Closed Casket: The New Hercule Poirot Mystery. Агата Кристи

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      ‘But there can be no cure for me. You know this, dear Athie. I have explained.’

      ‘I shall not believe it until I hear it from my own doctor. Not all medical men are equally intelligent and capable, Joseph. It is a profession that risks attracting those who find sickness and weakness attractive.’

      ‘I know what must be done.’ Dorro clapped her hands together. ‘Joseph must make a will naming Harry and Claudia as the beneficiaries. Mr Gathercole, Mr Rolfe, you will assist with this, won’t you? Can it be done, quickly? I don’t see why it should not be done! You evidently do not wish to steal from this family, Joseph—and I believe it would be theft if you were to allow what is rightfully ours to be left to you without putting in place—’

      ‘That is enough, Dorro,’ Lady Playford said firmly. ‘Joseph, please take no notice. Theft! The very idea! It is no such thing.’

      ‘And what of Harry and me? We will starve! We will have nowhere to live! Where will we go? Have you made no provision for us at all? Oh, do not bother to answer! It gives you pleasure, does it not, to see me squirm and beg!’

      ‘What an extraordinary thing to say,’ Lady Playford observed mildly.

      ‘This is about Nicholas!’ Dorro babbled on, wild-eyed. ‘In your mind, you have turned Joseph into Nicholas—your dead little boy, come back to life! The resemblance is quite apparent: both fair-haired and blue-eyed, both weak and sickly. But Nicholas cannot be brought back from the grave by this new will of yours! Nicholas, I am afraid, is stone-cold dead and will remain so!’

      All movement at the table ceased. A few seconds later, without a word, Lady Playford left the dining room, closing the door quietly behind her.

      ‘All those children you never had, Dorro?’ said Kimpton. ‘Lucky blighters, I should say.’

      ‘Indeed,’ said Claudia. ‘Imagine.’

      ‘Mr Gathercole, Mr Rolfe—go after her, please.’ Dorro gestured frantically towards the door. ‘Make her see sense!’

      ‘I’m afraid I cannot do as you ask,’ said Gathercole tonelessly. Whatever inner crisis had gripped him before seemed to have passed; he looked composed once again. He averted his eyes as he addressed Dorro, as if she were a gruesome spectacle that, once seen, might haunt a fellow for ever. ‘Lady Playford is certain of her wishes in this matter, and I am satisfied that she is of sound mind.’

      ‘Mr Rolfe, you must tackle her, then, if Mr Gathercole is too lily-livered to try.’

      ‘Do not disturb Lady Playford, please,’ said Poirot. ‘She will wish to be alone for a while.’

      Claudia laughed. ‘Listen to him! He only arrived this afternoon, yet he talks with such authority about my mother.’

      Harry Playford leaned forward and addressed Scotcher, ‘How do you feel about all this, old boy? Bit rum, what?’

      ‘Harry, you must believe me. I neither asked for this, nor hoped for it—ever. I do not want it! Though I am, of course, deeply moved to learn that dear Athie cares for me to this extent, I never imagined …’ He grimaced and changed course. ‘I should very much like to understand what is behind it, that is all. I cannot truly believe that she envisages a cure for me.’

      ‘You say you do not want it—then write down your wishes on a piece of paper!’ said Dorro. ‘That is all you need do! Write down that you want everything to go to me and Harry, and we will sign our names as witnesses.’

      ‘All to go to you and Harry?’ said Claudia. ‘What was it you said to Joseph about not even being family?’

      ‘I meant to you and Harry.’ Dorro blushed. ‘You must forgive me. I scarcely know what I am saying! All I want is to make this right!’

      ‘You spoke of my wishes, Dorro,’ said Scotcher. ‘I have only one wish. Sophie … I would kneel if I could, but I am feeling particularly unwell after all this commotion. Sophie, would you do me the great honour of agreeing to become my wife, as soon as it can be arranged? That is all I want.’

      ‘Oh!’ Sophie exclaimed, taking a step back. ‘Oh, Joseph! Are you sure you want this? You have had a shock. Maybe you should wait before—’

      ‘I have never been more certain of anything in my life, my dearest one.’

      ‘That is what I call Claudia,’ Kimpton muttered. ‘Kindly invent your own endearments, Scotcher.’

      ‘What would you know about kindness?’ Sophie turned on him. ‘What would any of you know about it?’

      ‘We should all leave you and Mr Scotcher alone, mademoiselle,’ said Poirot. ‘Come—let us give them some privacy.’

      Privacy! That was rich, coming from Poirot, the world’s most zealous interferer in other people’s romantic affairs.

      ‘You are taking this proposal of marriage seriously, then, Monsieur Poirot?’ asked Claudia. ‘You do not wonder what is the point of it when Joseph has only weeks to live? Surely a sensible invalid would rather not be concerned with arduous wedding preparations.’

      ‘You are as bad as Randall! You are heartless tormentors, both of you!’ Loathing seemed to pour from Sophie’s eyes as she stared at Kimpton and Claudia.

      ‘Heartless?’ said Kimpton. ‘Incorrect. I have the valves, the chambers, the arteries that make a heart. My blood is pumped around my body in the same way yours is.’ He turned to Poirot. ‘This is what your psychology does, my friend—it has us all speaking as if muscle tissue were capable of finer feelings. Believe me, Sophie, when you’ve opened up as many bodies as I have and seen the hearts inside them—’

      ‘Will you stop talking about disgusting, blood-soaked organs, while our plates are heaped with meat?’ Dorro spat at him. ‘I cannot bear the sight of it, nor the smell.’ She pushed away her plate.

      None of us had managed to eat very much, apart from Orville Rolfe, who had wolfed his entire dinner within a few seconds of it being placed in front of him.

      ‘Dearest Sophie,’ said Scotcher. ‘Randall and Claudia are right: I do not have long to go. But I should like to spend what time I have left with you, as your faithful and loving husband. If you will have me, that is.’

      The sound of a strangled cry, cut off at its mid-point, made everyone look up. It had come from nobody in the room.

      ‘Which nosy so-and-so has his or her waxy lug-hole pressed up against the door?’ said Kimpton loudly.

      We all heard the flurry of footsteps as the listener ran away.

      ‘Joseph, you know I love you more than anything,’ said Sophie. She sounded—and it struck me as rather odd—as if she was pleading with him. ‘You know I would do anything for you.’

      ‘Well, then!’ Scotcher smiled. At least, I think it was a smile. He appeared to be in a certain amount of pain.

      ‘Monsieur Poirot is right,’ said Sophie. ‘We should be sensible and discuss this in private.’

      Two by two, the rest of us СКАЧАТЬ