Problem at Pollensa Bay - Agatha Christie [58]
‘A condition?’ He looked suspicious again.
‘My dog. He must come with me.’
‘This old scarecrow? You can have any kind of a dog you choose. Don’t spare expense.’
‘I want Terry.’
‘Oh! All right, please yourself.’
Joyce was staring at him.
‘You do know–don’t you–that I don’t love you? Not in the least.’
‘I’m not worrying about that. I’m not thin-skinned. But no hanky-panky, my girl. If you marry me, you play fair.’
The colour flashed into Joyce’s cheeks.
‘You will have your money’s worth,’ she said.
‘What about a kiss now?’
He advanced upon her. She waited, smiling. He took her in his arms, kissing her face, her lips, her neck. She neither stiffened nor drew back. He released her at last.
‘I’ll get you a ring,’ he said. ‘What would you like, diamonds or pearls?’
‘A ruby,’ said Joyce. ‘The largest ruby possible–the colour of blood.’
‘That’s an odd idea.’
‘I should like it to be a contrast to the little half hoop of pearls that was all that Michael could afford to give me.’
‘Better luck this time, eh?’
‘You put things wonderfully, Arthur.’
Halliday went out chuckling.
‘Terry,’ said Joyce. ‘Lick me–lick hard–all over my face and my neck–particularly my neck.’
And as Terry obeyed, she murmured reflectively:
‘Thinking of something else very hard–that’s the only way. You’d never guess what I thought of–jam–jam in a grocer’s shop. I said it over to myself. Strawberry, blackcurrant, raspberry, damson. And perhaps, Terry, he’ll get tired of me fairly soon. I hope so, don’t you? They say men do when they’re married to you. But Michael wouldn’t have tired of me–never–never–never–Oh! Michael…’
II
Joyce rose the next morning with a heart like lead. She gave a deep sigh and immediately Terry, who slept on her bed, had moved up and was kissing her affectionately.
‘Oh, darling–darling! We’ve got to go through with it. But if only something would happen. Terry darling, can’t you help Missus? You would if you could, I know.’
Mrs Barnes brought up some tea and bread and butter and was heartily congratulatory.
‘There now, ma’am, to think of you going to marry that gentleman. It was a Rolls he came in. It was indeed. It quite sobered Barnes up to think of one of them Rolls standing outside our door. Why, I declare that dog’s sitting out on the window sill.’
‘He likes the sun,’ said Joyce. ‘But it’s rather dangerous. Terry, come in.’
‘I’d have the poor dear put out of his misery if I was you,’ said Mrs Barnes, ‘and get your gentleman to buy you one of them plumy dogs as ladies carry in their muffs.’
Joyce smiled and called again to Terry. The dog rose awkwardly and just at that moment the noise of a dog fight rose from the street below. Terry craned his neck forward and added some brisk barking. The window sill was old and rotten. It tilted and Terry, too old and stiff to regain his balance, fell.
With a wild cry, Joyce ran down the stairs and out of the front door. In a few seconds she was kneeling by Terry’s side. He was whining pitifully and his position showed her that he was badly hurt. She bent over him.
‘Terry–Terry darling–darling, darling, darling–’
Very feebly, he tried to wag his tail.
‘Terry boy–Missus will make you better–darling boy–’
A crowd, mainly composed of small boys, was pushing round.
‘Fell from the window, ’e did.’
‘My, ’e looks bad.’
‘Broke ’is back as likely as not.’
Joyce paid no heed.
‘Mrs Barnes, where’s the nearest vet?’
‘There’s Jobling–round in Mere Street–if you could get him there.’
‘A taxi.’
‘Allow me.’
It was the pleasant voice of an elderly man who had just alighted from a taxi. He knelt down by Terry and lifted the upper lip, then passed his hand down the dog’s body.
‘I’m afraid he may be bleeding internally,’ he said. ‘There don’t seem to be any bones broken. We’d better get him along to the vet’s.’
Between them, he and Joyce lifted the dog. Terry gave a yelp of pain. His teeth met in Joyce’s arm.
‘Terry–it’s all right–all right, old man.’
They got him into the taxi and drove off. Joyce wrapped a handkerchief round her arm in an absentminded