Towards Zero - Agatha Christie [11]
“Yes, indeed. One is at a loss to know how to act in such difficult circumstances. Matthew was fond of Audrey, and so am I, and one cannot deny that she was a very good wife to Nevile though perhaps it is a pity that she could not have shared his amusements more. She was never an athletic girl. The whole business was very distressing. When I was a girl, these things simply did not happen. Men had their affairs, naturally, but they were not allowed to break up married life.”
“Well, they happen now,” said Mary bluntly.
“Exactly. You have so much common sense, dear. It is of no use recalling bygone days. These things happen, and girls like Kay Mortimer steal other women’s husbands and nobody thinks the worse of them!”
“Except people like you, Camilla!”
“I don’t count. That Kay creature doesn’t worry whether I approve of her or not. She’s too busy having a good time. Nevile can bring her here when he comes and I’m even willing to receive her friends—though I do not much care for that very theatrical-looking young man who is always hanging round her—what is his name?”
“Ted Latimer?”
“That is it. A friend of her Riviera days—and I should very much like to know how he manages to live as he does.”
“By his wits,” suggested Mary.
“One might pardon that. I rather fancy he lives by his looks. Not a pleasant friend for Nevile’s wife! I disliked the way he came down last summer and stayed at the Easterhead Bay Hotel while they were here.”
Mary looked out of the open window. Lady Tressilian’s house was situated on a steep cliff overlooking the River Tern. On the other side of the river was the newly created summer resort of Easterhead Bay, consisting of a big sandy bathing beach, a cluster of modern bungalows and a large Hotel on the headland looking out to sea. Saltcreek itself was a straggling picturesque fishing village set on the side of a hill. It was old-fashioned, conservative and deeply contemptuous of Easterhead Bay and its summer visitors.
The Easterhead Bay Hotel was nearly exactly opposite Lady Tressilian’s house, and Mary looked across the narrow strip of water at it now where it stood in its blatant newness.
“I am glad,” said Lady Tressilian, closing her eyes, “that Matthew never saw that vulgar building. The coastline was quite un-spoilt in his time.”
Sir Matthew and Lady Tressilian had come to Gull’s Point thirty years ago. It was nine years since Sir Matthew, an enthusiastic sailing man, had capsized his dinghy and been drowned almost in front of his wife’s eyes.
Everybody had expected her to sell Gull’s Point and leave Saltcreek, but Lady Tressilian had not done so. She had lived on in the house, and her only visible reaction had been to dispose of all the boats and do away with the boathouse. There were no boats available for guests at Gull’s Point. They had to walk along to the ferry and hire a boat from one of the rival boatmen there.
Mary said, hesitating a little:
“Shall I write, then, to Nevile and tell him that what he proposes does not fit in with our plans?”
“I certainly shall not dream of interfering with Audrey’s visit. She has always come to us in September and I shall not ask her to change her plans.”
Mary said, looking down at the letter:
“You did see that Nevile says Audrey—er—approves of the idea—that she is quite willing to meet Kay?”
“I simply don’t believe it,” said Lady Tressilian. “Nevile, like all men, believes what he wants to believe!”
Mary persisted:
“He says he has actually spoken to her about it.”
“What a very odd thing to do! No—perhaps, after all, it isn’t!”
Mary looked at her inquiringly.
“Like Henry the Eighth,” said Lady Tressilian.
Mary looked puzzled.
Lady Tressilian elaborated her last remark.
“Conscience, you know! Henry was always trying to get Catherine to agree that the divorce was the right thing. Nevile knows that he has behaved badly—he wants to feel comfortable about it all. So he has been trying to bully Audrey into saying everything is all right and that she’ll come and meet Kay and that she doesn’t mind at all.”
“I wonder,” said Mary slowly.