Sad Cypress. Agatha Christie

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      ‘Your illness?’

      ‘Yes. A stroke is the thing I’ve always dreaded. The indignity of it all! Washed and tended like a baby! Helpless to do anything for yourself. It maddens me. The O’Brien creature is good-natured—I will say that for her. She doesn’t mind my snapping at her and she’s not more idiotic than most of them. But it makes a lot of difference to me to have you about, Mary.’

      ‘Does it?’ The girl flushed. ‘I—I’m so glad, Mrs Welman.’

      Laura Welman said shrewdly:

      ‘You’ve been worrying, haven’t you? About the future. You leave it to me, my dear. I’ll see to it that you shall have the means to be independent and take up a profession. But be patient for a little—it means too much to me to have you here.’

      ‘Oh, Mrs Welman, of course—of course! I wouldn’t leave you for the world. Not if you want me—’

      ‘I do want you…’ The voice was unusually deep and full. ‘You’re—you’re quite like a daughter to me, Mary. I’ve seen you grow up here at Hunterbury from a little toddling thing—seen you grow into a beautiful girl… I’m proud of you, child. I only hope I’ve done what was best for you.’

      Mary said quickly:

      ‘If you mean that your having been so good to me and having educated me above—well, above my station—if you think it’s made me dissatisfied or—or—given me what Father calls fine-lady ideas, indeed that isn’t true. I’m just ever so grateful, that’s all. And if I’m anxious to start earning my living, it’s only because I feel it’s right that I should, and not—and not—well, do nothing after all you’ve done for me. I—I shouldn’t like it to be thought that I was sponging on you.’

      Laura Welman said, and her voice was suddenly sharp-edged:

      ‘So that’s what Gerrard’s been putting into your head? Pay no attention to your father, Mary; there never has been and never will be any question of your sponging on me! I’m asking you to stay here a little longer solely on my account. Soon it will be over… If they went the proper way about things, my life could be ended here and now—none of this long-drawn-out tomfoolery with nurses and doctors.’

      ‘Oh, no, Mrs Welman, Dr Lord says you may live for years.’

      ‘I’m not at all anxious to, thank you! I told him the other day that in a decently civilized state, all there would be to do would be for me to intimate to him that I wished to end it, and he’d finish me off painlessly with some nice drug. “And if you’d any courage, Doctor,” I said, “you’d do it, anyway!”’

      Mary cried:

      ‘Oh! What did he say?’

      ‘The disrespectful young man merely grinned at me, my dear, and said he wasn’t going to risk being hanged. He said, “If you’d left me all your money, Mrs Welman, that would be different, of course!” Impudent young jackanapes! But I like him. His visits do me more good than his medicines.’

      ‘Yes, he’s very nice,’ said Mary. ‘Nurse O’Brien thinks a lot of him and so does Nurse Hopkins.’

      Mrs Welman said:

      ‘Hopkins ought to have more sense at her age. As for O’Brien, she simpers and says, “Oh, doctor,” and tosses those long streamers of hers whenever he comes near her.’

      ‘Poor Nurse O’Brien.’

      Mrs Welman said indulgently:

      ‘She’s not a bad sort, really, but all nurses annoy me; they always will think that you’d like a “nice cup of tea” at five in the morning!’ She paused. ‘What’s that? Is it the car?’

      Mary looked out of the window.

      ‘Yes, it’s the car. Miss Elinor and Mr Roderick have arrived.’

      Mrs Welman said to her niece:

      ‘I’m very glad, Elinor, about you and Roddy.’

      Elinor smiled at her.

      ‘I thought you would be, Aunt Laura.’

      The older woman said, after a moment’s hesitation:

      ‘You do—care about him, Elinor?’

      Elinor’s delicate brows lifted.

      ‘Of course.’

      Laura Welman said quickly:

      ‘You must forgive me, dear. You know, you’re very reserved. It’s very difficult to know what you’re thinking or feeling. When you were both much younger I thought you were perhaps beginning to care for Roddy—too much…’

      Again Elinor’s delicate brows were raised.

      ‘Too much?’

      The older woman nodded.

      ‘Yes. It’s not wise to care too much. Sometimes a very young girl does do just that… I was glad when you went abroad to Germany to finish. Then, when you came back, you seemed quite indifferent to him—and, well, I was sorry for that, too! I’m a tiresome old woman, difficult to satisfy! But I’ve always fancied that you had, perhaps, rather an intense nature—that kind of temperament runs in our family. It isn’t a very happy one for its possessors… But, as I say, when you came back from abroad so indifferent to Roddy, I was sorry about that, because I had always hoped you two would come together. And now you have, and so everything is all right! And you do really care for him?’

      Elinor said gravely:

      ‘I care for Roddy enough and not too much.’

      Mrs Welman nodded approval.

      ‘I think, then, you’ll be happy. Roddy needs love—but he doesn’t like violent emotion. He’d shy off from possessiveness.’

      Elinor said with feeling:

      ‘You know Roddy very well!’

      Mrs Welman said:

      ‘If Roddy cares for you just a little more than you care for him—well, that’s all to the good.’

      Elinor said sharply:

      ‘Aunt Agatha’s Advice column. “Keep your boy friend guessing! Don’t let him be too sure of you!”’

      Laura Welman said sharply:

      ‘Are you unhappy, child? Is anything wrong?’

      ‘No, no, nothing.’

      Laura Welman said:

      ‘You just thought I was being rather—cheap? My dear, you’re young and sensitive. Life, I’m afraid, is rather cheap…’

      Elinor said with some slight bitterness:

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