Towards Zero - Agatha Christie [39]
“Yes.”
“People like Nevile think they can always have everything their own way—and have everything they want, too. I don’t suppose Nevile has ever had a setback over anything in his life till he came up against this business of Audrey. Well, he’s got it now. He can’t have Audrey. She’s out of his reach. No good his making a song and dance about it. He’s just got to lump it.”
“I suppose you’re quite right. But you do sound hard. Audrey was so much in love with Nevile when she married him—and they always got on together so well.”
“Well, she’s out of love with him now.”
“I wonder,” murmured Mary under her breath.
Thomas was going on:
“And I’ll tell you something else. Nevile had better look out for Kay. She’s a dangerous kind of young woman—really dangerous. If she got her temper up she’d stop at nothing.”
“Oh dear,” Mary sighed and, returning to her original remarks, said hopefully: “Well, it’s only two days more.”
Things had been very difficult for the last four or five days. The death of Mr. Treves had given Lady Tressilian a shock which had told adversely on her health. The funeral had taken place in London, for which Mary was thankful, since it enabled the old lady to take her mind off the sad event more quickly than she might have been able to do otherwise. The domestic side of the household had been very nervy and difficult and Mary really felt tired and dispirited this morning.
“It’s partly the weather,” she said aloud. “It’s unnatural.”
It had indeed been an unusually hot and fine spell for September. On several days the thermometer had registered 70 in the shade.
Nevile strolled out of the house and joined them as she spoke.
“Blaming the weather?” he asked, with a glance up at the sky. “It is rather incredible. Hotter than ever today. And no wind. Makes one feel jumpy somehow. However, I think we’ll get rain before very long. Today is just a bit too tropical to last.”
Thomas Royde had moved very gently and aimlessly away and now disappeared round the corner of the house.
“Departure of gloomy Thomas,” said Nevile. “Nobody could say he shows any enjoyment of my company.”
“He’s rather a dear,” said Mary.
“I disagree. Narrow-minded prejudiced sort of chap.”
“He always hoped to marry Audrey, I think. And then you came along and cut him out.”
“It would have taken him about seven years to make up his mind to ask her to marry him. Did he expect the poor girl to wait while he made up his mind?”
“Perhaps,” said Mary deliberately, “it will all come right now.”
Nevile looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
“True love rewarded? Audrey marry that wet fish? She’s a lot too good for that. No, I don’t see Audrey marrying gloomy Thomas.”
“I believe she is really very fond of him, Nevile.”
“What matchmakers you women always are! Can’t you let Audrey enjoy her freedom for a bit?”
“If she does enjoy it, certainly.”
Nevile said quickly:
“You think she’s not happy?”
“I really haven’t the least idea.”
“No more have I,” said Nevile slowly. “One never does know what Audrey is feeling.” He paused and then added, “But Audrey is one hundred per cent thoroughbred. She’s white all through.”
Then he said, more to himself than to Mary:
“God, what a damned fool I’ve been!”
Mary went into the house a little worried. For the third time she repeated to herself the comforting words, “Only two days more.”
Nevile wandered restlessly about the garden and terraces.
Right at the end of the garden he found Audrey sitting on the low wall looking down at the water below. It was high tide and the river was full.
She got up at once and came towards him.
“I was just coming back to the house. It must be nearly tea-time.”
She spoke quickly and nervously without looking at him.
He walked beside her without speaking.
Only when they reached the terrace again did he say:
“Can I talk to you, Audrey?”
She said at once, her fingers gripping the edge of the balustrade: “I think you’d better not.”
“That means you know what I want to say.”
She did not answer.
“What about it, Audrey? Can’t we go