Pocket Full of Rye - Agatha Christie [53]
“It’s all very well,” said Percival. “But the whole position is most unsatisfactory. The police come and go and don’t tell us anything. One supposes they’re pursuing some line of research. In the meantime everything’s at a standstill. One can’t make plans, one can’t arrange things for the future.”
“It’s all so inconsiderate,” said Jennifer. “And so stupid.”
“There still seems to be this ban against anyone leaving the house,” went on Percival. “Still, I think among ourselves we might discuss future plans. What about you, Elaine? I gather you’re going to marry—what’s-his-name—Gerald Wright? Have you any idea when?”
“As soon as possible,” said Elaine.
Percival frowned.
“You mean, in about six months’ time?”
“No, I don’t. Why should we wait six months?”
“I think it would be more decent,” said Percival.
“Rubbish,” said Elaine. “A month. That’s the longest we’ll wait.”
“Well, it’s for you to say,” said Percival. “And what are your plans when you are married, if you have any?”
“We’re thinking of starting a school.”
Percival shook his head.
“That’s a very risky speculation in these times. What with the shortage of domestic labour, the difficulty of getting an adequate teaching staff—really, Elaine, it sounds all right. But I should think twice about it if I were you.”
“We have thought. Gerald feels that the whole future of this country lies in right education.”
“I am seeing Mr. Billingsley the day after tomorrow,” said Percival. “We’ve got to go into various questions of finance. He was suggesting that you might like to make this money that’s been left to you by Father into a trust for yourself and your children. It’s a very sound thing to do nowadays.”
“I don’t want to do that,” said Elaine. “We shall need the money to start up our school. There’s a very suitable house we’ve heard of for sale. It’s in Cornwall. Beautiful grounds and quite a good house. It would have to be built onto a good deal—several wings added.”
“You mean—you mean you’re going to take all your money out of the business? Really, Elaine, I don’t think you’re wise.”
“Much wiser to take it out than leave it in, I should say,” said Elaine. “Businesses are going phut all over the place. You said yourself, Val, before Father died, that things were getting into a pretty bad state.”
“One says that sort of thing,” said Percival vaguely, “but I must say, Elaine, to take out all your capital and sink it in the buying, equipping and running of a school is crazy. If it’s not a success, look what happens? You’re left without a penny.”
“It will be a success,” said Elaine, doggedly.
“I’m with you.” Lance, lying sprawled out in a chair, spoke up encouragingly. “Have a crack at it, Elaine. In my opinion it’ll be a damned odd sort of school, but it’s what you want to do—you and Gerald. If you do lose your money you’ll at any rate have had the satisfaction of doing what you wanted to do.”
“Just what one might have expected you to say, Lance,” said Percival, acidly.
“I know, I know,” said Lance. “I’m the spendthrift prodigal son. But I still think I’ve had more fun out of life than you have, Percy, old boy.”
“It depends on what you call fun,” said Percival coldly. “Which brings us to your own plans, Lance. I suppose you’ll be off again back to Kenya—or Canada—or climbing Mount Everest or something fairly fantastic?”
“Now what makes you think that?” said Lance.
“Well, you’ve never had much use for a stay-at-home life in England, have you?”
“One changes as one gets older,” said Lance. “One settles down. D’you know, Percy my boy, I’m quite looking forward to having a crack at being a sober business man.”
“Do you mean. . . .”
“I mean I’m coming into the firm with you, old boy.” Lance grinned. “Oh, you’re the senior partner, of course. You’ve got the lion’s share. I’m only a very junior partner. But I have got a holding in it that gives me the right to be in on things, doesn’t it?”
“Well—yes—of course, if you put it that way. But I can assure you, my dear boy,