The Seven Dials Mystery - Agatha Christie [34]
‘I don’t mean your personal impression of him. How did he make his money–trouser buttons or brass beds or what?’
‘Oh, I see. He’s steel. Steel and iron. He’s got the biggest steel works, or whatever you call it, in England. He doesn’t, of course, run the show personally now. It’s a company or companies. He got me in as a director of something or other. Very good business for me–nothing to do except go down to the city once or twice a year to one of those hotel places–Cannon Street or Liverpool Street–and sit around a table where they have very nice new blotting paper. Then Coote or some clever Johnny makes a speech simply bristling with figures, but fortunately you needn’t listen to it–and I can tell you, you often get a jolly good lunch out of it.’
Uninterested in Lord Caterham’s lunches, Bundle had departed again before he had finished speaking. On the way back to London, she tried to piece together things to her satisfaction.
As far as she could see, steel and infant welfare did not go together. One of the two, then, was just padding–presumably the latter. Mrs Macatta and the Hungarian countess could be ruled out of court. They were camouflage. No, the pivot of the whole thing seemed to be the unattractive Herr Eberhard. He did not seem to be the type of man whom George Lomax would normally invite. Bill had said vaguely that he invented. Then there was the Air Minister, and Sir Oswald Coote, who was steel. Somehow that seemed to hang together.
Since it was useless speculating further, Bundle abandoned the attempt and concentrated on her forthcoming interview with Lady Caterham.
The lady lived in a large gloomy house in one of London’s higher-class squares. Inside it smelt of sealing wax, bird seed and slightly decayed flowers. Lady Caterham was a large woman–large in every way. Her proportions were majestic, rather than ample. She had a large beaked nose, wore goldrimmed pince-nez and her upper lip bore just the faintest suspicion of a moustache.
She was somewhat surprised to see her niece, but accorded her a frigid cheek, which Bundle duly kissed.
‘This is quite an unexpected pleasure, Eileen,’ she observed coldly.
‘We’ve only just got back, Aunt Marcia.’
‘I know. How is your father? Much as usual?’
Her tone conveyed disparagement. She had a poor opinion of Alastair Edward Brent, ninth Marquis of Caterham. She would have called him, had she known the term, a ‘poor fish’.
‘Father is very well. He’s down at Chimneys.’
‘Indeed. You know, Eileen, I never approved of the letting of Chimneys. The place is in many ways a historical monument. It should not be cheapened.’
‘It must have been wonderful in Uncle Henry’s days,’ said Bundle with a slight sigh.
‘Henry realized his responsibilities,’ said Henry’s widow.
‘Think of the people who stayed there,’ went on Bundle ecstatically. ‘All the principal statesmen of Europe.’
Lady Caterham sighed.
‘I can truly say that history has been made there more than once,’ she observed. ‘If only your father–’
She shook her head sadly.
‘Politics bore father,’ said Bundle, ‘and yet they are about the most fascinating study there is, I should say. Especially if one knew about them from the inside.’
She made this extravagantly untruthful statement of her feelings without even a blush. Her aunt looked at her with some surprise.
‘I am pleased to hear you say so,’ she said. ‘I always imagined, Eileen, that you cared for nothing but this modern pursuit of pleasure.’
‘I used to,’ said Bundle.
‘It is true that you are still very young,’ said Lady Caterham thoughtfully. ‘But with your advantages, and if you were to marry suitably, you might be one of the leading political hostesses of the day.’
Bundle felt slightly alarmed. For a moment she feared that her aunt might produce a suitable husband straightaway.
‘But I feel such a fool,’ said Bundle. ‘I mean, I know so little.’
‘That can easily be remedied,’ said Lady Caterham briskly. ‘I have any amount of literature I can lend you.’
‘Thank you, Aunt Marcia,’ said Bundle, and proceeded hastily to her second