Star Over Bethlehem: Christmas Stories and Poems. Agatha Christie
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Название: Star Over Bethlehem: Christmas Stories and Poems
Автор: Agatha Christie
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Классическая проза
isbn: 9780007423804
isbn:
‘Excuse me, I was here before you.’ A tall thin olive-skinned woman infiltrated herself. It was quite untrue and they both knew it, but Mrs Hargreaves stood politely back. Unfortunately, she acquired a defender, one of those large brawny women who are public spirited and insist on seeing justice is done.
‘You didn’t ought to let her push you around, luv,’ she admonished, leaning heavily on Mrs Hargreaves’ shoulder and breathing gusts of strong peppermint in her face.‘You was here long before she was. I come in right on her heels and I know. Go on now.’ She administered a fierce dig in the ribs.‘Push in there and stand up for your rights!’
‘It really doesn’t matter,’ said Mrs Hargreaves.‘I’m not in a hurry.’
Her attitude pleased nobody.
The original thruster, now in negotiation for a pound and a half of frying steak, turned and gave battle in a whining slightly foreign voice.
‘If you think you get here before me, why not you say? No good being so high and mighty and saying’ (she mimicked the words) ‘it doesn’t matter! How do you think that makes me feel? I don’t want to go out of my turn.’
‘Oh no,’ said Mrs Hargreaves’ champion with heavy irony.‘Oh no, of course not! We all know that, don’t we?’
She looked round and immediately obtained a chorus of assent.The thruster seemed to be well known.
‘We know her and her ways,’ said one woman darkly.
‘Pound and a half of rump,’ said the butcher thrusting forth a parcel. ‘Now then, come along, who’s next, please?’
Mrs Hargreaves made her purchases and escaped to the street, thinking how really awful people were!
She went into the greengrocer next, to buy lemons and a lettuce. The woman at the greengrocer’s was, as usual, affectionate.
‘Well, ducks, what can we do for you today?’ She rang up the cash register; said ‘Ta’ and ‘Here you are, dearie,’ as she pressed a bulging bag into the arms of an elderly gentleman who looked at her in disgust and alarm.
‘She always calls me that,’ the old gentleman confided gloomily when the woman had gone in search of lemons.
‘ “Dear”, and “Dearie” and “Love”. I don’t even know the woman’s name!’
Mrs Hargreaves said she thought it was just a fashion. The old gentleman looked dubious and moved off, leaving Mrs Hargreaves feeling faintly cheered by the discovery of a fellow sufferer.
Her shopping bag was quite heavy by now, so she thought she would take a bus home.There were three or four people waiting at the bus stop, and an ill-tempered conductress shouted at the passengers.
‘Come along now, hurry along, please – we can’t wait here all day.’ She scooped up an elderly arthritic lady and thrust her staggering into the bus where someone caught her and steered her to a seat, and seized Mrs Hargreaves by the arm above the elbow with iron fingers, causing her acute pain.
‘Inside, only. Full up now.’ She tugged violently at a bell, the bus shot forward and Mrs Hargreaves collapsed on top of a large woman occupying, through no fault of her own, a good three-quarters of a seat for two.
‘I’m so sorry,’ gasped Mrs Hargreaves.
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