The Mirror Crack'd - Agatha Christie [13]
Jason Rudd interrupted her. ‘I’m afraid the sun catches your eyes,’ he said, and went to a window to adjust the blind. ‘You must tell us all about this delightful village,’ he said as he came back.
He handed her a cup of tea.
‘Will you have a hot scone or a sandwich, or this cake? We have an Italian cook and she makes quite good pastry and cakes. You see we have quite taken to your English afternoon tea.’
‘Delicious tea too,’ said Mrs Bantry, sipping the fragrant beverage.
Marina Gregg smiled and looked pleased. The sudden nervous movement of her fingers which Jason Rudd’s eyes had noticed a minute or two previously, was stilled again. Mrs Bantry looked at her hostess with great admiration. Marina Gregg’s heyday had been before the rise to supreme importance of vital statistics. She could not have been described as Sex Incarnate, or ‘The Bust’ or ‘The Torso’. She had been long and slim and willowy. The bones of her face and head had had some of the beauty associated with those of Garbo. She had brought personality to her pictures rather than mere sex. The sudden turn of her head, the opening of the deep lovely eyes, the faint quiver of her mouth, all these were what brought to one suddenly that feeling of breath-taking loveliness that comes not from regularity of feature but from sudden magic of the flesh that catches the onlooker unawares. She still had this quality though it was not now so easily apparent. Like many film and stage actresses she had what seemed to be a habit of turning off personality at will. She could retire into herself, be quiet, gentle, aloof, disappointing to an eager fan. And then suddenly the turn of the head, the movement of the hands, the sudden smile and the magic was there.
One of her greatest pictures had been Mary, Queen of Scots, and it was of her performance in that picture that Mrs Bantry was reminded now as she watched her. Mrs Bantry’s eye switched to the husband. He too was watching Marina. Off guard for a moment, his face expressed clearly his feelings. ‘Good Lord,’ said Mrs Bantry to herself, ‘the man adores her.’
She didn’t know why she should feel so surprised. Perhaps because film stars and their love affairs and their devotion were so written up in the Press that one never expected to see the real thing with one’s own eyes. On an impulse she said:
‘I do hope you’ll enjoy it here and that you’ll be able to stay here some time. Do you expect to have the house for long?’
Marina opened wide surprised eyes as she turned her head. ‘I want to stay here always,’ she said. ‘Oh, I don’t mean that I shan’t have to go away a lot. I shall, of course. There’s a possibility of making a film in North Africa next year although nothing’s settled yet. No, but this will be my home. I shall come back here. I shall always be able to come back here.’ She sighed. ‘That’s what’s so wonderful. To have found a home at last.’
‘I see,’ said Mrs Bantry, but at the same time she thought to herself, ‘All the same I don’t believe for a moment that it will be like that. I don’t believe you’re the kind that can ever settle down.’
Again she shot a quick surreptitious glance at Jason Rudd. He was not scowling now. Instead he was smiling, a sudden very sweet and unexpected smile, but it was a sad smile. ‘He knows it too,’ thought Mrs Bantry.
The door opened and a woman came in. ‘Bartletts want you on the telephone, Jason,’ she said.
‘Tell them to call back.’
‘They said it was urgent.’
He sighed and rose. ‘Let me introduce you to Mrs Bantry,’ he said. ‘Ella Zielinsky, my secretary.’
‘Have a cup of tea, Ella,’ said Marina as Ella Zielinsky acknowledged the introduction with a smiling ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘I’ll have a sandwich,’ said Ella. ‘I don’t go for China tea.’
Ella Zielinsky was at a guess thirty-five. She wore a well cut suit, a ruffled blouse and appeared to breathe self-confidence. She had short-cut black hair and a wide forehead.
‘You used to live here, so they tell me,’ she said