Parker Pyne Investigates - Agatha Christie [60]
‘That’s all right, lady; him very quiet gentleman, very nice, very quiet.’
‘You’re a fool! You know nothing about it. Miss MacNaughton, where are you? Oh, there you are. I’ve repeatedly asked you to stay near me. I might feel faint. Help me to my cabin and give me an aspirin, and don’t let Mohammed come near me. He keeps on saying “That’s right, lady,” till I feel I could scream.’
Miss McNaughton proffered an arm without a word.
She was a tall woman of about thirty-five, handsome in a quiet, dark way. She settled Lady Grayle in the cabin, propped her up with cushions, administered an aspirin and listened to the thin flow of complaint.
Lady Grayle was forty-eight. She had suffered since she was sixteen from the complaint of having too much money. She had married that impoverished baronet, Sir George Grayle, ten years before.
She was a big woman, not bad-looking as regarded features, but her face was fretful and lined, and the lavish make-up-she applied only accentuated the blemishes of time and temper. Her hair had been in turn platinum-blonde and henna-red, and was looking tired in consequence. She was overdressed and wore too much jewellery.
‘Tell Sir George,’ she finished, while the silent Miss MacNaughton waited with an expressionless face–‘tell Sir George that he must get that man off the boat! I must have privacy. All I’ve gone through lately–’ She shut her eyes.
‘Yes, Lady Grayle,’ said Miss MacNaughton, and left the cabin.
The offending last-minute passenger was still sitting in the deck-chair. He had his back to Luxor and was staring out across the Nile to where the distant hills showed golden above a line of dark green.
Miss MacNaughton gave him a swift, appraising glance as she passed.
She found Sir George in the lounge. He was holding a string of beads in his hand and looking at it doubtfully.
‘Tell me, Miss MacNaughton, do you think these will be all right?’
Miss MacNaughton gave a swift glance at the lapis.
‘Very nice indeed,’ she said.
‘You think Lady Grayle will be pleased–eh?’
‘Oh no, I shouldn’t say that, Sir George. You see, nothing would please her. That’s the real truth of it. By the way, she sent me with a message to you. She wants you to get rid of this extra passenger.’
Sir George’s jaw dropped. ‘How can I? What could I say to the fellow?’
‘Of course you can’t.’ Elsie MacNaughton’s voice was brisk and kindly. ‘Just say there was nothing to be done.’
She added encouragingly, ‘It will be all right.’
‘You think it will, eh?’ His face was ludicrously pathetic.
Elsie MacNaughton’s voice was still kinder as she said: ‘You really must not take these things to heart, Sir George. It’s just health, you know. Don’t take it seriously.’
‘You think she’s really bad, nurse?’
A shadow crossed the nurse’s face. There was something odd in her voice as she answered: ‘Yes, I–I don’t quite like her condition. But please don’t worry, Sir George. You mustn’t. You really mustn’t.’ She gave him a friendly smile and went out.
Pamela came in, very languid and cool in her white.
‘Hallo, Nunks.’
‘Hallo, Pam, my dear.’
‘What have you got there? Oh, nice!’
‘Well, I’m so glad you think so. Do you think your aunt will think so, too?’
‘She’s incapable of liking anything. I can’t think why you married the woman, Nunks.’
Sir George was silent. A confused panorama of unsuccessful racing, pressing creditors and a handsome if domineering woman rose before his mental vision.
‘Poor old dear,’ said Pamela. ‘I suppose you had to do it. But she does give us both rather hell, doesn’t she?’
‘Since she’s been ill–’ began Sir George.
Pamela interrupted him.
‘She’s not ill! Not really. She can always do anything she wants to. Why, while you were up at Assouan she was as merry as a–a cricket. I bet you Miss MacNaughton knows she’s a fraud.’
‘I don’t know what we’d do without Miss MacNaughton,’ said Sir George with a sigh.
‘She’s an efficient creature,’ admitted Pamela. ‘I don’t exactly dote on her as you do, though, Nunks. Oh, you do! Don’t contradict. You think she’s wonderful. So she is, in a way. But she’s a