Hercule Poirot - Christie Agatha - Страница 8

In a big grandfather armchair, the biggest and most imposing of all the chairs, sat the thin, shrivelled figure of an old man. His long clawlike hands rested on the arms of the chair. A gold-mounted stick was by his side. He wore an old shabby blue dressing-gown. On his feet were carpet slippers. His hair was white and the skin of his face was yellow.

Ashabby, insignificant figure, one might have thought. But the nose, aquiline and proud, and the eyes, dark and intensely alive, might cause an observer to alter his opinion. Here was fire and life and vigour.

Old Simeon Lee cackled to himself, a sudden, high cackle of amusement.

He said:

‘You gave my message to Mrs Alfred, hey?’

Horbury was standing beside his chair. He replied in his soft deferential voice: 

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Exactly in the words I told you? Exactly, mind?’

‘Yes, sir. I didn’t make a mistake, sir.’

‘No-you don’t make mistakes. You’d better not make mistakes either-or you’ll regret it! And what did she say, Horbury? What did Mr Alfred say?’

Quietly, unemotionally, Horbury repeated what had passed. The old man cackled again and rubbed his hands together.

‘Splendid…First rate…They’ll have been thinking and wondering-all the afternoon! Splendid! I’ll have ’em up now. Go and get them.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Horbury walked noiselessly across the room and went out.

‘And, Horbury-’

The old man looked round, then cursed to himself.

‘Fellow moves like a cat. Never know where he is.’

He sat quite still in his chair, his fingers caressing his chin till there was a tap on the door, and Alfred and Lydia came in.

‘Ah, there you are, there you are. Sit here, Lydia, my dear, by me. What a nice colour you’ve got.’

‘I’ve been out in the cold. It makes one’s cheeks burn afterwards.’

Alfred said: 

‘How are you, Father, did you have a good rest this afternoon?’

‘First rate-first rate. Dreamt about the old days! That was before I settled down and became a pillar of society.’

He cackled with sudden laughter.

His daughter-in-law sat silently smiling with polite attention.

Alfred said:

‘What’s this, Father, about two extra being expected for Christmas?’

‘Ah, that! Yes, I must tell you about that. It’s going to be a grand Christmas for me this year-a grand Christmas. Let me see, George is coming and Magdalene-’

Lydia said:

‘Yes, they are arriving tomorrow by the five-twenty.’

Old Simeon said:

‘Poor stick, George! Nothing but a gasbag! Still, heis my son.’

Alfred said:

‘His constituents like him.’

Simeon cackled again.

‘They probably think he’s honest. Honest! There never was a Lee who was honest yet.’

‘Oh, come now, Father.’

‘I except you, my boy. I except you.’ 

‘And David?’ asked Lydia.

‘David now. I’m curious to see the boy after all these years. He was a namby-pamby youngster. Wonder what his wife is like? At any ratehe hasn’t married a girl twenty years younger than himself, like that fool George!’

‘Hilda wrote a very nice letter,’ said Lydia. ‘I’ve just had a wire from her confirming it and saying they are definitely arriving tomorrow.’

Her father-in-law looked at her, a keen, penetrating glance.

He laughed.

‘I never get any change out of Lydia,’ he said. ‘I’ll say this for you, Lydia, you’re a well-bred woman. Breeding tells. I know that well enough. A funny thing, though, heredity. There’s only one of you that’s taken after me-only one out of all the litter.’

His eyes danced.

‘Now guess who’s coming for Christmas. I’ll give you three guesses and I’ll bet you a fiver you won’t get the answer.’

He looked from one face to the other. Alfred said frowning:

‘Horbury said you expected a young lady.’

‘That intrigued you-yes, I dare say it did. Pilar will be arriving any minute now. I gave orders for the car to go and meet her.’ 

Alfred said sharply:

‘Pilar?’

Simeon said:

‘Pilar Estravados. Jennifer’s girl. My granddaughter. I wonder what she’ll be like.’

Alfred cried out:

‘Good heavens, Father, you never told me…’

The old man was grinning.

‘No, I thought I’d keep it a secret! Got Charlton to write out and fix things.’

