Taken At The Flood. Агата Кристи

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ flowed in with comfortable regularity to provide little luxuries.

      Everything had been so settled, so secure. And then had come Gordon Cloade’s wholly unexpected marriage.

      ‘Of course, darling,’ Adela went on, ‘we were all flabbergasted. If there was one thing that seemed quite certain, it was that Gordon would never marry again. It wasn’t, you see, as though he hadn’t got plenty of family ties.’

      Yes, thought Lynn, plenty of family. Sometimes, possibly, rather too much family?

      ‘He was so kind always,’ went on Mrs Marchmont. ‘Though perhaps just a weeny bit tyrannical on occasions. He never liked the habit of dining off a polished table. Always insisted on my sticking to the old-fashioned tablecloths. In fact, he sent me the most beautiful Venetian lace ones when he was in Italy.’

      ‘It certainly paid to fall in with his wishes,’ said Lynn dryly. She added with some curiosity, ‘How did he meet this—second wife? You never told me in your letters.’

      ‘Oh, my dear, on some boat or plane or other. Coming from South America to New York, I believe. After all those years! And after all those secretaries and typists and housekeepers and everything.’

      Lynn smiled. Ever since she could remember, Gordon Cloade’s secretaries, housekeepers and office staff had been subjected to the closest scrutiny and suspicion.

      She asked curiously, ‘She’s good-looking, I suppose?’

      ‘Well, dear,’ said Adela, ‘I think myself she has rather a silly face.’

      ‘You’re not a man, Mums!’

      ‘Of course,’ Mrs Marchmont went on, ‘the poor girl was blitzed and had shock from blast and was really frightfully ill and all that, and it’s my opinion she’s never really quite recovered. She’s a mass of nerves, if you know what I mean. And really, sometimes, she looks quite half-witted. I don’t feel she could ever have made much of a companion for poor Gordon.’

      Lynn smiled. She doubted whether Gordon Cloade had chosen to marry a woman years younger than himself for her intellectual companionship.

      ‘And then, dear,’ Mrs Marchmont lowered her voice, ‘I hate to say it, but of course she’s not a lady!’

      ‘What an expression, Mums! What does that matter nowadays?’

      ‘It still matters in the country, dear,’ said Adela placidly. ‘I simply mean that she isn’t exactly one of us!’

      ‘Poor little devil!’

      ‘Really, Lynn, I don’t know what you mean. We have all been most careful to be kind and polite and to welcome her amongst us for Gordon’s sake.’

      ‘She’s at Furrowbank, then?’ Lynn asked curiously.

      ‘Yes, naturally. Where else was there for her to go when she came out of the nursing home? The doctors said she must be out of London. She’s at Furrowbank with her brother.’

      ‘What’s he like?’ Lynn asked.

      ‘A dreadful young man!’ Mrs Marchmont paused, and then added with a good deal of intensity: ‘Rude.’

      A momentary flicker of sympathy crossed Lynn’s mind. She thought: ‘I bet I’d be rude in his place!’

      She asked: ‘What’s his name?’

      ‘Hunter. David Hunter. Irish, I believe. Of course they are not people one has ever heard of. She was a widow—a Mrs Underhay. One doesn’t wish to be uncharitable, but one can’t help asking oneself—what kind of a widow would be likely to be travelling about from South America in wartime? One can’t help feeling, you know, that she was just looking for a rich husband.’

      ‘In which case, she didn’t look in vain,’ remarked Lynn.

      Mrs Marchmont sighed.

      ‘It seems so extraordinary. Gordon was such a shrewd man always. And it wasn’t, I mean, that women hadn’t tried. That last secretary but one, for instance. Really quite blatant. She was very efficient, I believe, but he had to get rid of her.’

      Lynn said vaguely: ‘I suppose there’s always a Waterloo.’

      ‘Sixty-two,’ said Mrs Marchmont. ‘A very dangerous age. And a war, I imagine, is unsettling. But I can’t tell you what a shock it was when we got his letter from New York.’

      ‘What did it say exactly?’

      ‘He wrote to Frances—I really can’t think why. Perhaps he imagined that owing to her upbringing she might be more sympathetic. He said that we’d probably be surprised to hear that he was married. It had all been rather sudden, but he was sure we should all soon grow very fond of Rosaleen (such a very theatrical name, don’t you think, dear? I mean definitely rather bogus). She had had a very sad life, he said, and had gone through a lot although she was so young. Really it was wonderful the plucky way she had stood up to life.’

      ‘Quite a well-known gambit,’ murmured Lynn.

      ‘Oh, I know. I do agree. One has heard it so many times. But one would really think that Gordon with all his experience—still, there it is. She has the most enormous eyes—dark blue and what they call put in with a smutty finger.’

      ‘Attractive?’

      ‘Oh, yes, she is certainly very pretty. It’s not the kind of prettiness I admire.’

      ‘It never is,’ said Lynn with a wry smile.

      ‘No, dear. Really, men—but well, there’s no accounting for men! Even the most well-balanced of them do the most incredibly foolish things! Gordon’s letter went on to say that we mustn’t think for a moment that this would mean any loosening of old ties. He still considered us all his special responsibility.’

      ‘But he didn’t,’ said Lynn, ‘make a will after his marriage?’

      Mrs Marchmont shook her head.

      ‘The last will he made was in 1940. I don’t know any details, but he gave us to understand at the time that we were all taken care of by it if anything should happen to him. That will, of course, was revoked by his marriage. I suppose he would have made a new will when he got home—but there just wasn’t time. He was killed practically the day after he landed in this country.’

      ‘And so she—Rosaleen—gets everything?’

      ‘Yes. The old will was invalidated by his marriage.’

      Lynn was silent. She was not more mercenary than most, but she would not have been human if she had not resented the new state of affairs. It was not, she felt, at all what Gordon Cloade himself would have envisaged. The bulk of his fortune he might have left to his young wife, but certain provisions he would certainly have made for the family he had encouraged to depend upon him. Again and again he had urged them not to save, not to make provision for the future. She had heard him say to Jeremy, ‘You’ll be a rich man when I die.’ To her СКАЧАТЬ