Towards Zero by Agatha Christie
“Oh yes, I daresay, it’s natural. They were devoted to Audrey, weren’t they?” Her voice shook a little. “Dear, well-bred, cool, colourless Audrey! Camilla’s not forgiven me for taking her place.”
Nevile did not turn. His voice was lifeless, dull. He said: “After all, Camilla’s old—past seventy. Her generation doesn’t really like divorce, you know. On the whole I think she’s accepted the position very well considering how fond she was of—of Audrey.”
His voice changed just a little as he spoke the name.
“They think you treated her badly.”
“So I did,” said Nevile under his breath, but his wife heard.
“Oh Nevile—don’t be so stupid. Just because she chose to make such a frightful fuss.”
“She didn’t make a fuss. Audrey never made fusses.”
“Well, you know what I mean. Because she went away and was ill, and went about everywhere looking brokenhearted. That’s what I call a fuss! Audrey’s not what I call a good loser. From my point of view if a wife can’t hold her husband she ought to give him up gracefully! You two had nothing in common. She never played a game and was as anaemic and washed up as—as a dish rag. No life or go in her! If she really cared about you, she ought to have thought about your happiness first and been glad you were going to be happy with someone more suited to you.”
Nevile turned. A faintly sardonic smile played around his lips.
“What a little sportsman! How to play the game in love and matrimony!”
Kay laughed and reddened.
“Well, perhaps I was going a bit too far. But at any rate once the thing had happened, there it was. You’ve got to accept these things!”
Nevile said quietly:
“Audrey accepted it. She divorced me so that you and I could marry.”
“Yes, I know—” Kay hesitated.
Nevile said: “You’ve never understood Audrey.”
“No, I haven’t. In a way, Audrey gives me the creeps. I don’t know what it is about her. You never know what she’s thinking…She’s—she’s a little frightening.”
“Oh, nonsense, Kay.”
“Well, she frightens me. Perhaps it’s because she’s got brains.”
“My lovely nitwit!”
Kay laughed.
“You always call me that!”
“Because it’s what you are!”
They smiled at each other. Nevile came over to her and, bending down, kissed the back of her neck.
“Lovely, lovely Kay,” he murmured.
“Very good Kay,” said Kay. “Giving up a lovely yachting trip to go and be snubbed by her husband’s prim Victorian relations.”
Nevile went back and sat down by the table.
“You know,” he said. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t go on that trip with Shirty if you really want to so much.”
Kay sat up in astonishment.
“And what about Saltcreek and Gull’s Point?”
Nevile said in a rather unnatural voice:
“I don’t see why we shouldn’t go there early in September.”
“Oh, but Nevile, surely—” She stopped.
“We can’t go in July and August because of the Tournaments,” said Nevile. “But we’d finish up at St. Loo the last week in August, and it would fit in very well if we went on to Saltcreek from there.”
“Oh, it would fit in all right—beautifully. But I thought—well, she always goes there for September, doesn’t she?”
“Audrey, you mean?”
“Yes. I suppose they could put her off, but—”
“Why should they put her off?”
Kay stared at him dubiously.
“You mean, we’d be there at the same time? What an extraordinary idea.”
Nevile said irritably:
“I don’t think it’s at all an extraordinary idea. Lots of people do it nowadays. Why shouldn’t we all be friends together? It makes things so much simpler. Why, you said so yourself only the other day.”
“I did?”
“Yes, don’t you remember? We were talking about the Howes, and you said it was the sensible civilized way to look at things, and that Leonard’s new wife and his Ex were the best of friends.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind. I do think it’s sensible. But—well, I don’t think Audrey would feel like that about it.”
“Nonsense.”
“It isn’t nonsense. You know, Nevile, Audrey really was terribly fond of you…I don’t think she’d stand it for a moment.”
“You’re quite wrong, Kay. Audrey thinks it would be quite a good thing.”
“Audrey—what do you mean, Audrey thinks? How do you know what Audrey thinks?”
Nevile looked slightly embarrassed. He cleared his throat a little self-consciously.
“As a matter of fact, I happened to run into her yesterday when I was up in London.”
“You never told me.”
