Ordeal by Innocence - Agatha Christie [64]
“It’s Mother’s money really,” said Micky.
“The Trust was made several years ago,” said Leo.
“I don’t want any of it!” said Micky. “I don’t want to touch it! I couldn’t! As things are, I couldn’t.” He flushed suddenly as he met his father’s eye. He said uncertainly: “I didn’t—I didn’t quite mean to say that.”
“Why can’t you touch it?” said Leo. “We adopted you. That is, we took full responsibility for you, financial and otherwise. It was a business arrangement that you should be brought up as our son and properly provided for in life.”
“I want to stand on my own feet,” Micky repeated.
“Yes. I see you do … Very well, then, Micky, but if you change your mind, remember the money is there waiting.”
“Thanks, Dad. It’s good of you to understand. Or at least, not to understand, to let me have my way. I wish I could explain better. You see, I don’t want to profit by—I can’t profit by—oh, dammit all, it’s all too difficult to talk about.”
There was a knock on the door which was almost more a bump.
“That’s Philip, I expect,” said Leo Argyle. “Will you open the door for him, Micky.”
Micky went across to open the door, and Philip, working his invalid chair, propelled himself into the room. He greeted them both with a cheerful grin.
“Are you very busy, sir?” he asked Leo. “If so, say so. I’ll keep quiet and not interrupt you and just browse along the bookshelves.”
“No,” said Leo, “I have nothing to do this morning.”
“Gwenda not here?” asked Philip.
“She rang up to say she had a headache and couldn’t come today,” said Leo. His voice was expressionless.
“I see,” said Philip.
Micky said:
“Well, I shall go and dig out Tina. Make her go for a walk. That girl hates fresh air.”
He left the room, walking with a light, springy step.
“Am I wrong,” asked Philip, “or is there a change in Micky lately? Not scowling at the world as much as usual, is he?”
“He’s growing up,” said Leo. “It’s taken rather a long time for him to do so.”
“Well, he’s chosen a curious time to cheer up,” said Philip. “Yesterday’s session with the police wasn’t exactly encouraging, did you think so?”
Leo said quietly:
“It’s painful of course, to have the whole case reopened.”
“A chap like Micky now,” said Philip, working his way along the bookshelves, pulling out a volume or two in a desultory manner, “would you say he had much of a conscience?”
“That’s an odd question, Philip.”
“No, not really. I was just wondering about him. It’s like being tone deaf. Some people can’t really feel any pangs of guilt or remorse, or even regret for their actions. Jacko didn’t.”
“No,” said Leo, “Jacko certainly didn’t.”
“And I wondered about Micky,” said Philip. He paused, and then went on in a detached voice. “Do you mind if I ask you a question, sir? How much really do you know about the background of all this adopted family of yours?”
“Why do you want to know, Philip?”
“Just curiosity, I suppose. One always wonders, you know, how much there is in heredity.”
Leo did not answer. Philip observed him with bright-eyed interest.
“Perhaps,” he said, “I’m bothering you asking these questions.”
“Well,” said Leo, rising, “after all, why shouldn’t you ask them? You’re one of the family. They are at the moment, one can’t disguise it, very pertinent questions to ask. But our family, as you put it, were not adopted in the usual regular sense of the term. Mary, your wife, was formally and legally adopted, but the others came to us in a much more informal manner. Jacko was an orphan and was handed over to us by an old grandmother. She was killed in the blitz and he stayed with us. It was as simple as that. Micky was illegitimate. His mother was only interested in men. She wanted £100 down and got it. We’ve never known what happened to Tina’s mother. She never wrote to the child, she never claimed her after the war, and it was quite impossible to trace her.”
“And Hester?”
“Hester was illegitimate too. Her mother was