Sleeping Murder - Agatha Christie [59]
Finally he said: “Well, that’s all clear enough, Mr. Reed, and I’ll send you a line to confirm it. But this is strictly office business. I understood from my clerk that you wanted a private appointment at my private address.”
“We did, Mr. Afflick. There were actually two matters on which I wanted to see you. We’ve disposed of one. The other is a purely private matter. My wife here is very anxious to get in touch with her stepmother whom she has not seen for many years, and we wondered if you could possibly help us.”
“Well, if you tell me the lady’s name—I gather that I’m acquainted with her?”
“You were acquainted with her at one time. Her name is Helen Halliday and before her marriage she was Miss Helen Kennedy.”
Afflick sat quite still. He screwed up his eyes and tilted his chair slowly backwards.
“Helen Halliday—I don’t recall … Helen Kennedy….”
“Formerly of Dillmouth,” said Gwenda.
The legs of Afflick’s chair came down sharply.
“Got it,” he said. “Of course.” His round rubicund face beamed with pleasure. “Little Helen Kennedy! Yes, I remember her. But it’s a long time ago. Must be twenty years.”
“Eighteen.”
“Is it really? Time flies, as the saying goes. But I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed, Mrs. Reed. I haven’t seen anything of Helen since that time. Never heard of her, even.”
“Oh dear,” said Gwenda. “That’s very disappointing. We did so hope you could help.”
“What’s the trouble?” His eyes flickered quickly from one face to another. “Quarrel? Left home? Matter of money?”
Gwenda said: “She went away—suddenly—from Dillmouth—eighteen years ago with—with someone.”
Jackie Afflick said amusedly: “And you thought she might have gone away with me? Now why?”
Gwenda spoke boldly: “Because we heard that you—and she—had once—been—well, fond of each other.”
“Me and Helen? Oh, but there was nothing in that. Just a boy and girl affair. Neither of us took it seriously.” He added drily, “We weren’t encouraged to do so.”
“You must think us dreadfully impertinent,” began Gwenda, but he interrupted her.
“What’s the odds? I’m not sensitive. You want to find a certain person and you think I may be able to help. Ask me anything you please—I’ve nought to conceal.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “So you’re Halliday’s daughter?”
“Yes. Did you know my father?”
He shook his head.
“I dropped in to see Helen once when I was over at Dillmouth on business. I’d heard she was married and living there. She was civil enough—” he paused—“but she didn’t ask me to stay to dinner. No, I didn’t meet your father.”
Had there, Gwenda wondered, been a trace of rancour in that “She didn’t ask me to stay to dinner?”
“Did she—if you remember—seem happy?”
Afflick shrugged his shoulders.
“Happy enough. But there, it’s a long time ago. I’d have remembered if she’d looked unhappy.”
He added with what seemed a perfectly natural curiosity: “Do you mean to say you’ve never heard anything of her since Dillmouth eighteen years ago?”
“Nothing.”
“No—letters?”
“There were two letters,” said Giles. “But we have some reason to think that she didn’t write them.”
“You think she didn’t write them?” Afflick seemed faintly amused. “Sounds like a mystery on the flicks.”
“That’s rather what it seems like to us.”
“What about her brother, the doctor chap, doesn’t he know where she is?”
“No.”
“I see. Regular mystery, isn’t it? Why not advertise?”
“We have.”
Afflick said casually: “Looks as though she’s dead. You mightn’t have heard.”
Gwenda shivered.
“Cold, Mrs. Reed?”
“No. I was thinking of Helen dead. I don’t like to think of her dead.”
“You’re right there. I don’t like to think of it myself. Stunning looks she had.”
Gwenda said impulsively: “You knew her. You knew her well. I’ve only got a child’s memory of her. What was she like? What did people feel about her? What did you feel?”
He looked at her for a moment or two.
“I’ll be honest with you, Mrs. Reed. Believe it or not, as you like. I was sorry for the kid.”
“Sorry?” She turned a puzzled stare on him.
“Just that. There she was—just home from school. Longing for