Hallowe'en Party - Agatha Christie [58]
‘He died of an accident, did he not?’
‘That’s right. Crossing the road, towards twilight this was. One of these cars come along, a couple of these young thugs in it with beards growing up to their ears. That’s what they say. Didn’t stop either. Went on. Never looked to see. Abandoned the car somewhere in a car park twenty miles away. Wasn’t’t their own car either. Pinched from a car park somewhere. Ah, it’s terrible, a lot of those accidents nowadays. And the police often can’t do anything about them. Very devoted to him, his wife was. Took it very hard, she did. She comes here, nearly every week, brings flowers and puts them here. Yes, they were a very devoted couple. If you ask me, she won’t stay here much longer.’
‘Really? But she has a very nice house here.’
‘Yes, oh yes. And she does a lot in the village, you know. All these things—women’s institutes and teas and various societies and all the rest of it. Runs a lot of things, she does. Runs a bit too many for some people. Bossy, you know. Bossy and interfering, some people say. But the vicar relies on her. She starts things. Women’s activities and all the rest of it. Gets up tours and outings. Ah yes. Often thought myself, though I wouldn’t like to say it to my wife, that all these good works as ladies does, doesn’t make you any fonder of the ladies themselves. Always know best, they do. Always telling you what you should do and what you shouldn’t do. No freedom. Not much freedom anywhere nowadays.’
‘Yet you think Mrs Drake may leave here?’
‘I shouldn’t wonder if she didn’t go away and live somewhere abroad. They liked being abroad, used to go there for holidays.’
‘Why do you think she wants to leave here?’
A sudden rather roguish smile appeared on the old man’s face.
‘Well, I’d say, you know, that she’s done all she can do here. To put it scriptural, she needs another vineyard to work in. She needs more good works. Aren’t no more good works to be done round here. She’s done all there is, and even more than there need be, so some think. Yes.’
‘She needs a new field in which to labour?’ suggested Poirot.
‘You’ve hit it. Better settle somewhere else where she can put a lot of things right and bully a lot of other people. She’d got us where she wants us here and there’s not much more for her to do.’
‘It may be,’ said Poirot.
‘Hasn’t even got her husband to look after. She looked after him a good few years. That gave her a kind of object in life, as you might say. What with that and a lot of outside activities, she could be busy all the time. She’s the type likes being busy all the time. And she’s no children, more’s the pity. So it’s my view as she’ll start all over again somewhere else.’
‘You may have something there. Where would she go?’
‘I couldn’t say as to that. One of these Riviery places, maybe—or there’s them as goes to Spain or Portugal. Or Greece—I’ve heard her speak of Greece—Islands. Mrs Butler, she’s been to Greece on one of them tours. Hellenic, they call them, which sounds more like fire and brimstone to me.’
Poirot smiled.
‘The isles of Greece,’ he murmured. Then he asked: ‘Do you like her?’
‘Mrs Drake? I wouldn’t say I exactly like her. She’s a good woman. Does her duty to her neighbour and all that—but she’ll always need a power of neighbours to do her duty to—and if you ask me, nobody really likes people who are always doing their duty. Tells me how to prune my roses which I know well enough myself. Always at me to grow some new-fangled kind of vegetable. Cabbage is good enough for me, and I’m sticking to cabbage.’
Poirot smiled. He said, ‘I must be on my way. Can you tell me where Nicholas