While the Light Lasts - Agatha Christie [19]
‘I’m not thinking of Cyril,’ said Clare. ‘I’m thinking of Gerald. Why don’t you think a little of him, too?’
‘Gerald! I don’t care that–’ she snapped her fingers ‘for Gerald. I never have. We might as well have the truth now we’re at it. But I do care for Cyril. I’m a rotter, through and through, I admit it. I dare say he’s a rotter, too. But my feeling for him–that isn’t rotten. I’d die for him, do you hear? I’d die for him!’
‘That is easily said,’ said Clare derisively.
‘You think I’m not in earnest? Listen, if you go on with this beastly business, I’ll kill myself. Sooner than have Cyril brought into it and ruined, I’d do that.’
Clare remained unimpressed.
‘You don’t believe me?’ said Vivien, panting.
‘Suicide needs a lot of courage.’
Vivien flinched back as though she had been struck.
‘You’ve got me there. Yes, I’ve no pluck. If there were an easy way–’
‘There’s an easy way in front of you,’ said Clare. ‘You’ve only got to run straight down that green slope. It would be all over in a couple of minutes. Remember that child last year.’
‘Yes,’ said Vivien thoughtfully. ‘That would be easy–quite easy–if one really wanted to–’
Clare laughed.
Vivien turned to her.
‘Let’s have this out once more. Can’t you see that by keeping silence as long as you have, you’ve–you’ve no right to go back on it now? I’ll not see Cyril again. I’ll be a good wife to Gerald–I swear I will. Or I’ll go away and never see him again? Whichever you like. Clare–’
Clare got up.
‘I advise you,’ she said, ‘to tell your husband yourself…otherwise–I shall.’
‘I see,’ said Vivien softly. ‘Well, I can’t let Cyril suffer…’
She got up, stood still as though considering for a minute or two, then ran lightly down to the path, but instead of stopping, crossed it and went down the slope. Once she half turned her head and waved a hand gaily to Clare, then she ran on gaily, lightly, as a child might run, out of sight…
Clare stood petrified. Suddenly she heard cries, shouts, a clamour of voices. Then–silence.
She picked her way stiffly down to the path. About a hundred yards away a party of people coming up it had stopped. They were staring and pointing. Clare ran down and joined them.
‘Yes, Miss, someone’s fallen over the cliff. Two men have gone down–to see.’
She waited. Was it an hour, or eternity, or only a few minutes?
A man came toiling up the ascent. It was the Vicar in his shirt sleeves. His coat had been taken off to cover what lay below.
‘Horrible,’ he said, his face was very white. ‘Mercifully death must have been instantaneous.’
He saw Clare, and came over to her.
‘This must have been a terrible shock to you. You were taking a walk together, I understand?’
Clare heard herself answering mechanically.
Yes. They had just parted. No, Lady Lee’s manner had been quite normal. One of the group interposed the information that the lady was laughing and waving her hand. A terribly dangerous place–there ought to be a railing along the path.
The Vicar’s voice rose again.
‘An accident–yes, clearly an accident.’
And then suddenly Clare laughed–a hoarse, raucous laugh that echoed along the cliff.
‘That’s a damned lie,’ she said. ‘I killed her.’
She felt someone patting her shoulder, a voice spoke soothingly.
‘There, there. It’s all right. You’ll be all right presently.’
VI
But Clare was not all right presently. She was never all right again. She persisted in the delusion–certainly a delusion, since at least eight persons had witnessed the scene–that she had killed Vivien Lee.
She was very miserable till Nurse Lauriston came to take charge. Nurse Lauriston was very successful with mental cases.
‘Humour them, poor things,’ she would say comfortably.
So she told Clare that she was