Destination Unknown - Agatha Christie [41]
Hilary felt moved to say so. She and Mrs Baker were standing a little apart from the rest.
‘One doesn’t know,’ said Hilary, ‘in the least what you’re really like?’
‘Why should you?’
‘Yes. Why should I? And yet, you know, I feel I ought to. We’ve travelled together in rather intimate circumstances and it seems odd to me that I know nothing about you. Nothing, I mean, of the essential you, of what you feel and think, of what you like and dislike, of what’s important to you and what isn’t.’
‘You’ve such a probing mind, my dear,’ said Mrs Baker. ‘If you’ll take my advice, you’ll curb that tendency.’
‘I don’t even know what part of the United States you come from.’
‘That doesn’t matter either. I’ve finished with my own country. There are reasons why I can never go back there. If I can pay off a grudge against that country, I’ll enjoy doing it.’
For just a second or two malevolence showed both in her expression and in the tone of her voice. Then it relaxed once more into cheerful tourist tones.
‘Well, so long, Mrs Betterton, I hope you have a very agreeable reunion with your husband.’
Hilary said helplessly:
‘I don’t even know where I am, what part of the world, I mean.’
‘Oh, that’s easy. There needs to be no concealment about that now. A remote spot in the High Atlas. That’s near enough–’
Mrs Baker moved away and started saying goodbye to the others. With a final gay wave of her hand she walked out across the tarmac. The plane had been refuelled and the pilot was standing waiting for her. A faint cold chill went over Hilary. Here, she felt, was her last link with the outside world. Peters, standing near her, seemed to sense her reaction.
‘The place of no return,’ he said softly. ‘That’s us, I guess.’
Dr Barron said softly:
‘Have you still courage, Madame, or do you at this moment want to run after your American friend and climb with her into the plane and go back–back to the world you have left?’
‘Could I go if I wanted to?’ asked Hilary.
The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders.
‘One wonders.’
‘Shall I call to her?’ asked Andy Peters.
‘Of course not,’ said Hilary sharply.
Helga Needheim said scornfully:
‘There is no room here for women who are weaklings.’
‘She is not a weakling,’ said Dr Barron softly, ‘but she asks herself questions as any intelligent woman would do.’ He stressed the word ‘intelligent’ as though it were a reflection upon the German woman. She, however, was unaffected by his tone. She despised all Frenchmen and was happily assured of her own worth. Ericsson said, in his high nervous voice:
‘When one has at last reached freedom, can one even contemplate going back?’
Hilary said:
‘But if it is not possible to go back, or to choose to go back, then it is not freedom!’
One of the servants came to them and said:
‘If you please, the cars are ready now to start.’
They went out through the opposite door of the building. Two Cadillac cars were standing there with uniformed chauffeurs. Hilary indicated a preference for sitting in front with the chauffeur. She explained the swinging motion of a large car occasionally made her feel car-sick. This explanation seemed to be accepted easily enough. As they drove along Hilary made a little desultory conversation from time to time. The weather, the excellence of the car. She spoke French quite easily and well, and the chauffeur responded agreeably. His manner was entirely natural and matter-of-fact.
‘How long will it take us?’ she asked presently.
‘From the aerodrome to the hospital? It is a drive of perhaps two hours, Madame.’
The words struck Hilary with faintly disagreeable surprise. She had noted, without thinking much about it, that Helga Needheim had changed at the rest-house and was now wearing a hospital nurse’s kit. This fitted in.
‘Tell me something about the hospital,’ she said to the chauffeur.
His reply was enthusiastic.
‘Ah, Madame,