Towards Zero. Агата Кристи

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      ‘That would be rather funny,’ said Kay.

      But she spoke absently. She stared down at the racquet she was twiddling in her hands. She caught her breath suddenly.

      ‘Oh Ted!’

      ‘What’s the matter, sugar?’

      ‘I don’t know. It’s just sometimes I get—I get cold feet! I get scared and feel queer.’

      ‘That doesn’t sound like you, Kay.’

      ‘It doesn’t, does it? Anyway,’ she smiled rather uncertainly, ‘you’ll be at the Easterhead Bay Hotel.’

      ‘All according to plan.’

      When Kay met Nevile outside the changing rooms, he said:

      ‘I see the boy friend’s arrived.’

      ‘Ted?’

      ‘Yes, the faithful dog—or faithful lizard might be more apt.’

      ‘You don’t like him, do you?’

      ‘Oh, I don’t mind him. If it amuses you to pull him around on a string—’

      He shrugged his shoulders.

      Kay said:

      ‘I believe you’re jealous.’

      ‘Of Latimer?’ His surprise was genuine.

      Kay said:

      ‘Ted’s supposed to be very attractive.’

      ‘I’m sure he is. He has that lithe South American charm.’

      ‘You are jealous.’

      Nevile gave her arm a friendly squeeze.

      ‘No, I’m not, Gorgeous. You can have your tame adorers—a whole court of them if you like. I’m the man in possession, and possession is nine points of the law.’

      ‘You’re very sure of yourself,’ said Kay with a slight pout.

      ‘Of course. You and I are Fate. Fate let us meet. Fate brought us together. Do you remember when we met at Cannes and I was going on to Estoril and suddenly, when I got there, the first person I met was lovely Kay! I knew then that it was Fate—and that I couldn’t escape.’

      ‘It wasn’t exactly Fate,’ Kay said. ‘It was me!’

      ‘What do you mean by “it was me”?’

      ‘Because it was! You see, I heard you say at Cannes you were going to Estoril, so I set to work on Mums and got her all worked up—and that’s why the first person you saw when you got there was Kay.’

      Nevile looked at her with a rather curious expression. He said slowly: ‘You never told me that before.’

      ‘No, because it wouldn’t have been good for you. It might have made you conceited! But I always have been good at planning. Things don’t happen unless you make them! You call me a nitwit sometimes—but in my own way I’m quite clever. I make things happen. Sometimes I have to plan a long way beforehand.’

      ‘The brainwork must be intense.’

      ‘It’s all very well to laugh.’

      Nevile said with a sudden curious bitterness:

      ‘Am I just beginning to understand the woman I’ve married? For Fate—read Kay!’

      Kay said:

      ‘You’re not cross, are you, Nevile?’

      He said rather absently:

      ‘No—no, of course not. I was just—thinking …’

       August 10th

      Lord Cornelly, that rich and eccentric peer, was sitting at the monumental desk which was his especial pride and pleasure. It had been designed for him at immense expense and the whole furnishing of the room was subordinated to it. The effect was terrific and only slightly marred by the unavoidable addition of Lord Cornelly himself, an insignificant and rotund little man completely dwarfed by the desk’s magnificence.

      Into this scene of City splendour there entered a blonde secretary, also in harmony with the luxury furnishings.

      Gliding silently across the floor, she laid a slip of paper before the great man.

      Lord Cornelly peered down at it.

      ‘MacWhirter? MacWhirter? Who’s he? Never heard of him. Has he got an appointment?’

      The blonde secretary indicated that such was the case.

      ‘MacWhirter, eh? Oh! MacWhirter! That fellow! Of course! Send him in. Send him in at once.’

      Lord Cornelly chuckled gleefully. He was in high good-humour.

      Throwing himself back in his chair, he stared up into the dour unsmiling face of the man he had summoned to an interview.

      ‘You’re MacWhirter, eh? Angus MacWhirter?’

      ‘That’s my name.’

      MacWhirter spoke stiffly, standing erect and unsmiling.

      ‘You were with Herbert Clay? That’s right, isn’t it?’

      ‘Yes.’

      Lord Cornelly began to chuckle again.

      ‘I know all about you. Clay got his driving-licence endorsed, all because you wouldn’t back him up and swear he was going at twenty miles an hour! Livid about it he was!’ The chuckle increased. ‘Told us all about it in the Savoy Grill. “That damned pigheaded Scot!” That’s what he said! Went on and on. D’you know what I was thinking?’

      ‘I’ve not the least idea.’

      MacWhirter’s tone was repressive. Lord Cornelly took no notice. He was enjoying his remembrance of his own reactions.

      ‘I thought to myself: “That’s the kind of chap I could do with! Man who can’t be bribed to tell lies.” You won’t have to tell lies for me. I don’t do my business that way. I go about the world looking for honest men—and there are damned few of them!’

      The little peer cackled with shrill laughter, his shrewd monkey-like face wrinkled with mirth. MacWhirter stood solidly, not amused.

      Lord Cornelly stopped laughing. His face became shrewd, alert.

      ‘If you want a job, MacWhirter, I’ve got СКАЧАТЬ