Death in the Clouds - Agatha Christie [42]
This aimless saunter of his round the estate began gradually to soothe his jangled nerves. He stroked the neck of his favourite hunter, had a word with the groom, then he went to the Home Farm and had a chat with the farmer’s wife. He was walking along a narrow lane, Betsy at his heels, when he met Venetia Kerr on her bay mare.
Venetia looked her best upon a horse. Lord Horbury looked up at her with admiration, fondness and a queer sense of homecoming.
He said, ‘Hullo, Venetia.’
‘Hullo, Stephen.’
‘Where’ve you been? Out in the five-acre?’
‘Yes, she’s coming along nicely, isn’t she?’
‘First-rate. Have you seen that two-year-old of mine I bought at Chattisley’s sale?’
They talked horses for some minutes, then he said:
‘By the way, Cicely’s here.’
‘Here, at Horbury?’
Against Venetia’s code to show surprise, but she could not quite keep the undertone of it out of her voice.
‘Yes. Turned up last night.’
There was a silence between them. Then Stephen said, ‘You were at that inquest, Venetia. How—how—er—did it go?’
She considered a moment.
‘Well, nobody was saying very much, if you know what I mean.’
‘Police weren’t giving anything away?’
‘No.’
Stephen said, ‘Must have been rather an unpleasant business for you.’
‘Well, I didn’t exactly enjoy it. But it wasn’t too devastating. The coroner was quite decent.’
Stephen slashed absent-mindedly at the hedge.
‘I say, Venetia, any idea—have you, I mean—as to who did it?’
Venetia Kerr shook her head slowly.
‘No.’ She paused a minute, seeking how best and most tactfully to put into words what she wanted to say. She achieved it at last with a little laugh. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t Cicely or me. That I do know. She’d have spotted me and I’d have spotted her.’
Stephen laughed too.
‘That’s all right, then,’ he said cheerfully.
He passed it off as a joke, but she heard the relief in his voice. So he had been thinking—
She switched her thoughts away.
‘Venetia,’ said Stephen, ‘I’ve known you a long time, haven’t I?’
‘H’m, yes. Do you remember those awful dancing classes we used to go to as children?’
‘Do I not? I feel I can say things to you—’
‘Of course you can.’ She hesitated, then went on in a calm, matter-of-fact tone: ‘It’s Cicely, I suppose?’
‘Yes. Look here, Venetia. Was Cicely mixed up with this woman Giselle in any way?’
Venetia answered slowly.
‘I don’t know. I’ve been in the South of France, remember. I haven’t heard the Le Pinet gossip yet.’
‘What do you think?’
‘Well, candidly, I shouldn’t be surprised.’
Stephen nodded thoughtfully. Venetia said gently:
‘Need it worry you? I mean you live pretty semi-detached lives, don’t you? This business is her affair, not yours.’
‘As long as she’s my wife, it’s bound to be my business too.’
‘Can’t you—er—agree to a divorce?’
‘A trumped-up business, you mean? I doubt if she’d accept it.’
‘Would you divorce her if you had the chance?’
‘If I had a cause I certainly would.’
He spoke grimly.
‘I suppose,’ said Venetia thoughtfully, ‘she knows that.’
‘Yes.’
They were both silent. Venetia thought, ‘She has the morals of a cat! I know that well enough. But she’s careful. She’s shrewd as they make ’em.’ Aloud she said, ‘So there’s nothing doing?’
He shook his head. Then he said, ‘If I were free, Venetia, would you marry me?’
Looking very straight between her horse’s ears, Venetia said in a voice carefully devoid of emotion:
‘I suppose I would.’
Stephen! She’d always loved Stephen, always since the old days of dancing classes and cubbing and birds’ nesting. And Stephen had been fond of her, but not fond enough to prevent him from falling desperately, wildly, madly in love with a clever calculating cat of a chorus girl…
Stephen said, ‘We could have a marvellous life together…’
Pictures floated before his eyes: hunting—tea and muffins—the smell of wet earth and leaves—children…All the things that Cicely could never share with him, that Cicely would never give him. A kind of mist came over his eyes. Then he heard Venetia speaking, still in