Problem at Pollensa Bay - Agatha Christie [57]
Terry groaned again and put a black nose into Joyce’s eye.
‘You’ve got a lovely nose still, Terry–all cold like ice cream. Oh, I do love you so! I can’t part from you. I can’t have you “put away”, I can’t…I can’t…I can’t…’
The warm tongue licked eagerly.
‘You understand so, my sweet. You’d do anything to help Missus, wouldn’t you?’
Terry clambered down and went unsteadily to a corner. He came back holding a battered bowl between his teeth.
Joyce was midway between tears and laughter.
‘Was he doing his only trick? The only thing he could think of to help Missus. Oh, Terry–Terry–nobody shall part us! I’d do anything. Would I, though? One says that–and then when you’re shown the thing, you say, “I didn’t mean anything like that.” Would I do anything?’
She got down on the floor beside the dog.
‘You see, Terry, it’s like this. Nursery governesses can’t have dogs, and companions to elderly ladies can’t have dogs. Only married women can have dogs, Terry–little fluggy expensive dogs that they take shopping with them–and if one preferred an old blind terrier–well, why not?’
She stopped frowning and at that minute there was a double knock from below.
‘The post. I wonder.’
She jumped up and hurried down the stairs, returning with a letter.
‘It might be. If only…’
She tore it open.
Dear Madam,
We have inspected the picture and our opinion is that it is not a genuine Cuyp and that its value is practically nil.
Yours truly,
Sloane & Ryder
Joyce stood holding it. When she spoke, her voice had changed.
‘That’s that,’ she said. ‘The last hope gone. But we won’t be parted. There’s a way–and it won’t be cadging. Terry darling, I’m going out. I’ll be back soon.’
Joyce hurried down the stairs to where the telephone stood in a dark corner. There she asked for a certain number. A man’s voice answered her, its tone changing as he realized her identity.
‘Joyce, my dear girl. Come out and have some dinner and dance tonight.’
‘I can’t,’ said Joyce lightly. ‘Nothing fit to wear.’
And she smiled grimly as she thought of the empty pegs in the flimsy cupboard.
‘How would it be if I came along and saw you now? What’s the address? Good Lord, where’s that? Rather come off your high horse, haven’t you?’
‘Completely.’
‘Well, you’re frank about it. So long.’
Arthur Halliday’s car drew up outside the house about three quarters of an hour later. An awestruck Mrs Barnes conducted him upstairs.
‘My dear girl–what an awful hole. What on earth has got you into this mess?’
‘Pride and a few other unprofitable emotions.’
She spoke lightly enough; her eyes looked at the man opposite her sardonically.
Many people called Halliday handsome. He was a big man with square shoulders, fair, with small, very pale blue eyes and a heavy chin.
He sat down on the rickety chair she indicated.
‘Well,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I should say you’d had your lesson. I say–will that brute bite?’
‘No, no, he’s all right. I’ve trained him to be rather a–a watchdog.’
Halliday was looking her up and down.
‘Going to climb down, Joyce,’ he said softly. ‘Is that it?’
Joyce nodded.
‘I told you before, my dear girl. I always get what I want in the end. I knew you’d come in time to see which way your bread was buttered.’
‘It’s lucky for me you haven’t changed your mind,’ said Joyce.
He looked at her suspiciously. With Joyce you never knew quite what she was driving at.
‘You’ll marry me?’
She nodded. ‘As soon as you please.’
‘The sooner, the better, in fact.’ He laughed, looking round the room. Joyce flushed.
‘By the way,