Five Little Pigs - Agatha Christie [53]
It was the first time I had seen Miss Greer in the flesh, but I had been aware of her existence for some time. Amyas had raved about her to me a month previously. He had met, he said, a marvellous girl. He talked about her so enthusiastically that I said to him jokingly: “Be careful, old boy, or you’ll be losing your head again.” He told me not to be a bloody fool. He was painting the girl; he’d no personal interest in her. I said: “Tell that to the marines! I’ve heard you say that before.” He said: “This time it’s different;” to which I answered somewhat cynically: “It always is!” Amyas then looked quite worried and anxious. He said: “You don’t understand. She’s just a girl. Not much more than a child.” He added that she had very modern views and was absolutely free from old-fashioned prejudices. He said: “She’s honest and natural and absolutely fearless!”
I thought to myself, though I didn’t say so, that Amyas had certainly got it badly this time. A few weeks later I heard comments from other people. It was said that the “Greer girl was absolutely infatuated.” Somebody else said that it was a bit thick of Amyas considering how young the girl was, whereupon somebody else sniggered and said that Elsa Greer knew her way about all right. Further remarks were that the girl was rolling in money and had always got everything she wanted, and also that “she was the one who was making most of the running.” There was a question as to what Crale’s wife thought about it—and the significant reply that she must be used to that sort of thing by now, to which someone demurred by saying they’d heard that she was jealous as hell and led Crale such an impossible life that any man would be justified in having a fling from time to time.
I mention all this because I think it is important that the state of affairs before I got down there should be fully realized.
I was interested to see the girl—she was remarkably good-looking and very attractive—and I was, I must admit, maliciously amused to note that Caroline was cutting up very rough indeed.
Amyas Crale himself was less light-hearted than usual. Though to anyone who did not know him well, his manner would have appeared much as usual, I who knew him so intimately noted at once various signs of strain, uncertain temper, fits of moody abstraction, general irritability of manner.
Although he was always inclined to be moody when painting, the picture he was at work upon did not account entirely for the strain he showed. He was pleased to see me and said as soon as we were alone: “Thank goodness you’ve turned up, Phil. Living in a house with four women is enough to send any man clean off his chump. Between them all they’ll send me into a lunatic asylum.”
It was certainly an uncomfortable atmosphere. Caroline, as I said, was obviously cutting up rough about the whole thing. In a polite, well-bred way, she was ruder to Elsa than one would believe possible—without a single actually offensive word. Elsa herself was openly and flagrantly rude to Caroline. She was top dog and she knew it—and no scruples of good breeding restrained her from overt bad manners. The result was that Crale spent most of his time scrapping with the girl Angela when he wasn’t painting. They were usually on affectionate terms, though they teased and fought a good deal. But on this occasion there was an edge in everything Amyas said or did, and the two of them really lost their tempers with each other. The fourth member of the party was the governess. “A sour-faced hag,” Amyas called her. “She hates me like poison. Sits there with her lips set together, disapproving of me without stopping.”
It was then that he said:
“God damn all women! If a man is to have any peace he must steer clear of women!”
“You oughtn’t to have married,” I said. “You’re the sort of man who ought to have kept clear of domestic ties.”
He replied that it was too late to talk about that now. He added that no doubt Caroline would be only too glad to get rid of him. That