Alfred repeated, his tone hurt and reproachful:

‘You never told me…’

His father said, still grinning wickedly:

‘It would have spoilt the surprise! Wonder what it will be like to have young blood under this roof again? I never saw Estravados. Wonder which the girl takes after-her mother or her father?’

‘Do you really think it’s wise, Father,’ began Alfred. ‘Taking everything into consideration-’

The old man interrupted him.

‘Safety-safety-you play for safety too much, Alfred! Always have! That hasn’t been my way! Do what you want and be damned to it! That’s what I say! The girl’s my granddaughter-the only grandchild in the family! I don’t care what her father was or what he did! She’s my flesh and blood! And she’s coming to live here in my house.’ 

Lydia said sharply: ‘She’s coming tolive here?’

He darted a quick look at her. ‘Do you object?’

She shook her head. She said smiling:

‘I couldn’t very well object to your asking someone to your own house, could I? No, I was wondering about-her.’

‘About her-what d’you mean?’

‘Whether she would be happy here.’

Old Simeon flung up his head.

‘She’s not got a penny in the world. She ought to be thankful!’

Lydia shrugged her shoulders.

Simeon turned to Alfred:

‘You see? It’s going to be a grand Christmas! All my children round me.All my children! There, Alfred, there’s your clue. Now guess who the other visitor is.’

Alfred stared at him.

‘All my children! Guess, boy!Harry, of course! Your brother Harry!’

Alfred had gone very pale. He stammered:

‘Harry-not Harry-’

‘Harry himself!’

‘But we thought he was dead!’

‘Not he!’

‘You-you are having him back here? After everything?’

‘The prodigal son, eh? You’re right. The fatted calf! We must kill the fatted calf, Alfred. We must give him a grand welcome.’

Alfred said:

‘He treated you-all of us-disgracefully. He-’

‘No need to recite his crimes! It’s a long list. But Christmas, you’ll remember, is the season of forgiveness! We’ll welcome the prodigal home.’

Alfred rose. He murmured:

‘This has been-rather a shock. I never dreamt that Harry would ever come inside these walls again.’

Simeon leaned forward.

‘You never liked Harry, did you?’ he said softly.

‘After the way he behaved to you-’

Simeon cackled. He said:

‘Ah, but bygones must be bygones. That’s the spirit for Christmas, isn’t it, Lydia?’

Lydia, too, had gone pale. She said dryly:

‘I see that you have thought a good deal about Christmas this year.’

‘I want my family round me. Peace and goodwill. I’m an old man. Are you going, my dear?’

Alfred had hurried out. Lydia paused a moment before following him.

Simeon nodded his head after the retreating figure.

‘It’s upset him. He and Harry never got on. Harry used to jeer at Alfred. Called him old Slow and Sure.’

Lydia’s lips parted. She was about to speak, then, as she saw the old man’s eager expression, she checked herself. Her self-control, she saw, disappointed him. The perception of that fact enabled her to say:

‘The hare and the tortoise. Ah, well, the tortoise wins the race.’

‘Not always,’ said Simeon. ‘Not always, my dear Lydia.’

She said, still smiling:

‘Excuse me, I must go after Alfred. Sudden excitements always upset him.’

Simeon cackled.

‘Yes, Alfred doesn’t like changes. He always was a regular sobersides.’

Lydia said:

‘Alfred is very devoted toyou.’

‘That seems odd to you, doesn’t it?’

‘Sometimes,’ said Lydia, ‘it does.’

She left the room. Simeon looked after her.

He chuckled softly and rubbed his palms together. ‘Lots of fun,’ he said. ‘Lots of fun still. I’m going to enjoy this Christmas.’

With an effort he pulled himself upright, and with the help of his stick, shuffled across the room.

He went to a big safe that stood at the corner of the room. He twirled the handle of the combination. The door came open and, with shaking fingers, he felt inside. 

He lifted out a small wash-leather bag, and opening it, let a stream of uncut diamonds pass through his fingers.

‘Well, my beauties, well…Still the same-still my old friends. Those were good days-good days…They shan’t carve you and cut you about, my friends.You shan’t hang round the necks of women or sit on their fingers or hang on their ears. You’remine! My old friends! We know a thing or two, you and I. I’m old, they say, and ill, but I’m not done for! Lots of life in the old dog yet. And there’s still some fun to be got out of life. Still some fun-’