波洛圣诞探案记05

VGeorge Lee, M.P. for Westeringham, was a somewhat corpulent gentleman of forty-one. His eyeswere pale blue and slightly prominent with a suspicious expression, he had a heavy jowl, and aslow pedantic¹ utterance².

He said now in a weighty manner:

“I have told you, Magdalene, that I think it my duty to go.”

His wife shrugged³ her shoulders impatiently.

She was a slender creature, a platinum⁴ blonde with plucked eyebrows⁵ and a smooth egglikeface. It could, on occasions, look quite blank and devoid⁶ of any expression whatever. She waslooking like that now.

“Darling,” she said, “it will be perfectly⁷ grim, I am sure of it.”

“Moreover,” said George Lee, and his face lit up as an attractive idea occurred to him, “it willenable us to save considerably⁸. Christmas is always an expensive time. We can put the servants onboard wages.”

“Oh, well!” said Magdalene. “After all, Christmas is pretty grim anywhere!”

“I suppose,” said George, pursuing his own line of thought, “they will expect to have aChristmas dinner? A nice piece of beef, perhaps, instead of a turkey.”

“Who?” The servants? Oh, George, don’t fuss so. You’re always worrying about money.”

“Somebody has to worry,” said George.

“Yes, but it’s absurd to pinch and scrape in all these little ways. Why don’t you make yourfather give you some more money?”

“He already gives me a very handsome allowance.”

“It’s awful to be completely dependent on your father, as you are! He ought to settle somemoney on you outright⁹.”

“That’s not his way of doing things.”

Magdalene looked at him. Her hazel eyes were suddenly sharp and keen. The expressionlessegglike face showed sudden meaning.

“He’s frightfully rich, isn’t he, George? A kind of millionaire, isn’t he?”

“A millionaire twice over, I believe.”

Magdalene gave an envious¹⁰ sigh.

“How did he make it all? South Africa, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, he made a big fortune there in his early days. Mainly diamonds.”

“Thrilling!” said Magdalene.

“Then he came to England and started in business and his fortune has actually doubled ortrebled itself, I believe.”

“What will happen when he dies?” asked Magdalene.

“Father’s never said much on the subject. Of course one can’t exactly ask. I should imaginethat the bulk of his money will go to Alfred and myself. Alfred, of course, will get the largershare.”

“You’ve got other brothers, haven’t you?”

“Yes, there’s my brother David. I don’t fancy he will get much. He went off to do art or sometomfoolery of that kind. I believe Father warned him that he would cut him out of his will andDavid said he didn’t care.”

“How silly!” said Magdalene with scorn.

“There was my sister Jennifer too. She went off with a foreigner—a Spanish artist—one ofDavid’s friends. But she died just over a year ago. She left a daughter, I believe. Father mightleave a little money to her, but nothing much. And of course there’s Harry¹¹—”

He stopped, slightly embarrassed.

“Harry?” said Magdalene, surprised. “Who is Harry?”

“Ah—er—my brother.”

“I never knew you had another brother.”

“My dear, he wasn’t a great—er—credit—to us. We don’t mention him. His behaviour wasdisgraceful. We haven’t heard anything of him for some years now. He’s probably dead.”

Magdalene laughed suddenly.

“What is it? What are you laughing at?”

Magdalene said:

“I was only thinking how funny it was that you—you, George, should have a disreputablebrother! You’re so very respectable.”

“I should hope so,” said George coldly.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Your father isn’t—very respectable, George.”

“Really, Magdalene!”

“Sometimes the things he says make me feel quite uncomfortable.”

George said:

“Really, Magdalene, you surprise me. Does—er—does Lydia feel the same?”

“He doesn’t say the same kind of things to Lydia,” said Magdalene. She added angrily, “No,he never says them to her. I can’t think why not.”

George glanced at her quickly and then glanced away.

“Oh, well,” he said vaguely¹². “One must make allowances. At Father’s age—and with hishealth being so bad—”

He paused. His wife asked:

“Is he really—pretty ill?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. He’s remarkably¹³ tough. All the same, since he wants to have hisfamily round him at Christmas, I think we are quite right to go. It may be his last Christmas.”

She said sharply:

“You say that, George, but really, I suppose, he may live for years?”

Slightly taken aback, her husband stammered¹⁴:

“Yes—yes, of course he may.”

Magdalene turned away.

“Oh, well,” she said, “I suppose we’re doing the right thing by going.”

“I have no doubt about it.”

“But I hate it! Alfred’s so dull, and Lydia snubs me.”

“Nonsense.”

“She does. And I hate that beastly manservant.”

“Old Tressilian?”

“No, Horbury. Sneaking¹⁵ round like a cat and smirking¹⁶.”

“Really, Magdalene, I can’t see that Horbury can affect you in any way!”

“He just gets on my nerves, that’s all. But don’t let’s bother. We’ve got to go, I can see that.

Won’t do to offend the old man.”

“No—no, that’s just the point. About the servants’ Christmas dinner—”

“Not now, George, some other time. I’ll just ring up Lydia and tell her that we’ll come by thefive twenty tomorrow.”

Magdalene left the room precipitately¹⁷. After telephoning she went up to her own room andsat down in front of the desk. She let down the flap and rummaged¹⁸ in its various pigeonholes¹⁹.

Cascades²⁰ of bills came tumbling out. Magdalene sorted through them, trying to arrange them insome kind of order. Finally, with an impatient sigh, she bundled them up and thrust them backwhence they had come. She passed a hand over her smooth platinum head.

“What on earth am I to do?” she murmured.

 

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