Destination Unknown - Agatha Christie [52]
A fair sprinkling of people were on the roof garden, but little by little they dwindled away.
The Murchisons excused themselves. They were going to watch some ballet.
There were few people left now. Betterton guided Hilary with his hand on her arm to a clear space near the parapet. The stars showed above them and the air was cold now, crisp and exhilarating. They were alone here. Hilary sat down on the low concrete, and Betterton stood in front of her.
‘Now then,’ he said in a low nervous voice. ‘Who the hell are you?’
She looked up at him for a moment or two without answering. Before she replied to his question there was something that she herself had to know.
‘Why did you recognize me as your wife?’ she asked.
They looked at each other. Neither of them wished to be the first to answer the other’s question. It was a duel of wills between them, but Hilary knew that whatever Tom Betterton had been like when he left England, his will was now inferior to her own. She had arrived here fresh in the self-confidence of organizing her own life–Tom Betterton had been living a planned existence. She was the stronger.
He looked away from her at last, and muttered sullenly:
‘It was–just an impulse. I was probably a damned fool. I fancied that you might have been sent–to get me out of here.’
‘You want to get out of here, then?’
‘My God, can you ask?’
‘How did you get here from Paris?’
Tom Betterton gave a short unhappy laugh.
‘I wasn’t kidnapped or anything like that, if that’s what you mean. I came of my own free will, under my own steam. I came keenly and enthusiastically.’
‘You knew that you were coming here?’
‘I’d no idea I was coming to Africa, if that’s what you mean. I was caught by the usual lure. Peace on earth, free sharing of scientific secrets amongst the scientists of the world; suppression of capitalists and warmongers–all the usual jargon! That fellow Peters who came with you is the same, he’s swallowed the same bait.’
‘And when you got here–it wasn’t like that?’
Again he gave that short bitter laugh.
‘You’ll see for yourself. Oh, perhaps it is that, more or less! But it’s not the way you thought it would be. It’s not–freedom.’
He sat down beside her frowning to himself.
‘That’s what got me down at home, you know. The feeling of being watched and spied upon. All the security precautions. Having to account for one’s actions, for one’s friends…All necessary, I dare say, but it gets you down in the end…And so when someone comes along with a proposition–well, you listen…It all sounds fine…’ He gave a short laugh. ‘And one ends up–here!’
Hilary said slowly:
‘You mean you’ve come to exactly the same circumstances as those from which you tried to escape? You’re being watched and spied upon in just the same way–or worse?’
Betterton pushed his hair back nervously from his forehead.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Honestly. I don’t know. I can’t be sure. It may be all going on in my own mind. I don’t know that I’m being watched at all. Why should I be? Why should they bother? They’ve got me here–in prison.’
‘It isn’t in the least as you imagined it?’
‘That’s the odd thing. I suppose it is in a way. The working conditions are perfect. You’ve every facility, every kind of apparatus. You can work for as long a time as you like or as short a time. You’ve got every comfort and accessory. Food, clothes, living-quarters, but you’re conscious all the time that you’re in prison.’
‘I know. When the gates clanged behind us today as we came in it was a horrible feeling.’ Hilary shuddered.
‘Well,’ Betterton seemed to pull himself together. ‘I’ve answered your question. Now answer mine. What are you doing here pretending to be Olive?’
‘Olive–’ she stopped, feeling for words.
‘Yes? What about Olive? What’s happened to her? What are you trying to say?’
She looked with pity at his haggard, nervous face.
‘I’ve been dreading having to tell you.’
‘You mean–something’s happened to her?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry, terribly sorry…Your wife’s dead…She was coming to join you and the plane crashed. She was taken to