Towards Zero - Agatha Christie [16]
“I shall be at the Easterhead Bay Hotel,” said Ted. “I’ve booked my room.”
“It’s going to be a lovely party!” said Kay. “Nevile and I, and Nevile’s Ex, and some Malayan planter who’s home on leave.”
“That does sound hilarious!”
“And the dowdy cousin, of course. Slaving away round that unpleasant old woman—and she won’t get anything for it, either, since the money comes to me and Nevile.”
“Perhaps,” said Ted, “she doesn’t know that?”
“That would be rather funny,” said Kay.
But she spoke absently. She stared down at the racquet she was twiddling in her hands. She caught her breath suddenly.
“Oh Ted!”
“What’s the matter, sugar?”
“I don’t know. It’s just sometimes I get—I get cold feet! I get scared and feel queer.”
“That doesn’t sound like you, Kay.”
“It doesn’t, does it? Anyway,” she smiled rather uncertainly, “you’ll be at the Easterhead Bay Hotel.”
“All according to plan.”
When Kay met Nevile outside the changing rooms, he said:
“I see the boy friend’s arrived.”
“Ted?”
“Yes, the faithful dog—or faithful lizard might be more apt.”
“You don’t like him, do you?”
“Oh, I don’t mind him. If it amuses you to pull him around on a string—”
He shrugged his shoulders.
Kay said:
“I believe you’re jealous.”
“Of Latimer?” His surprise was genuine.
Kay said:
“Ted’s supposed to be very attractive.”
“I’m sure he is. He has that lithe South American charm.”
“You are jealous.”
Nevile gave her arm a friendly squeeze.
“No, I’m not, Gorgeous. You can have your tame adorers—a whole court of them if you like. I’m the man in possession, and possession is nine points of the law.”
“You’re very sure of yourself,” said Kay with a slight pout.
“Of course. You and I are Fate. Fate let us meet. Fate brought us together. Do you remember when we met at Cannes and I was going on to Estoril and suddenly, when I got there, the first person I met was lovely Kay! I knew then that it was Fate—and that I couldn’t escape.”
“It wasn’t exactly Fate,” Kay said. “It was me!”
“What do you mean by ‘it was me?’”
“Because it was! You see, I heard you say at Cannes you were going to Estoril, so I set to work on Mums and got her all worked up—and that’s why the first person you saw when you got there was Kay.”
Nevile looked at her with a rather curious expression. He said slowly: “You never told me that before.”
“No, because it wouldn’t have been good for you. It might have made you conceited! But I always have been good at planning. Things don’t happen unless you make them! You call me a nitwit sometimes—but in my own way I’m quite clever. I make things happen. Sometimes I have to plan a long way beforehand.”
“The brainwork must be intense.”
“It’s all very well to laugh.”
Nevile said with a sudden curious bitterness:
“Am I just beginning to understand the woman I’ve married? For Fate—read Kay!”
Kay said:
“You’re not cross, are you, Nevile?”
He said rather absently:
“No—no, of course not. I was just—thinking….”
August 10th
Lord Cornelly, that rich and eccentric peer, was sitting at the monumental desk which was his especial pride and pleasure. It had been designed for him at immense expense and the whole furnishing of the room was subordinated to it. The effect was terrific and only slightly marred by the unavoidable addition of Lord Cornelly himself, an insignificant and rotund little man completely dwarfed by the desk’s magnificence.
Into this scene of City splendour there entered a blonde secretary, also in harmony with the luxury furnishings.
Gliding silently across the floor, she laid a slip of paper before the great man.
Lord Cornelly peered down at it.
“MacWhirter? MacWhirter? Who’s he? Never heard of him. Has he got an appointment?”
The blonde secretary indicated that such was the case.
“MacWhirter, eh? Oh! MacWhirter! That fellow! Of course! Send him in. Send him in at once.”
Lord Cornelly chuckled gleefully. He was in high good-humour.
Throwing himself back in his chair, he stared up into the dour unsmiling face of the man he had summoned to an interview.
“You’re MacWhirter,