The Mirror Crack'd - Agatha Christie [34]
He turned at the sound of footsteps. Hailey Preston was back and with him was Dr Maurice Gilchrist. Dr Gilchrist was not at all as Dermot Craddock had imagined him. He had no suave bedside manner, neither was he theatrical in appearance. He seemed on the face of it a blunt, hearty, matter-of-fact man. He was dressed in tweeds, slightly florid tweeds to the English idea. He had a thatch of brown hair and observant, keen dark eyes.
‘Doctor Gilchrist? I am Chief-Inspector Dermot Craddock. May I have a word or two with you in private?’
The doctor nodded. He turned along the corridor and went along it almost to the end, then he pushed the door open and invited Craddock to enter.
‘No one will disturb us here,’ he said.
It was obviously the doctor’s own bedroom, a very comfortably appointed one. Dr Gilchrist indicated a chair and then sat down himself.
‘I understand,’ said Craddock, ‘that Miss Marina Gregg, according to you, is unable to be interviewed. What’s the matter with her, Doctor?’
Gilchrist shrugged his shoulders very slightly.
‘Nerves,’ he said. ‘If you were to ask her questions now she’d be in a state bordering on hysteria within ten minutes. I can’t permit that. If you like to send your police doctor to see me, I’d be willing to give him my views. She was unable to be present at the inquest for the same reason.’
‘How long,’ asked Craddock, ‘is such a state of things likely to continue?’
Dr Gilchrist looked at him and smiled. It was a likeable smile.
‘If you want my opinion,’ he said, ‘a human opinion, that is, not a medical one, any time within the next forty-eight hours, and she’ll be not only willing, but asking to see you! She’ll be wanting to ask questions. She’ll be wanting to answer your questions. They’re like that!’ He leaned forward. ‘I’d like to try and make you understand if I can, Chief-Inspector, a little bit what makes these people act the way they do. The motion picture life is a life of continuous strain, and the more successful you are, the greater the strain. You live always, all day, in the public eye. When you’re on location, when you’re working, it’s hard monotonous work with long hours. You’re there in the morning, you sit and you wait. You do your small bit, the bit that’s being shot over and over again. If you’re rehearsing on the stage you’d be rehearsing as likely as not a whole act, or at any rate a part of an act. The thing would be in sequence, it would be more or less human and credible. But when you’re shooting a picture everything’s taken out of sequence. It’s a monotonous, grinding business. It’s exhausting. You live in luxury, of course, you have soothing drugs, you have baths and creams and powders and medical attention, you have relaxations and parties and people, but you’re always in the public eye. You can’t enjoy yourself quietly. You can’t really — ever relax.’
‘I can understand that,’ said Dermot. ‘Yes, I can understand.’
‘And there’s another thing,’ went on Gilchrist. ‘If you adopt this career, and especially if you’re any good at it, you are a certain kind of person. You’re a person — or so I’ve found in my experience — with a skin too few — a person who is plagued the whole time with diffidence. A terrible feeling of inadequacy, of apprehension that you can’t do what’s required of you. People say that actors and actresses are vain. That isn’t true. They’re not conceited about themselves; they’re obsessed with themselves, yes, but they need reassurance the whole time. They must be continually reassured. Ask Jason Rudd. He’ll tell you the same. You have to make them feel they can do it, to assure them they can do it, take them over and