Spider’s Web. Агата Кристи

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      ‘Upon my soul,’ Sir Rowland exclaimed as he carried the tray to the door. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself, showing up your elders and betters. It turns out that only young Warrender here guessed they were all the same.’

      Hugo, who by now was laughing, accompanied him to the door. ‘Who was it?’ he asked, putting an arm around Sir Rowland’s shoulder, ‘Who was it who said that he’d know Cockburn ’twenty-seven anywhere?’

      ‘Never mind, Hugo,’ Sir Rowland replied resignedly, ‘let’s have some more of it later, whatever it is.’ Talking as they went, the two men left by the door leading to the hall, Hugo closing the door behind them.

      Jeremy confronted Clarissa on her sofa. ‘Now then, Clarissa,’ he said accusingly, ‘what’s all this about the Herzoslovakian Minister?’

      Clarissa looked at him innocently. ‘What about him?’ she asked.

      Pointing a finger at her, Jeremy spoke clearly and slowly. ‘Did he ever run to the lodge gates and back, in a mackintosh, three times in four minutes fifty-three seconds?’

      Clarissa smiled sweetly as she replied, ‘The Herzoslovakian Minister is a dear, but he’s well over sixty, and I doubt very much if he’s run anywhere for years.’

      ‘So you did make the whole thing up. They told me you probably did. But why?’

      ‘Well,’ Clarissa suggested, her smile even sweeter than before, ‘you’d been complaining all day about not getting enough exercise. So I thought the only friendly thing to do was to help you get some. It would have been no good ordering you to go for a brisk run through the woods, but I knew you’d respond to a challenge. So I invented someone for you to challenge.’

      Jeremy gave a comical groan of exasperation. ‘Clarissa,’ he asked her, ‘do you ever speak the truth?’

      ‘Of course I do—sometimes,’ Clarissa admitted. ‘But when I am speaking the truth, nobody ever seems to believe me. It’s very odd.’ She thought for a moment, and then continued. ‘I suppose when you’re making things up, you get carried away and that makes it sound more convincing.’ She drifted over to the French windows.

      ‘I might have broken a blood vessel,’ Jeremy complained. ‘A fat lot you’d have cared about that.’

      Clarissa laughed. Opening the window she observed, ‘I do believe it’s cleared up. It’s going to be a lovely evening. How delicious the garden smells after rain.’ She leaned out and sniffed. ‘Narcissus.’

      As she closed the window again, Jeremy came over to join her. ‘Do you really like living down here in the country?’ he asked.

      ‘I love it.’

      ‘But you must get bored to death,’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s all so incongruous for you, Clarissa. You must miss the theatre terribly. I hear you were passionate about it when you were younger.’

      ‘Yes, I was. But I manage to create my own theatre right here,’ said Clarissa with a laugh.

      ‘But you ought to be leading an exciting life in London.’

      Clarissa laughed again. ‘What—parties and night clubs?’ she asked.

      ‘Parties, yes. You’d make a brilliant hostess,’ Jeremy told her, laughing.

      She turned to face him. ‘It sounds like an Edwardian novel,’ she said. ‘Anyway, diplomatic parties are terribly dull.’

      ‘But it’s such a waste, your being tucked away down here,’ he persisted, moving close to her and attempting to take her hand.

      ‘A waste—of me?’ asked Clarissa, withdrawing her hand.

      ‘Yes,’ Jeremy responded fervently. ‘Then there’s Henry.’

      ‘What about Henry?’ Clarissa busied herself patting a cushion on an easy chair.

      Jeremy looked at her steadily. ‘I can’t imagine why you ever married him,’ he replied, plucking up his courage. ‘He’s years older than you, with a daughter who’s a school-kid.’ He leaned on the armchair, still observing her closely. ‘He’s an excellent man, I have no doubt, but really, of all the pompous stuffed shirts. Going about looking like a boiled owl.’ He paused, waiting for a reaction. When none came, he continued, ‘He’s as dull as ditchwater.’

      Still she said nothing. Jeremy tried again. ‘And he has no sense of humour,’ he muttered somewhat petulantly.

      Clarissa looked at him, smiled, but said nothing.

      ‘I suppose you think I oughtn’t to say these things,’ Jeremy exclaimed.

      Clarissa sat on one end of a long stool. ‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she told him. ‘Say anything you like.’

      Jeremy went over to sit beside her. ‘So you do realize that you’ve made a mistake?’ he asked, eagerly.

      ‘But I haven’t made a mistake,’ was Clarissa’s softly uttered response. Then, teasingly, she added, ‘Are you making immoral advances to me, Jeremy?’

      ‘Definitely,’ was his prompt reply.

      ‘How lovely,’ exclaimed Clarissa. She nudged him with her elbow. ‘Do go on.’

      ‘I think you know how I feel about you, Clarissa,’ Jeremy responded somewhat moodily. ‘But you’re just playing with me, aren’t you? Flirting. It’s another one of your games. Darling, can’t you be serious just for once?’

      ‘Serious? What’s so good about “serious”?’ Clarissa replied. ‘There’s enough seriousness in the world already. I like to enjoy myself, and I like everyone around me to enjoy themselves as well.’

      Jeremy smiled ruefully. ‘I’d be enjoying myself a great deal more at this moment if you were serious about me,’ he observed.

      ‘Oh, come on,’ she ordered him playfully. ‘Of course you’re enjoying yourself. Here you are, our house-guest for the weekend, along with my lovely godfather Roly. And sweet old Hugo’s here for drinks this evening as well. He and Roly are so funny together. You can’t say you’re not enjoying yourself.’

      ‘Of course I’m enjoying myself,’ Jeremy admitted. ‘But you won’t let me say what I really want to say to you.’

      ‘Don’t be silly, darling,’ she replied. ‘You know you can say anything you like to me.’

      ‘Really? You mean that?’ he asked her.

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘Very well, then,’ said Jeremy. He rose from the stool and turned to face her. ‘I love you,’ he declared.

      ‘I’m so glad,’ replied Clarissa, cheerfully.

      ‘That’s entirely the wrong answer,’ Jeremy complained. ‘You ought to say, “I’m so sorry” in a deep, sympathetic voice.’

      ‘But СКАЧАТЬ