The Christie Caper - Carolyn Hart [33]
Annie was pulled into a soft embrace, overcome with a heady dose of Evening in Paris perfume, and, at the same time, expertly turned to face the waiting crowd.
“Stage front,” the author whispered gaily. “Time to shine.”
Annie plunged into her speech of welcome. “Lady Gwendolyn, welcome to Broward’s Rock. We are honored that you have come so far to serve as the official hostess of our centenary celebration of the birth of Agatha Christie.”
A deafening explosion of applause, shouts, huzzahs, and bravas.
Annie began her introductions. The leading lights of Broward’s Rock were out in force today, from the mayor to the municipal judge to the entire school board, in addition to the several hundred conference participants. Annie intended to introduce only a few, then get right to the program.
But she knew better than to ignore Laurel.
“Lady Gwendolyn, may I introduce my husband’s mother, Laurel Roethke.”
“Your Ladyship,” Laurel breathed ecstatically.
Annie shot her mother-in-law a look of surprise. It was quite unusual for worldly wise Laurel to evince even a modicum of awe, no matter who the celebrity.
“I’ve long been an admirer of yours, Lady Gwendolyn,” Laurel continued warmly. “Your camel trip into the interior of Arabia Your expedition to the head waters of the Zambezi. Your war years, parachuting into occupied France—”
Those lively blue eyes sparkled. “My husband always told me I was a world-class fool. Especially as a young woman. I’m afraid I’ve never been able to resist a challenge—from a mountain to a man. Actually,” and she winked at Laurel, “I’ve never wanted to resist.”
“Your modesty does you great credit. But the Legion of Honor—”
Tiny spots of color marked her plump cheeks. “Oh, you are too kind, and you give me far too much credit. My motto is, Do, Don’t Think. It’s put me in some tight spots a few times. But what’s life without challenges? I say,” a plump hand, sapphire rings winking from two fingers, gestured toward the crowd, “this is a holiday bunch. Shall we start?”
Ingrid, bless her, waited beside the poles with a pair of scissors at the ready. Annie took the scissors and held them out to the official hostess.
“If you will cut the ribbon, Lady Gwendolyn, the fête will open and The Christie Caper will begin.”
Lady Gwendolyn waggled the razor-sharp scissors in the air. “I am deeply honored to do so.” Her clear, light voice rang out. “Today the peoples of the world are linked from the Himalayas to the Australian Outback. It is quite easy to turn on the telly and see a riot in Rumania, starvation in Zimbabwe, poison gas spewing in Afghanistan. We are bombarded with information and bewildered by choices. Worst of all, so many are adrift from moral bedrock. What then can we deem to be constant?”
The small, blue-eyed woman surveyed her listeners, her plump face puckered with concern.
“There is one constant of which we can be certain and which we can ignore only at the peril of our souls—the nature of the beast. Evil exists. We must combat it … always. Here on this island we gather today to recall the life and works of one woman who spoke to every man everywhere. Do we want to understand today’s world? Read Agatha Christie. Find bedrock again. In her works, right is right, wrong is wrong. She warns us again and again never to sugarcoat life. And she reminds us that the situations we face, whatever they are, may not be as simple as they seem.”
Lady Gwendolyn shaded her eyes against the sun. “Today is a good example, you know. Here we are at a holiday gathering, everyone dressed in their finery. A cheerful scene, much like a winding lazy river on a summer day. But Christie would have us remember that even though water gleams like silver in the bright sun, slime and sewage may undulate beneath the surface. Beware.”
Scissors flashed in the sunlight, and the crimson ribbon between the beribboned poles parted.
The happy crowd surged within the cordoned-off area. Lady Gwendolyn trotted up the steps of the gazebo, trailed by admirers. Annie anxiously awaited the verdict