While the Light Lasts - Agatha Christie [4]
Towards the end she faltered, her fingers struck a discord, and she broke off abruptly. She looked across at Maisie and laughed mockingly.
‘You see,’ she said. ‘They won’t let me.’
Then, without waiting for a reply to her somewhat enigmatical remark, she plunged into a strange haunting melody, a thing of weird harmonies and curious measured rhythm, quite unlike anything Segrave had ever heard before. It was delicate as the flight of a bird, poised, hovering–suddenly, without the least warning, it turned into a mere discordant jangle of notes, and Allegra rose laughing from the piano.
In spite of her laugh, she looked disturbed and almost frightened. She sat down by Maisie, and John heard the latter say in a low tone to her:
‘You shouldn’t do it. You really shouldn’t do it.’
‘What was the last thing?’ John asked eagerly.
‘Something of my own.’
She spoke sharply and curtly. Wetterman changed the subject.
That night John Segrave dreamt again of the House.
III
John was unhappy. His life was irksome to him as never before. Up to now he had accepted it patiently–a disagreeable necessity, but one which left his inner freedom essentially untouched. Now all that was changed. The outer world and the inner intermingled.
He did not disguise to himself the reason for the change. He had fallen in love at first sight with Allegra Kerr. What was he going to do about it?
He had been too bewildered that first night to make any plans. He had not even tried to see her again. A little later, when Maisie Wetterman asked him down to her father’s place in the country for a weekend, he went eagerly, but he was disappointed, for Allegra was not there.
He mentioned her once, tentatively, to Maisie, and she told him that Allegra was up in Scotland paying a visit. He left it at that. He would have liked to go on talking about her, but the words seemed to stick in his throat.
Maisie was puzzled by him that weekend. He didn’t appear to see–well, to see what was so plainly to be seen. She was a direct young woman in her methods, but directness was lost upon John. He thought her kind, but a little overpowering.
Yet the Fates were stronger than Maisie. They willed that John should see Allegra again.
They met in the park one Sunday afternoon. He had seen her from far off, and his heart thumped against the side of his ribs. Supposing she should have forgotten him–
But she had not forgotten. She stopped and spoke. In a few minutes they were walking side by side, striking out across the grass. He was ridiculously happy.
He said suddenly and unexpectedly:
‘Do you believe in dreams?’
‘I believe in nightmares.’
The harshness of her voice startled him.
‘Nightmares,’ he said stupidly. ‘I didn’t mean nightmares.’
Allegra looked at him.
‘No,’ she said. ‘There have been no nightmares in your life. I can see that.’
Her voice was gentle–different.
He told her then of his dream of the white house, stammering a little. He had had it now six–no, seven times. Always the same. It was beautiful–so beautiful!
He went on.
‘You see–it’s to do with you–in some way. I had it first the night before I met you.’
‘To do with me?’ She laughed–a short bitter laugh. ‘Oh, no, that’s impossible. The house was beautiful.’
‘So are you,’ said John Segrave.
Allegra flushed a little with annoyance.
‘I’m sorry–I was stupid. I seemed to ask for a compliment, didn’t I? But I didn’t really mean that at all. The outside of me is all right, I know.’
‘I haven’t seen the inside of the house yet,’ said John Segrave. ‘When I do I know it will be quite as beautiful as the outside.’
He spoke slowly and gravely, giving the words a meaning