said to me in an undertone a few minutes later: ‘Anything the matter, Hastings?’
‘No, why?’
‘Well – you looked – I can’t quite explain it.’
‘Just a feeling – apprehension.’
‘A premonition of evil?’
‘Yes, if you like to put it that way. A feeling that – that something was going to happen.’
‘Funny. I’ve felt that once or twice. Any idea what?’ He was watching me narrowly.
I shook my head. For indeed I had had no definite apprehension of any particular thing. It had only been a wave of deep depression and fear.
Then Judith had come out of the house. She had come slowly, her head held high, her lips pressed together, her face grave and beautiful.
I thought how unlike she was to either me or Cinders. She looked like some young priestess. Norton felt something of that too. He said to her: ‘You look like your namesake might have looked before she cut off the head of Holofernes.’
Judith smiled and raised her eyebrows a little. ‘I can’t remember now why she wanted to.’
‘Oh, strictly on the highest moral grounds for the good of the community.’
The light banter in his tone annoyed Judith. She flushed and went past him to sit by Franklin. She said: ‘Mrs Franklin is feeling much better. She wants us all to come up and have coffee with her this evening.’
IV
Mrs Franklin was certainly a creature of moods, I thought, as we trooped upstairs after dinner. Having made everyone’s life unbearable all day, she was now sweetness itself to everybody.
She was dressed in a negligee of pale eau-de-Nil and was lying on her chaise-longue. Beside her was a small revolving bookcase-table with the coffee apparatus set out. Her fingers, deft and white, dealt with the ritual of coffee making, with some slight aid from Nurse Craven. We were all there with the exception of Poirot who always retired before dinner, Allerton who had not returned from Ipswich, and Mrs and Colonel Luttrell who had remained downstairs.
The aroma of coffee came to our noses – a delicious smell. The coffee at Styles was an uninteresting muddy fluid, so we all looked forward to Mrs Franklin’s brew with freshly ground berries.
Franklin sat on the other side of the table handing the cups as she filled them. Boyd Carrington stood by the foot of the sofa, Elizabeth Cole and Norton were by the window. Nurse Craven had retired to the background by the head of the bed. I was sitting in an armchair wrestling with The Times crossword, and reading out the clues.
‘Even love or third party risk?’ I read out. ‘Eight letters.’
‘Probably an anagram,’ said Franklin.
We thought for a minute. I went on. ‘The chaps between the hills are unkind.’
‘Tormentor,’ said Boyd Carrington quickly. ‘Quotation: “And Echo whate’er is asked her answers” – blank. Tennyson. Five letters.’
‘Where,’ suggested Mrs Franklin. ‘Surely that’s right. “And Echo answers where”?’
I was doubtful. ‘It would make a word end in “W”.’
‘Well, lots of words end in “W”. How and now and snow.’
Elizabeth Cole said from the window: ‘The Tennyson quotation is: “And Echo whate’er is asked her answers Death”.’
I heard a quick sharp intake of breath behind me. I looked up. It was Judith. She went past us to the window and out upon the balcony.
I said, as I wrote the last clue in: ‘Even love can’t be an anagram. The second letter now is “A”.’
‘What’s the clue again?’
‘Even love or third party risk? Blank A and six blanks.’
‘Paramour,’ said Boyd Carrington.
I heard the teaspoon rattle on Barbara Franklin’s saucer. I went on to the next clue.
‘“Jealousy is a green-eyed monster,