The Hollow - Agatha Christie [14]
The most furious quarrel he had had with her had arisen over that.
Gerda had said to him one day:
‘Henrietta has asked me to sit for her.’
‘What?’ His astonishment had not, if he came to think of it, been flattering. ‘You?’
‘Yes, I’m going over to the studio tomorrow.’
‘What on earth does she want you for?’
Yes, he hadn’t been very polite about it. But luckily Gerda hadn’t realized that fact. She had looked pleased about it. He suspected Henrietta of one of those insincere kindnesses of hers–Gerda, perhaps, had hinted that she would like to be modelled. Something of that kind.
Then, about ten days later, Gerda had shown him triumphantly a small plaster statuette.
It was a pretty thing–technically skilful like all Henrietta’s work. It idealized Gerda–and Gerda herself was clearly pleased about it.
‘I really think it’s rather charming, John.’
‘Is that Henrietta’s work? It means nothing–nothing at all. I don’t see how she came to do a thing like that.’
‘It’s different, of course, from her abstract work–but I think it’s good, John, I really do.’
He had said no more–after all, he didn’t want to spoil Gerda’s pleasure. But he tackled Henrietta about it at the first opportunity.
‘What did you want to make that silly thing of Gerda for? It’s unworthy of you. After all, you usually turn out decent stuff.’
Henrietta said slowly:
‘I didn’t think it was bad. Gerda seemed quite pleased.’
‘Gerda was delighted. She would be. Gerda doesn’t know art from a coloured photograph.’
‘It wasn’t bad art, John. It was just a portrait statuette–quite harmless and not at all pretentious.’
‘You don’t usually waste your time doing that kind of stuff–’
He broke off, staring at a wooden figure about five feet high.
‘Hallo, what’s this?’
‘It’s for the International Group. Pearwood. The Worshipper.’
She watched him. He stared and then–suddenly, his neck swelled and he turned on her furiously.
‘So that’s what you wanted Gerda for? How dare you?’
‘I wondered if you’d see…’
‘See it? Of course I see it. It’s here.’ He placed a finger on the broad heavy neck muscles.
Henrietta nodded.
‘Yes, it’s the neck and shoulders I wanted–and that heavy forward slant–the submission–that bowed look. It’s wonderful!’
‘Wonderful? Look here, Henrietta, I won’t have it. You’re to leave Gerda alone.’
‘Gerda won’t know. Nobody will know. You know Gerda would never recognize herself here–nobody else would either. And it isn’t Gerda. It isn’t anybody.’
‘I recognized it, didn’t I?’
‘You’re different, John. You–see things.’
‘It’s the damned cheek of it! I won’t have it, Henrietta! I won’t have it. Can’t you see that it was an indefensible thing to do?’
‘Was it?’
‘Don’t you know it was? Can’t you feel it was? Where’s your usual sensitiveness?’
Henrietta said slowly:
‘You don’t understand, John. I don’t think I could ever make you understand…You don’t know what it is to want something–to look at it day after day–that line of the neck–those muscles–the angle where the head goes forward–that heaviness round the jaw. I’ve been looking at them, wanting them–every time I saw Gerda…In the end I just had to have them!’
‘Unscrupulous!’
‘Yes, I suppose just that. But when you want things, in that way, you just have to take them.’
‘You mean you don’t care a damn about anybody else. You don’t care about Gerda–’
‘Don’t be stupid, John. That’s why I made that statuette thing. To please Gerda and make her happy. I’m not inhuman!’
‘Inhuman is exactly what you are.’
‘Do you think–honestly–that Gerda would ever recognize herself in this?’
John looked at it unwillingly. For the first time his anger and resentment became subordinated to his interest. A strange submissive figure, a figure offering up worship to an unseen deity–the face raised–blind, dumb, devoted–terribly strong, terribly fanatical…He said:
‘That’s rather a terrifying thing that you have made, Henrietta!’
Henrietta shivered slightly.
She said, ‘Yes–I thought that…’
John said sharply:
‘What’s she looking at–who is it? There in front of her?’
Henrietta hesitated. She said, and her voice had