The Man in the Brown Suit - Agatha Christie [99]
‘Anne, do you remember saying to me once that women enjoyed doing things they disliked for the sake of someone they liked?’
‘Yes,’ I said, wondering what was coming.
He caught me in his arms.
‘Anne, come away with me–now–tonight. Back to Rhodesia–back to the island. I can’t stand all this tomfoolery. I can’t wait for you any longer.’
I disengaged myself a minute.
‘And what about my French frocks?’ I lamented mockingly.
To this day, Harry never knows when I’m in earnest, and when I’m only teasing him.
‘Damn your French frocks. Do you think I want to put frocks on you? I’m a damned sight more likely to want to tear them off you. I’m not going to let you go, do you hear? You’re my woman. If I let you go away, I may lose you. I’m never sure of you. You’re coming with me now–tonight–and damn everybody.’
He held me to him, kissing me until I could hardly breathe.
‘I can’t do without you any longer, Anne. I can’t indeed. I hate all this money. Let Race have it. Come on. Let’s go.’
‘My toothbrush?’ I demurred.
‘You can buy one. I know I’m a lunatic, but for God’s sake, come!’
He stalked off at a furious pace. I followed him as meekly as the Barotsi woman I had observed at the Falls. Only I wasn’t carrying a frying-pan on my head. He walked so fast that it was very difficult to keep up with him.
‘Harry,’ I said at last, in a meek voice, ‘are we going to walk all the way to Rhodesia?’
He turned suddenly, and with a great shout of laughter gathered me up in his arms.
‘I’m mad, sweetheart, I know it. But I do love you so.’
‘We’re a couple of lunatics. And, oh, Harry, you never asked me, but I’m not making a sacrifice at all! I wanted to come!’
Chapter 36
That was two years ago. We still live on the island. Before me, on the rough wooden table, is the letter that Suzanne wrote me.
Dear Babes in the Wood–Dear Lunatics in Love,
I’m not surprised–not at all. All the time we’ve been talking Paris and frocks I felt that it wasn’t a bit real–that you’d vanish into the blue some day to be married over the tongs in the good old gipsy fashion. But you are a couple of lunatics! This idea of renouncing a vast fortune is absurd. Colonel Race wanted to argue the matter, but I have persuaded him to leave the argument to time. He can administer the estate for Harry–and none better. Because, after all, honeymoons don’t last for ever–you’re not here, Anne, so I can safely say that without having you fly out at me like a little wild-cat–Love in the wilderness will last a good while, but one day you will suddenly begin to dream of houses in Park Lane, sumptuous furs, Paris frocks, the largest thing in motors and the latest thing in perambulators, French maids and Norland nurses! Oh, yes, you will!
But have your honeymoon, dear lunatics, and let it be a long one. And think of me sometimes, comfortably putting on weight amidst the fleshpots!
Your loving friend,
Suzanne Blair
P.S. –I am sending you an assortment of frying-pans as a wedding present, and an enormous terrine of pâté de foie gras to remind you of me.
There is another letter that I sometimes read. It came a good while after the other and was accompanied by a bulky parcel. It appeared to be written from somewhere in Bolivia.
My dear Anne Beddingfeld,
I can’t resist writing to you, not so much for the pleasure it gives me to write, as for the enormous pleasure I know it will give you to hear from me. Our friend Race wasn’t quite as clever as he thought himself, was he?
I think I shall appoint you my literary executor. I’m sending you my diary. There’s nothing in it that would interest Race and his crowd, but I fancy that there are passages in it which may amuse you. Make use of it in any way you like. I suggest an article for the Daily Budget, ‘Criminals I have met.’ I only stipulate that I shall be the central figure.
By this time I have no doubt that you are no longer Anne Beddingfeld, but Lady Eardsley, queening it in Park Lane.