Thirty. Miss Viner gives judgment. Catherine looked out of Miss Viner's bedroom window.
It was raining, not violently, but with a quiet, well bred
persistence. The window looked out on a strip of front garden with a path
down to the gate and neat little flower beds on either side, where later
roses and pinks and blue hyacinths would bloom. Miss Viner was lying in a
large Victorian bedstead. A tray with the remains of breakfast had been pushed to
one side, and she was busy opening her correspondence and making various caustic comments
upon it. Catherine had an open letter in her hand and was reading it
through for the second time. It was dated from the Ritz Hotel Paris Cher
Mademoiselle Catherine. It began, I trust that you are in good health,
and that the return to the English winter has not proved too depressing me.
I prosecute my inquiries with the utmost diligence. Do not think that it is
the holiday that I take here. Very shortly I shall be in England,
and I hope then to have the pleasure of meeting you once more. It
shall be so, shall it not? On arrival in London, I shall
write to you. You remember that we are the colleagues in this affair.
But indeed I think you know that very well. Be assured, Mademoiselle,
of my most respectful and devoted sentiments, Hercule Poirot. Catherine frowned slightly.
It was as though something in the letter puzzled and intrigued her. A choir
boy's picnic indeed came from Miss Vinner. Tommy Saunders and Albert Dykes ought to
be left behind. And I shan't subscribe to it unless they are what those
two boys think they are doing in church on Sundays. I don't know Tommy
saying, oh God, make speed to save us, and never opened his
lips again. And if Albert Dykes wasn't sucking a mint humbug, my nose
is not what it is and always has been. I know they are awful,
agreed Catherine. She opened her second letter and a sudden flush came to
her cheeks. Miss Viner's voice in the room seemed to recede into the far
distance. When she came back to a sense of her surroundings, Miss Viner
was bringing a long speech to a triumphant termination, and I said to her,
not at all. As it happens, Miss Gray is Lady Tamplin's own
cousin. What do you think of that? Were you fighting my battles for
me? That was very sweet of you. You can put it that way
if you like. There is nothing to me in a title vicar's wife or
no vicar's wife. That woman is a cat hinting you had bought your way
into society. Perhaps she was not so very far wrong. And look at
you, continued Miss Viner, have you come back a stuck up lady as
well you might have done? Know there you are as sensible as ever you
were, with a pair of good Balbriggan stockings on and sensible shoes. I
spoke to Ellen about it only yesterday. Ellen, I said, you look
at miss Gray. She has been hobnobbing with some of the greatest in the
land. And does she go about as you do with skirts up to her
knees and silk stockings that latter when you look at them, and the most
ridiculous shoes that ever I set eyes on. Catherine smiled a little to herself.
It had apparently been worth while to conform to Miss Venar's prejudices. The
old lady went on with increasing GUSTO. It has been a great relief to
me that you have not had your head turned. Only the other day I
was looking for my cuttings. I have several about Lady Tamplin and her war
hospital and what not, but I cannot lay my hand upon them. I
wish you would look, my dear, your eyesight is better than mine.
They are all in a box in the bureau drawer. Catherine glanced down at
the letter in her hand and was about to speak, but checked herself,
and going over to the bureau, found the box of cuttings and began to
look over them. Since her return to Saint Mary Meade, her heart had
gone out to Miss Viner in admiration of the old woman's stoicism and pluck.
She felt that there was little she could do for her old friend, but
she knew from experience how much those seemingly small trifles meant to old people.
Here is one, she said, presently, Viscountess Tamplin, who is running
her villa at Nice as an officer's hospital, has just been the victim of
a sensational robbery, her jewels having been stolen. Amongst them were some very
famous emeralds, heirlooms of the Tamplin family. Probably paste, said Miss Viner.
A lot of these society women's jewels are. Here is another, said
Catherine, A picture of her, A charming camera study of Viscountess Tamplin with
her little daughter Lennox. Let me look, said Miss Vyner. You can't
see much of the child's face, can you? But I dare say that
is just as well. Things go by contraries in this world, and beautiful
mothers have hideous children. I dare say the photographer realized that to take the
back of the child's head was the best thing he could do for her,
Catherine laughed. One of the smartest hostesses on the Riviera this season is Viscountess
Tamplin, who has a villa at Cap Martin. Her cousin, Miss Gray,
who recently inherited a vast fortune in a most romantic manner, is staying
with her. There. That is the one I wanted, said Miss Viner.
I expect there has been a picture of you in one of the papers
that I have missed. You know the kind of thing, missus. Somebody
or other Jones Williams at the something or other point to point, usually carrying
a shooting stick and having one foot lifted up in the air. It must
be a trial to some of them to see what they look like. Catherine
did not answer. She was smoothing out the cutting with her finger, and
her face had a puzzled, worried look. Then she drew the second letter
out of its envelope and mastered its contents once more. She turned to her
friend, Miss Viner. I wonder there is a friend of mine, someone
I met on the riviera who wants very much to come down and see me
here a man, said Miss Viner. Yes, who is he? He
is secretary to mister van Alden, the American millionaire. What is his name?
Knighton, Major Knighton hum secretary to a millionaire and wants to come down
here. Now, Catherine, I am going to say something to you for
your own good. You are a nice girl and a sensible girl, and
though you have your head screwed on the right way about most things, every
woman makes a fool of herself once in her life. Ten to one.
