The Burden. Агата Кристи

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      Her eyes roamed over currant buns, jam roll, éclairs, cucumber sandwiches, chocolate biscuits and a large indigestible-looking rich black plum cake.

      She gave a sudden little giggle.

      ‘You did expect me,’ she said. ‘Unless—do you have a tea like this every day?’

      ‘God forbid,’ said Mr Baldock.

      They sat down companionably. Mr Baldock had six cucumber sandwiches, and Laura had four éclairs, and a selection of everything else.

      ‘Got a good appetite, I’m glad to see, young Laura,’ said Mr Baldock appreciatively as they finished.

      ‘I’m always hungry,’ said Laura, ‘and I’m hardly ever sick. Charles used to be sick.’

      ‘Hm … Charles. I suppose you miss Charles a lot?’

      ‘Oh yes, I do. I do, really.’

      Mr Baldock’s bushy grey eyebrows rose.

      ‘All right. All right. Who says you don’t miss him?’

      ‘Nobody. And I do—I really do.’

      He nodded gravely in answer to her earnestness, and watched her. He was wondering.

      ‘It was terribly sad, his dying like that.’ Laura’s voice unconsciously reproduced the tones of another voice, some adult voice, which had originally uttered the phrase.

      ‘Yes, very sad.’

      ‘Terribly sad for Mummy and Daddy. Now—I’m all they’ve got in the world.’

      ‘So that’s it?’

      She looked at him uncomprehendingly.

      She had gone into her private dream world. ‘Laura, my darling. You’re all I have—my only child—my treasure …’

      ‘Bad butter,’ said Mr Baldock. It was one of his expressions of perturbation. ‘Bad butter! Bad butter!’ He shook his head vexedly.

      ‘Come out in the garden, Laura,’ he said. ‘We’ll have a look at the roses. Tell me what you do with yourself all day.’

      ‘Well, in the morning Miss Weekes comes and we do lessons.’

      ‘That old Tabby!’

      ‘Don’t you like her?’

      ‘She’s got Girton written all over her. Mind you never go to Girton, Laura!’

      ‘What’s Girton?’

      ‘It’s a woman’s college. At Cambridge. Makes my flesh creep when I think about it!’

      ‘I’m going to boarding school when I’m twelve.’

      ‘Sinks of iniquity, boarding schools!’

      ‘Don’t you think I’ll like it?’

      ‘I dare say you’ll like it all right. That’s just the danger! Hacking other girls’ ankles with a hockey stick, coming home with a crush on the music mistress, going on to Girton or Somerville as likely as not. Oh well, we’ve got a couple of years still, before the worst happens. Let’s make the most of it. What are you going to do when you grow up? I suppose you’ve got some notions about it?’

      ‘I did think that I might go and nurse lepers—’

      ‘Well, that’s harmless enough. Don’t bring one home and put him in your husband’s bed, though. St Elizabeth of Hungary did that. Most misguided zeal. A Saint of God, no doubt, but a very inconsiderate wife.’

      ‘I shall never marry,’ said Laura in a voice of renunciation.

      ‘No? Oh, I think I should marry if I were you. Old maids are worse than married women in my opinion. Hard luck on some man, of course, but I dare say you’d make a better wife than many.’

      ‘It wouldn’t be right. I must look after Mummy and Daddy in their old age. They’ve got nobody but me.’

      ‘They’ve got a cook and a house-parlourmaid and a gardener, and a good income, and plenty of friends. They’ll be all right. Parents have to put up with their children leaving them when the time comes. Great relief sometimes.’ He stopped abruptly by a bed of roses. ‘Here are my roses. Like ’em?’

      ‘They’re beautiful,’ said Laura politely.

      ‘On the whole,’ said Mr Baldock, ‘I prefer them to human beings. They don’t last as long for one thing.’

      Then he took Laura firmly by the hand.

      ‘Goodbye, Laura,’ he said. ‘You’ve got to be going now. Friendship should never be strained too far. I’ve enjoyed having you to tea.’

      ‘Goodbye, Mr Baldock. Thank you for having me. I’ve enjoyed myself very much.’

      The polite slogan slipped from her lips in a glib fashion. Laura was a well-brought-up child.

      ‘That’s right,’ said Mr Baldock, patting her amicably on the shoulder. ‘Always say your piece. It’s courtesy and knowing the right passwords that makes the wheels go round. When you come to my age, you can say what you like.’

      Laura smiled at him and passed through the iron gate he was holding open for her. Then she turned and hesitated.

      ‘Well, what is it?’

      ‘Is it really settled now? About our being friends, I mean?’

      Mr Baldock rubbed his nose.

      ‘Yes,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Yes, I think so.’

      ‘I hope you don’t mind very much?’ Laura asked anxiously.

      ‘Not too much … I’ve got to get used to the idea, mind.’

      ‘Yes, of course. I’ve got to get used to it, too. But I think—I think—it’s going to be nice. Goodbye.’

      ‘Goodbye.’

      Mr Baldock looked after her retreating figure, and muttered to himself fiercely: ‘Now look what you’ve let yourself in for, you old fool!’

      He retraced his steps to the house, and was met by his housekeeper Mrs Rouse.

      ‘Has the little girl gone?’

      ‘Yes, she’s gone.’

      ‘Oh dear, she didn’t stay very long, did she?’

      ‘Quite long enough,’ said Mr Baldock. ‘Children and one’s social inferiors never know when to say goodbye. One has to say it for them.’

      ‘Well!’ СКАЧАТЬ