Passenger to Frankfurt - Agatha Christie [31]
‘Still very good-looking isn’t she? She doesn’t come over here very often nowadays. Mostly New York, you know, or that wonderful island place. You know the one I mean. Not Minorca. One of the other ones in the Mediterranean. Her sister’s married to that soap king, at least I think it’s a soap king. Not the Greek one. He’s Swedish, I think. Rolling in money. And then of course, she spends a lot of time in some castle place in the Dolomites–or near Munich–very musical, she always has been. She said you’d met before, didn’t she?’
‘Yes. A year or two years ago, I think.’
‘Oh yes, I suppose when she was over in England before. They say she was mixed up in the Czechoslovakian business. Or do I mean the Polish trouble? Oh dear, it’s so difficult, isn’t it. All the names, I mean. They have so many z’s and k’s. Most peculiar, and so hard to spell. She’s very literary. You know, gets up petitions for people to sign. To give writers asylum here, or whatever it is. Not that anyone really pays much attention. I mean, what else can one think of nowadays except how one can possibly pay one’s own taxes. The travel allowance makes things a little better but not much. I mean, you’ve got to get the money, haven’t you, before you can take it abroad. I don’t know how anyone manages to have money now, but there’s a lot of it about. Oh yes, there’s a lot of it about.’
She looked down in a complacent fashion at her left hand, on which were two solitaire rings, one a diamond and one an emerald, which seemed to prove conclusively that a considerable amount of money had been spent upon her at least.
The evening drew on to its close. He knew very little more about his passenger from Frankfurt than he had known before. He knew that she had a façade, a façade it seemed to him, very highly faceted, if you could use those two alliterative words together. She was interested in music. Well, he had met her at the Festival Hall, had he not? Fond of outdoor sports. Rich relations who owned Mediterranean islands. Given to supporting literary charities. Somebody in fact who had good connections, was well related, had entries to the social field. Not apparently highly political and yet, quietly perhaps, affiliated to some group. Someone who moved about from place to place and country to country. Moving among the rich, amongst the talented, about the literary world.
He thought of espionage for a moment or two. That seemed the most likely answer. And yet he was not wholly satisfied with it.
The evening drew on. It came at last to be his turn to be collected by his hostess. Milly Jean was very good at her job.
‘I’ve been longing to talk to you for ages. I wanted to hear about Malaya. I’m so stupid about all these places in Asia, you know, I mix them up. Tell me, what happened out there? Anything interesting or was everything terribly boring?’
‘I’m sure you can guess the answer to that one.’
‘Well, I should guess it was very boring. But perhaps you’re not allowed to say so.’
‘Oh yes, I can think it, and I can say it. It wasn’t really my cup of tea, you know.’
‘Why did you go then?’
‘Oh well, I’m always fond of travelling, I like seeing countries.’
‘You’re such an intriguing person in many ways. Really, of course, all diplomatic life is very boring, isn’t it? I oughtn’t to say so. I only say it to you.’
Very blue eyes. Blue like bluebells in a wood. They opened a little wider and the black brows above them came down gently at the outside corners while the inside corners went up a little. It made her face look like a rather beautiful Persian cat. He wondered what Milly Jean was really like. Her soft voice was