What this man is after is your money. With a gesture, she arrested
Catherine's reply, I have been waiting for something of this kind. What is
a secretary to a millionaire? Nine times out of ten it is a young
man who likes living soft, a young man with nice manners and a taste
for luxury, and no brains and no enterprise. And if there is anything
that is a softer job than being a secretary to a millionaire, it is
marrying a rich woman for her money. I am not saying that you might
not be some man's fancy, but you are not young, and though you
have a very good complexion, you are not a beauty. And what I
say to you is, don't make a fool of yourself. But if you
are determined to do so, do see that your money is properly tied up
on yourself. There Now, I have finished. What have you got to
say? Nothing, said Catherine. But would you mind if he did come
to see me? I wash my hands of it, said miss Viner.
I have done my duty, and whatever happens now is on your own head.
Would you like him to lunch or to dinner? I dare say Ellen
could manage dinner, that is, if she didn't lose her head. Lunch
would be very nice, said Katherine. It is awfully kind of you,
Miss Viner. He asked me to ring him up, So I will do
so, and say that we shall be pleased if he will lunch with us.
He will motor down from town. Ellen does a steak with grilled tomatoes
pretty fairly, said Miss Viner. She doesn't do it well, but she
does it better than anything else. It is no good having a tart because
she is heavy handed with pastry. But her little castle puddings are not bad.
And I dare say you could find a nice piece of stilton at Abbots.
I have always heard that gentlemen like a nice piece of stilton. And
there is a good deal of Father's wine left a bottle of sparkling Moselle perhaps,
Oh no, miss Viner, that is really not necessary. Nonsense,
my child. No gentleman is happy unless he drinks something with his meal.
There is some good pre war whiskey if you think he would prefer that.
Now, do as I say, and don't argue. The key of the
wine cellar is in the third drawer down in the dressing table, in the
second pair of stockings on the left hand side. Catherine went obediently to the
spot indicated the second pair. Now, mind, said miss Viner. The
first pair has my diamond ear rings and my filigree brooch in it, Oh,
said Catherine, rather taken aback, wouldn't you like them put in your
jewel case? Miss Viner gave vent to a terrific and prolonged snort. No,
indeed, I have much too much sense for that sort of thing,
thank you, dear, dear. I Well remember how my poor father had
a safe built in downstairs. Pleased as punch he was with it, and
he said to my mother, now, Mary, you bring me your jewels
in their case every night, and I will lock them away for you.
My mother was a very tactful woman, and she knew that gentlemen like having
their own way, and she brought him the jewel case, locked up just
as he said. And one night burglars broke in, and of course,
naturally the first thing they went for was the safe. It would be with
my father talking up and down the village and bragging about it, until you
might have thought he kept all King Solomon's diamonds there. They made a clean
sweep, got the tankards, the silver cups, and the presentation gold plate
that my father had had presented to him, and the jewel case, she
sighed reminiscently. My father was in a great state over my mother's jewels.
There was the Venetian set, and some very fine cameos, and some pale
pink corals, and two diamond rings with quite large stones in them. And
then of course she had to tell him that, being a sensible woman,
she had kept her jewelry rolled up in a pair of corsets, and there
it was still as safe as anything. And the jewel case had been quite
empty. Oh no, dear, said miss Vinner, it would have been
too light a weight. Then my mother was a very intelligent woman. She
saw to that she kept her buttons in the jewel case, and a very
handy place. It was boot buttons in the top tray, trouser buttons in
the second tray, and assorted buttons below. Curiously enough, my father was
quite annoyed with her. He said he didn't like deceit. But I mustn't
go chattering on. You want to go and ring up your friend, and
mind you choose a nice piece of steak and tell Ellen she is not to
have holes in her stockings when she waits at lunch? Is her name Ellen
or Helen? Miss Viner, I thought, Miss Viner closed her eyes.
I can sound my h's dear as well as any one, but Helen is
not a suitable name for a servant. I don't know what the mothers in
the lower classes are coming to nowadays. The rain had cleared away when Knighton
arrived at the cottage. The pale, fitful sunshine shone down on it and
burnished Catherine's head as she stood in the doorway to welcome him. He came
up to her quickly, almost boyishly. I say, I hope you don't
mind. I simply had to say see you again soon. I hope the
friend you are staying with does not mind. Come in and make friends with
her, said Catherine. She can be most alarming, but you will soon
find that she has the softest heart in the world. Miss Viner was enthroned
majestically in the drawing room, wearing a complete set of the cameos which had
been so providentially preserved in the family. She greeted Knighton with dignity and an
austere politeness which would have damped many men. Knighton, however, had a
charm of manner which was not easily set aside, and after about ten minutes
Miss Viner thawed perceptibly. Luncheon was a merry meal, and Ellen or Helen,
in a new pair of silk stockings, devoid of ladders, performed prodigies
of waiting. Afterwards, Catherine and Knighton went for a walk, and they
came back to have tea tete a tete, since Miss Viner had gone to
lie down when the car had finally driven off, Catherine went slowly upstairs.
A voice called her, and she went into miss Viner's bedroom. Friend gone,
yes, thank you so much for letting me ask him down. No
need to thank me. Do you think I am the sort of old curmudgeon
who never will do anything for anybody. I think you are a dear,
said Catherine affectionately. Humph, said miss Viner, mollified. As Catherine was
leaving the room, she called her back, Catherine, Yes, I was
wrong about that young man of yours. A man, when he is making
up to anybody can be cordial and gallant and full of little attentions and altogether
charming. But when a man is really in love, he can't help looking
like a sheep. Now, whenever that young man looked at you. He
looked like a sheep. I take back all I said this morning. It is genuine