Nevile said irritably:
“I’m telling you now. It was absolute chance. I was walking across the Park and there she was coming towards me. You wouldn’t want me to run away from her, would you?”
“No, of course not,” said Kay, staring. “Go on.”
“I—we—well, we stopped, of course, and then I turned round and walked with her. I—I felt it was the least I could do.”
“Go on,” said Kay.
“And then we sat down on a couple of chairs and talked. She was very nice—very nice indeed.”
“Delightful for you,” said Kay.
“And we got talking, you know, about one thing and another. She was quite natural and normal and—and all that.”
“Remarkable!” said Kay.
“And she asked how you were—”
“Very kind of her!”
“And we talked about you for a bit. Really, Kay, she couldn’t have been nicer.”
“Darling Audrey!”
“And then it sort of came to me—you know—how nice it would be if—if you two could be friends—if we could all get together. And it occurred to me that perhaps we might manage it at Gull’s Point this summer. Sort of place it could happen quite naturally.”
“You thought of that?”
“I—well—yes, of course. It was all my idea.”
“You’ve never said anything to me about having any such idea.”
“Well, I only happened to think of it just then.”
“I see. Anyway, you suggested it and Audrey thought it was a marvellous brainwave?”
For the first time, something in Kay’s manner seemed to penetrate to Nevile’s consciousness.
He said:
“Is anything the matter, gorgeous?”
“Oh no, nothing! Nothing at all! It didn’t occur to you or Audrey whether I should think it a marvellous idea?”
Nevile stared at her.
“But, Kay, why on earth should you mind?”
Kay bit her lip.
Nevile went on:
“You said yourself only the other day—”
“Oh, don’t go into all that again! I was talking about other people—not us.”
“But that’s partly what made me think of it.”
“More fool me. Not that I believe that.”
Nevile was looking at her with dismay.
“But, Kay, why should you mind? I mean, there’s nothing for you to mind about!”
“Isn’t there?”
“Well, I mean—any jealousy or that—would be on the other side.” He paused, his voice changed. “You see, Kay, you and I treated Audrey damned badly. No, I don’t mean that. It was nothing to do with you. I treated her very badly. It’s no good just saying that I couldn’t help myself. I feel that if this could come off I’d feel better about the whole thing. It would make me a lot happier.”
Kay said slowly: “So you haven’t been happy?”
“Darling idiot, what do you mean? Of course I’ve been happy, radiantly happy. But—”
Kay cut in.
“But?
Nevile stared at her.
“You mean to say you’re jealous of Audrey?” he asked.
“I’m not jealous of her. I’m afraid of her…Nevile, you don’t know what Audrey’s like.”
“Not know what she’s like when I’ve been married to her for over eight years?”
“You don’t know,” Kay repeated, “what Audrey is like.”
April 30th
“Preposterous!” said Lady Tressilian. She drew herself up on her pillow and glared fiercely round the room. “Absolutely preposterous! Nevile must be mad.”
“It does seem rather odd,” said Mary Aldin.
Lady Tressilian had a striking-looking profile with a slender bridged nose down which, when so inclined, she could look with telling effect. Though now over seventy and in frail health, her native vigour of mind was in no way impaired. She had, it is true, long periods of retreat from life and its emotions when she would lie with half-closed eyes, but from these semi-comas she would emerge with all her faculties sharpened to the uttermost, and with an incisive tongue. Propped up by pillows in a large bed set across one corner of her room, she held her court like some French Queen. Mary Aldin, a distant cousin, lived with her and looked after her. The two women got on together excellently. Mary was thirty-six, but had one of those smooth ageless faces that change little with passing years. She might have been thirty or forty-five. She had a good figure, an air of breeding, and dark hair to which one lock of white across the front gave a touch of individuality. It was at one time a fashion, but Mary’s white lock of hair was natural and she had had it since her girlhood.
She looked down now reflectively at Nevile Strange’s letter which Lady Tressilian had handed to her.
“Yes,” she said. “It does seem rather odd.”
“You can’t tell me,” said Lady Tressilian, “that this is Nevile’s own idea! Somebody’s put it into his head. Probably that new wife of his.”
“Kay. You think it was Kay’s idea?”
