Sparkling Cyanide - Agatha Christie [34]
And suddenly she did know it. It was incredible—unforeseen, but it was so.
She was in his arms and he was holding her close, kissing her, stammering out incoherent words.
‘Sandra—Sandra—darling. I love you…I’ve been so afraid—so afraid I’d lose you.’
She heard herself saying:
‘Because of Rosemary?’
‘Yes.’ He let go of her, stepped back, his face was ludicrous in its dismay.
‘You knew—about Rosemary?’
‘Of course—all the time.’
‘And you understand?’
She shook her head.
‘No, I don’t understand. I don’t think I ever should. You loved her?’
‘Not really. It was you I loved.’
A surge of bitterness swept over her. She quoted: ‘From the first moment you saw me across the room? Don’t repeat that lie—for it was a lie!’
He was not taken aback by that sudden attack. He seemed to consider her words thoughtfully.
‘Yes, it was a lie—and yet in a queer way it wasn’t. I’m beginning to believe that it was true. Oh, try and understand, Sandra. You know the people who always have a noble and good reason to mask their meaner actions? The people who “have to be honest” when they want to be unkind, who “thought it their duty to repeat so and so,” who are such hypocrites to themselves that they go through to their life’s end convinced that every mean and beastly action was done in a spirit of unselfishness! Try and realize that the opposite of those people can exist too. People who are so cynical, so distrustful of themselves and of life that they only believe in their bad motives. You were the woman I needed. That, at least, is true. And I do honestly believe, now, looking back on it, that if it hadn’t been true, I should never have gone through with it.’
She said bitterly:
‘You were not in love with me.’
‘No. I’d never been in love. I was a starved, sexless creature who prided himself—yes, I did—on the fastidious coldness of his nature! And then I did fall in love “across a room”—a silly violent puppy love. A thing like a midsummer thunderstorm, brief, unreal, quickly over.’ He added bitterly: ‘Indeed a “tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”’
He paused, and then went on:
‘It was here, at Fairhaven, that I woke up and realized the truth.’
‘The truth?’
‘The only thing in life that mattered to me was you—and keeping your love.’
‘If I had only known…’
‘What did you think?’
‘I thought you were planning to go away with her.’
‘With Rosemary?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘That would indeed have been penal servitude for life!’
‘Didn’t she want you to go away with her?’
‘Yes, she did.’
‘What happened?’
Stephen drew a deep breath. They were back again. Facing once more that intangible menace. He said:
‘The Luxembourg happened.’
They were both silent, seeing, they both knew, the same thing. The blue cyanosed face of a once lovely woman.
Staring at a dead woman, and then—looking up to meet each other’s eyes…
Stephen said:
‘Forget it, Sandra, for God’s sake, let us forget it!’
‘It’s no use forgetting. We’re not going to be allowed to forget.’
There was a pause. Then Sandra said:
‘What are we going to do?’
‘What you said just now. Face things—together. Go to this horrible party whatever the reason for it may be.’
‘You don’t believe what George Barton said about Iris?’
‘No. Do you?’
‘It could be true. But even if it is, it’s not the real reason.’
‘What do you think the real reason is?’
‘I don’t know, Stephen. But I’m afraid.’
‘Of George Barton?’
‘Yes, I think he—knows.’
Stephen said sharply:
‘Knows what?’
She turned her head slowly until her eyes met his.
She said in a whisper:
‘We mustn’t be afraid. We must have courage—all the courage in the world. You’re going to be a great man, Stephen—a man the world needs—and nothing shall interfere with that. I’m your wife and I love you.’
‘What do you think this party is, Sandra?’
‘I think it’s a trap.’
He said slowly, ‘And we walk into it?’
‘We can’t afford to show we know it’s a trap.’
‘No, that’s true.’
Suddenly