Towards Zero - Agatha Christie [18]
“We could put our holiday off, I suppose—” began Mrs. Battle doubtfully, but her husband interrupted her decisively.
“Not a bit of it. You and the girls go off to Britlington—the rooms have been booked since March—pity to waste them. I tell you what I’ll do—go down and spend a week with Jim when this blows over.”
Jim was Superintendent Battle’s nephew, Inspector James Leach.
“Saltington’s quite close to Easterhead Bay and Saltcreek,” he went on. “I can get a bit of sea air and a dip in the briny.”
Mrs. Battle sniffed.
“More likely he’ll rope you in to help him over a case!”
“They don’t have any cases this time of the year—unless it’s a woman who pinches a few sixpennyworths from Woolworth’s. And anyway Jim’s all right—he doesn’t need his wits sharpening for him.”
“Oh well,” said Mrs. Battle. “I suppose it will work out all right, but it is disappointing.”
“These things are sent to try us,” Superintendent Battle assured her.
SNOW WHITE AND RED ROSE
I
Thomas Royde found Mary Aldin waiting for him on the platform at Saltington when he got out of the train.
He had only a dim recollection of her, and now that he saw her again he was rather surprisedly aware of pleasure in her brisk capable way of dealing with things.
She called him by his Christian name.
“How nice to see you, Thomas. After all these years.”
“Nice of you to put me up. Hope it isn’t a bother.”
“Not at all. On the contrary. You’ll be particularly welcome. Is that your porter? Tell him to bring the things out this way. I’ve got the car right at the end.”
The bags were stowed in the Ford. Mary took the wheel and Royde got in beside her. They drove off and Thomas noticed that she was a good driver, deft and careful in traffic and with a nice judgement of distance and spaces.
Saltington was seven miles from Saltcreek. Once they were out of the small market town and on the open road, Mary Aldin reopened the subject of his visit.
“Really, Thomas, your visit just now is going to be a godsend. Things are rather difficult—and a stranger—or partial stranger is just what is needed.”
“What’s the trouble?”
His manner, as always, was incurious—almost lazy. He asked the question, it seemed, more from politeness than because he had any desire for the information. It was a manner particularly soothing to Mary Aldin. She wanted badly to talk to someone—but she much preferred to talk to someone who was not too much interested.
She said:
“Well—we’ve got rather a difficult situation. Audrey is here, as you probably know?”
She paused questioningly and Thomas Royde nodded.
“And Nevile and his wife also.”
Thomas Royde’s eyebrows went up. He said after a minute or two: “Bit awkward—what?”
“Yes it is. It was Nevile’s idea.”
She paused. Royde did not speak, but as though aware of some current of disbelief issuing from him, she repeated assertively: “It was Nevile’s idea.”
“Why?”
She raised her hands for a moment from the steering wheel.
“Oh, some modern reaction! All sensible and friends together. That idea. But I don’t think, you know, it’s working very well.”
“Possibly it mightn’t.” He added, “What’s the new wife like?”
“Kay? Good-looking, of course. Really very good-looking. And quite young.”
“And Nevile’s keen on her?”
“Oh yes. Of course they’ve only been married a year.”
Thomas Royde turned his head slowly to look at her. His mouth smiled a little. Mary said hastily:
“I didn’t mean that exactly.”
“Come now, Mary. I think you did.”
“Well, one can’t help seeing that they’ve really got very little in common. Their friends, for instance—” She came to a stop.
Royde asked:
“He met her, didn’t he, on the Riviera? I don’t know much about it. Only just the bare facts that the mater wrote.”
“Yes, they met first at Cannes. Nevile was attracted, but I should imagine he’d been attracted before—in a harmless sort of way. I still think myself that if he’d been left to himself nothing would have come of it. He was fond of Audrey, you know.”