The Moving Finger - Agatha Christie [24]
“You mean, you’ll take me away from here?”
“Yes, my dear.”
Suddenly she began to shake all over. It was frightening and very moving.
“Oh, do take me away! Please do. It’s so awful, being here, and feeling so wicked.”
I came over to her and her hands fastened on my coat sleeve.
“I’m an awful coward. I didn’t know what a coward I was.”
“It’s all right, funny face,” I said. “These things are a bit shattering. Come along.”
“Can we go at once? Without waiting a minute?”
“Well, you’ll have to put a few things together, I suppose.”
“What sort of things? Why?”
“My dear girl,” I said. “We can provide you with a bed and a bath and the rest of it, but I’m damned if I lend you my toothbrush.”
She gave a very faint weak little laugh.
“I see. I think I’m stupid today. You mustn’t mind. I’ll go and pack some things. You—you won’t go away? You’ll wait for me?”
“I’ll be on the mat.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much. I’m sorry I’m so stupid. But you see it’s rather dreadful when your mother dies.”
“I know,” I said.
I gave her a friendly pat on the back and she flashed me a grateful look and disappeared into a bedroom. I went on downstairs.
“I found Megan,” I said. “She’s coming.”
“Oh now, that is a good thing,” exclaimed Elsie Holland. “It will take her out of herself. She’s rather a nervy girl, you know. Difficult. It will be a great relief to feel I haven’t got her on my mind as well as everything else. It’s very kind of you, Miss Burton. I hope she won’t be a nuisance. Oh dear, there’s the telephone. I must go and answer it. Mr. Symmington isn’t fit.”
She hurried out of the room. Joanna said:
“Quite the ministering angel!”
“You said that rather nastily,” I observed. “She’s a nice kind girl, and obviously most capable.”
“Most. And she knows it.”
“This is unworthy of you, Joanna,” I said.
“Meaning why shouldn’t the girl do her stuff?”
“Exactly.”
“I never can stand seeing people pleased with themselves,” said Joanna. “It arouses all my worst instincts. How did you find Megan?”
“Crouching in a darkened room looking rather like a stricken gazelle.”
“Poor kid. She was quite willing to come?”
“She leapt at it.”
A series of thuds out in the hall announced the descent of Megan and her suitcase. I went out and took it from her. Joanna, behind me, said urgently:
“Come on. I’ve already refused some nice hot tea twice.”
We went out to the car. It annoyed me that Joanna had to sling the suitcase in. I could get along with one stick now, but I couldn’t do any athletic feats.
“Get in,” I said to Megan.
She got in. I followed her. Joanna started the car and we drove off.
We got to Little Furze and went into the drawing room.
Megan dropped into a chair and burst into tears. She cried with the hearty fervour of a child—bawled, I think, is the right word. I left the room in search of a remedy. Joanna stood by feeling rather helpless, I think.
Presently I heard Megan say in a thick choked voice:
“I’m sorry for doing this. It seems idiotic.”
Joanna said kindly, “Not at all. Have another handkerchief.”
I gather she supplied the necessary article. I reentered the room and handed Megan a brimming glass.
“What is it?”
“A cocktail,” I said.
“Is it? Is it really?” Megan’s tears were instantly dried. “I’ve never drunk a cocktail.”
“Everything has to have a beginning,” I said.
Megan sipped her drink gingerly, then a beaming smile spread over her face, she tilted her head back and gulped it down at a draught.
“It’s lovely,” she said. “Can I have another?”
“No,” I said.
“Why not?”
“In about ten minutes you’ll probably know.”
“Oh!”
Megan transferred her attention to Joanna.
“I really am awfully sorry for having made such a nuisance of myself howling away like that. I can’t think why. It seems awfully silly when I’m so glad to be here.”
“That’s all right,” said Joanna. “We’re very pleased to have you.”
“You can’t be, really. It’s just kindness on your part. But I am grateful.”
“Please don’t be grateful,” said Joanna. “It will embarrass me. I was speaking the truth when I said we should be glad to have you. Jerry and