Sparkling Cyanide - Agatha Christie [59]
Lord Kidderminster was staring at her. Though he had thought he knew his wife’s character well, he was nevertheless appalled at the force and courage of her realism—at her refusal to blink at unpalatable facts—and also at her unscrupulousness.
‘If my daughter’s a murderess, do you suggest that I should use my official position to rescue her from the consequences of her act?’
‘Of course,’ said Lady Kidderminster.
‘My dear Vicky! You don’t understand! One can’t do things like that. It would be a breach of—of honour.’
‘Rubbish!’ said Lady Kidderminster.
They looked at each other—so far divided that neither could see the other’s point of view. So might Agamemnon and Clytemnestra have stared at each other with the word Iphigenia on their lips.
‘You could bring government pressure to bear on the police so that the whole thing is dropped and a verdict of suicide brought in. It has been done before—don’t pretend.’
‘That has been when it was a matter of public policy—in the interests of the State. This is a personal and private matter. I doubt very much whether I could do such a thing.’
‘You can if you have sufficient determination.’
Lord Kidderminster flushed angrily.
‘If I could, I wouldn’t! It would be abusing my public position.’
‘If Sandra were arrested and tried, wouldn’t you employ the best counsel and do everything possible to get her off however guilty she was?’
‘Of course, of course. That’s entirely different. You women never grasp these things.’
Lady Kidderminster was silent, unperturbed by the thrust. Sandra was the least dear to her of her children—nevertheless she was at this moment a mother, and a mother only—willing to defend her young by any means, honourable or dishonourable. She would fight with tooth and claw for Sandra.
‘In any case,’ said Lord Kidderminster, ‘Sandra will not be charged unless there is an absolutely convincing case against her. And I, for one, refuse to believe that a daughter of mine is a murderess. I’m astonished at you, Vicky, for entertaining such an idea for a moment.’
His wife said nothing, and Lord Kidderminster went uneasily out of the room. To think that Vicky—Vicky—whom he had known intimately for so many years—should prove to have such unsuspected and really very disturbing depths in her!
Chapter 5
Race found Ruth Lessing busy with papers at a large desk. She was dressed in a black coat and skirt and a white blouse and he was impressed by her quiet unhurried efficiency. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the unhappy set line of her mouth, but her grief, if it was grief, was as well controlled as all her other emotions.
Race explained his visit and she responded at once.
‘It is very good of you to come. Of course I know who you are. Mr Barton was expecting you to join us last night, was he not? I remember his saying so.’
‘Did he mention that before the evening itself?’
She thought for a moment.
‘No. It was when we were actually taking our seats round the table. I remember that I was a little surprised—’ She paused and flushed slightly. ‘Not, of course, at his inviting you. You are an old friend, I know. And you were to have been at the other party a year ago. All I meant was that I was surprised, if you were coming, that Mr Barton hadn’t invited another woman to balance the numbers—but of course if you were going to be late and might perhaps not come at all—’ She broke off. ‘How stupid I am. Why go over all these petty things that don’t matter? I am stupid this morning.’
‘But you have come to work as usual?’
‘Of course.’ She looked surprised—almost shocked. ‘It is my job. There is so much to clear up and arrange.’
‘George always told me how much he relied upon you,’ said Race gently.
She turned away. He saw her swallow quickly and blink her eyes. Her absence of any display of emotion almost convinced him of her entire innocence. Almost, but not quite. He had met women who were good actresses before now, women whose reddened eyelids and