Sad Cypress. Agatha ChristieЧитать онлайн книгу.
of his previous placidity. He felt: ‘There’s something—something I haven’t got—something I want—I want—I want…’
The golden green light, the softness in the air—with them came a quickened pulse, a stirring of the blood, a sudden impatience.
A girl came through the trees towards him—a girl with pale, gleaming hair and a rose-flushed skin.
He thought, ‘How beautiful—how unutterably beautiful.’
Something gripped him; he stood quite still, as though frozen into immobility. The world, he felt, was spinning, was topsy-turvy, was suddenly and impossibly and gloriously crazy!
The girl stopped suddenly, then she came on. She came up to him where he stood, dumb and absurdly fish-like, his mouth open.
She said with a little hesitation:
‘Don’t you remember me, Mr Roderick? It’s a long time of course. I’m Mary Gerrard, from the lodge.’
Roddy said:
‘Oh—oh—you’re Mary Gerrard?’
She said: ‘Yes.’
Then she went on rather shyly:
‘I’ve changed, of course, since you saw me.’
He said: ‘Yes, you’ve changed. I—I wouldn’t have recognized you.’
He stood staring at her. He did not hear footsteps behind him. Mary did and turned.
Elinor stood motionless a minute. Then she said:
‘Hello, Mary.’
Mary said:
‘How do you do, Miss Elinor? It’s nice to see you. Mrs Welman has been looking forward to you coming down.’
Elinor said:
‘Yes—it’s a long time. I—Nurse O’Brien sent me to look for you. She wants to lift Mrs Welman up, and she says you usually do it with her.’
Mary said: ‘I’ll go at once.’
She moved off, breaking into a run. Elinor stood looking after her. Mary ran well, grace in every movement.
Roddy said softly: ‘Atalanta…’
Elinor did not answer. She stood quite still for a minute or two. Then she said:
‘It’s nearly lunch-time. We’d better go back.’
They walked side by side towards the house.
‘Oh! Come on, Mary. It’s Garbo, and a grand film—all about Paris. And a story by a tiptop author. There was an opera of it once.’
‘It’s frightfully nice of you, Ted, but I really won’t.’
Ted Bigland said angrily:
‘I can’t make you out nowadays, Mary. You’re different—altogether different.’
‘No, I’m not, Ted.’
‘You are! I suppose because you’ve been away to that grand school and to Germany. You’re too good for us now.’
‘It’s not true, Ted. I’m not like that.’
She spoke vehemently.
The young man, a fine sturdy specimen, looked at her appraisingly in spite of his anger.
‘Yes, you are. You’re almost a lady, Mary.’
Mary said with sudden bitterness:
‘Almost isn’t much good, is it?’
He said with sudden understanding:
‘No, I reckon it isn’t.’
Mary said quickly:
‘Anyway, who cares about that sort of thing nowadays? Ladies and gentlemen, and all that!’
‘It doesn’t matter like it did—no,’ Ted assented, but thoughtfully. ‘All the same, there’s a feeling. Lord, Mary, you look like a duchess or a countess or something.’
Mary said:
‘That’s not saying much. I’ve seen countesses looking like old-clothes women!’
‘Well, you know what I mean.’
A stately figure of ample proportions, handsomely dressed in black, bore down upon them. Her eyes gave them a sharp glance. Ted moved aside a step or two. He said:
‘Afternoon, Mrs Bishop.’
Mrs Bishop inclined her head graciously.
‘Good afternoon, Ted Bigland. Good afternoon, Mary.’
She passed on, a ship in full sail.
Ted looked respectfully after her.
Mary murmured.
‘Now, she really is like a duchess!’
‘Yes—she’s got a manner. Always makes me feel hot inside my collar.’
Mary said slowly:
‘She doesn’t like me.’
‘Nonsense, my girl.’
‘It’s true. She doesn’t. She’s always saying sharp things to me.’
‘Jealous,’ said Ted, nodding his head sapiently. ‘That’s all it is.’
Mary said doubtfully:
‘I suppose it might be that…’
‘That’s it, depend upon it. She’s been housekeeper at Hunterbury for years, ruling the roost and ordering everyone about and now old Mrs Welman takes a fancy to you, and it puts her out! That’s all it is.’
Mary said, a shade of trouble on her forehead:
‘It’s silly of me, but I can’t bear it when anyone doesn’t like me. I want people to like me.’
‘Sure to be women who don’t like you, Mary! Jealous cats who think you’re too good-looking!’
Mary said:
‘I think jealousy’s horrible.’
Ted said slowly:
‘Maybe—but it exists all right. Say, I saw a lovely film over at Alledore last week. Clark Gable. All about one of these millionaire blokes who neglected his wife; and then she pretended she’d done the dirty on him. And there was another fellow…’
Mary moved away. She said:
‘Sorry, Ted, I must go. I’m late.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going to have tea with Nurse Hopkins.’
Ted made a face.
‘Funny taste. That woman’s the biggest gossip in the village! Pokes that long nose of hers into everything.’
Mary said:
‘She’s been very kind to me always.’
‘Oh, I’m not saying there’s any harm in her. But she talks.’
Mary said:
‘Goodbye, Ted.’
She hurried off, leaving him standing gazing resentfully after her.
Nurse Hopkins occupied a small cottage at the end of the village. She herself had just come in and was untying her bonnet strings when Mary entered.
‘Ah, there you are. I’m a bit late. Old Mrs Caldecott was bad again. Made me late with my round of dressings. I saw you with Ted Bigland at the end of the street.’
Mary said rather dispiritedly:
‘Yes…’