Problem at Pollensa Bay - Agatha Christie [2]
They talked about flowers and the growing of them, of the lamentable state of the English pound and of how expensive France had become, and of the difficulty of getting good afternoon tea.
Every evening when her son departed, Mr Parker Pyne saw the quickly concealed tremor of her lips, but immediately she recovered and discoursed pleasantly on the above-mentioned subjects.
Little by little she began to talk of Basil–of how well he had done at school–‘he was in the First XI, you know’–of how everyone liked him, of how proud his father would have been of the boy had he lived, of how thankful she had been that Basil had never been ‘wild’. ‘Of course I always urge him to be with young people, but he really seems to prefer being with me.’
She said it with a kind of nice modest pleasure in the fact.
But for once Mr Parker Pyne did not make the usual tactful response he could usually achieve so easily. He said instead:
‘Oh! well, there seem to be plenty of young people here–not in the hotel, but round about.’
At that, he noticed, Mrs Chester stiffened. She said: Of course there were a lot of artists. Perhaps she was very old-fashioned–real art, of course, was different, but a lot of young people just made that sort of thing an excuse for lounging about and doing nothing–and the girls drank a lot too much.
On the following day Basil said to Mr Parker Pyne:
‘I’m awfully glad you turned up here, sir–especially for my mother’s sake. She likes having you to talk to in the evenings.’
‘What did you do when you were first here?’
‘As a matter of fact we used to play piquet.’
‘I see.’
‘Of course one gets rather tired of piquet. As a matter of fact I’ve got some friends here–frightfully cheery crowd. I don’t really think my mother approves of them–’ He laughed as though he felt this ought to be amusing. ‘The mater’s very old-fashioned…Even girls in trousers shock her!’
‘Quite so,’ said Mr Parker Pyne.
‘What I tell her is–one’s got to move with the times…The girls at home round us are frightfully dull…’
‘I see,’ said Mr Parker Pyne.
All this interested him well enough. He was a spectator of a miniature drama, but he was not called upon to take part in it.
And then the worst–from Mr Parker Pyne’s point of view–happened. A gushing lady of his acquaintance came to stay at the Mariposa. They met in the tea shop in the presence of Mrs Chester.
The newcomer screamed:
‘Why–if it isn’t Mr Parker Pyne–the one and only Mr Parker Pyne! And Adela Chester! Do you know each other? Oh, you do? You’re staying at the same hotel? He’s the one and only original wizard, Adela–the marvel of the century–all your troubles smoothed out while you wait! Didn’t you know? You must have heard about him? Haven’t you read his advertisements? “Are you in trouble? Consult Mr Parker Pyne.” There’s just nothing he can’t do. Husbands and wives flying at each other’s throats and he brings ’em together–if you’ve lost interest in life he gives you the most thrilling adventures. As I say the man’s just a wizard!’
It went on a good deal longer–Mr Parker Pyne at intervals making modest disclaimers. He disliked the look that Mrs Chester turned upon him. He disliked even more seeing her return along the beach in close confabulation with the garrulous singer of his praises.
The climax came quicker than he expected. That evening, after coffee, Mrs Chester said abruptly,
‘Will you come into the little salon, Mr Pyne? There is something I want to say to you.’
He could but bow and submit.
Mrs Chester’s self-control had been wearing thin–as the door of the little salon closed behind them, it snapped. She sat down and burst into tears.
‘My boy, Mr Parker Pyne. You must save him. We must save him. It’s breaking my heart!’
‘My dear lady, as a mere outsider–’
‘Nina Wycherley says you can do anything. She said I was to have the utmost confidence in you. She advised me to tell you everything–and that you’d put the whole thing right.’
Inwardly Mr Parker