Problem at Pollensa Bay - Agatha Christie [67]
Theo leaned her head out of the window and spoke to the taxi driver. She could not go back at once to the house in Chelsea. She must have a breathing space. Seeing Vincent again had shaken her horribly. If only–if only. But she pulled herself up. Love for her husband she had none–but she owed him loyalty. He was down, she must stick by him. Whatever else he might have done, he loved her; his offence had been committed against society, not against her.
The taxi meandered on through the wide streets of Hampstead. They came out on the heath, and a breath of cool, invigorating air fanned Theo’s cheeks. She had herself in hand again now. The taxi sped back towards Chelsea.
Richard came out to meet her in the hall.
‘Well,’ he demanded, ‘you’ve been a long time.’
‘Have I?’
‘Yes–a very long time. Is it–all right?’
He followed her, a cunning look in his eyes. His hands were shaking.
‘It’s–it’s all right, eh?’ he said again.
‘I burnt them myself.’
‘Oh!’
She went on into the study, sinking into a big armchair. Her face was dead white and her whole body drooped with fatigue. She thought to herself: ‘If only I could go to sleep now and never, never wake up again!’
Richard was watching her. His glance, shy, furtive, kept coming and going. She noticed nothing. She was beyond noticing.
‘It went off quite all right, eh?’
‘I’ve told you so.’
‘You’re sure they were the right papers? Did you look?’
‘No.’
‘But then–’
‘I’m sure, I tell you. Don’t bother me, Richard. I can’t bear any more tonight.’
Richard shifted nervously.
‘No, no. I see.’
He fidgeted about the room. Presently he came over to her, laid a hand on her shoulder. She shook it off.
‘Don’t touch me.’ She tried to laugh. ‘I’m sorry, Richard. My nerves are on edge. I feel I can’t bear to be touched.’
‘I know. I understand.’
Again he wandered up and down.
‘Theo,’ he burst out suddenly. ‘I’m damned sorry.’
‘What?’ She looked up, vaguely startled.
‘I oughtn’t to have let you go there at this time of night. I never dreamed that you’d be subjected to any–unpleasantness.’
‘Unpleasantness?’ She laughed. The word seemed to amuse her. ‘You don’t know! Oh, Richard, you don’t know!’
‘I don’t know what?’
She said very gravely, looking straight in front of her: ‘What this night has cost me.’
‘My God! Theo! I never meant–You–you did that, for me? The swine! Theo–Theo–I couldn’t have known. I couldn’t have guessed. My God!’
He was kneeling by her now stammering, his arms round her, and she turned and looked at him with faint surprise, as though his words had at last really penetrated to her attention.
‘I–I never meant–’
‘You never meant what, Richard?’
Her voice startled him.
‘Tell me. What was it that you never meant?’
‘Theo, don’t let us speak of it. I don’t want to know. I want never to think of it.’
She was staring at him, wide awake now, with every faculty alert. Her words came clear and distinct:
‘You never meant–What do you think happened?’
‘It didn’t happen, Theo. Let’s say it didn’t happen.’
And still she stared, till the truth began to come to her.
‘You think that–’
‘I don’t want–’
She interrupted him: ‘You think that Vincent Easton asked a price for those letters? You think that I–paid him?’
Richard said weakly and unconvincingly: ‘I–I never dreamed he was that kind of man.’
V
‘Didn’t you?’ She looked at him searchingly. His eyes fell before hers. ‘Why did you ask me to put on this dress this evening? Why did you send me there alone at this time of night? You guessed he–cared for me. You wanted to save your skin–save it at any cost–even at the cost of my honour.’ She got up.
‘I see now. You meant that from the beginning–or at least you saw it as a possibility, and it didn’t deter you.’
‘Theo–’
‘You can’t deny it. Richard, I thought I knew all there was to know about you years ago. I’ve known almost from the first that you weren’t straight as regards the world. But I thought you were straight with me.’
‘Theo–’
‘Can you deny what I’ve just been saying?’
He was silent, in spite of himself.
‘Listen, Richard.