“It would be quite like her. New and vulgar! If husbands and wives have to advertise their difficulties in public and have recourse to divorce, then they might at least part decently. The new wife and the old wife making friends is quite disgusting in my mind. Nobody has any standards nowadays!”
“I suppose it is just the modern way,” said Mary.
“It won’t happen in my house,” said Lady Tressilian. “I consider I’ve done all that could be asked of me having that scarlet-toed creature here at all.”
“She is Nevile’s wife.”
“Exactly. Therefore I felt that Matthew would have wished it. He was devoted to the boy and always wanted him to look on this as his home. Since to refuse to receive his wife would have made an open breach, I gave way and asked her here. I do not like her—she’s quite the wrong wife for Nevile—no background, no roots!”
“She’s quite well born,” said Mary placatingly.
“Bad stock!” said Lady Tressilian. “Her father, as I’ve told you, had to resign from all his clubs after that card business. Luckily he died shortly after. And her mother was notorious on the Riviera. What a bringing up for the girl. Nothing but Hotel life—and that mother! Then she meets Nevile on the tennis courts, makes a dead set at him and never rests until she gets him to leave his wife—of whom he was extremely fond—and go off with her! I blame her entirely for the whole thing!”
Mary smiled faintly. Lady Tressilian had the old-fashioned characteristic of always blaming the woman and being indulgent towards the man in the case.
“I suppose, strictly speaking, Nevile was equally to blame,” she suggested.
“Nevile was very much to blame,” agreed Lady Tressilian. “He had a charming wife who had always been devoted—perhaps too devoted—to him. Nevertheless, if it hadn’t been for that girl’s persistence, I am convinced he would have come to his senses. But she was determined to marry him! Yes, my sympathies are entirely with Audrey. I am very fond of Audrey.”
Mary sighed. “It has all been very difficult,” she said.
“Yes, indeed. One is at a loss to know how to act in such difficult circumstances. Matthew was fond of Audrey, and so am I, and one cannot deny that she was a very good wife to Nevile though perhaps it is a pity that she could not have shared his amusements more. She was never an athletic girl. The whole business was very distressing. When I was a girl, these things simply did not happen. Men had their affairs, naturally, but they were not allowed to break up married life.”
“Well, they happen now,” said Mary bluntly.
“Exactly. You have so much common sense, dear. It is of no use recalling bygone days. These things happen, and girls like Kay Mortimer steal other women’s husbands and nobody thinks the worse of them!”
“Except people like you, Camilla!”
“I don’t count. That Kay creature doesn’t worry whether I approve of her or not. She’s too busy having a good time. Nevile can bring her here when he comes and I’m even willing to receive her friends—though I do not much care for that very theatrical-looking young man who is always hanging round her—what is his name?”
“Ted Latimer?”
“That is it. A friend of her Riviera days—and I should very much like to know how he manages to live as he does.”
“By his wits,” suggested Mary.
“One might pardon that. I rather fancy he lives by his looks. Not a pleasant friend for Nevile’s wife! I disliked the way he came down last summer and stayed at the Easterhead Bay Hotel while they were here.”
Mary looked out of the open window. Lady Tressilian’s house was situated on a steep cliff overlooking the River Tern. On the other side of the river was the newly created summer resort of Easterhead Bay, consisting of a big sandy bathing beach, a cluster of modern bungalows and a large Hotel on the headland looking out to sea. Saltcreek itself was a straggling picturesque fishing village set on the side of a hill. It was old-fashioned, conservative and deeply contemptuous of Easterhead Bay and its summer visitors.
The Easterhead Bay Hotel was nearly exactly opposite Lady Tressilian’s house, and Mary looked across the narrow strip of water at it now where it stood in its blatant newness.
“I am glad,” said Lady Tressilian, closing her eyes, “that Matthew never saw that vulgar building. The coastline was quite un-spoilt in his time.”
Sir Matthew and Lady Tressilian had come to Gull’s Point thirty years ago. It was nine years since Sir Matthew, an enthusiastic sailing man, had capsized his dinghy and been drowned almost in front of his wife’s eyes.
Everybody had expected her to sell Gull’s Point and leave Saltcreek, but Lady Tressilian had not done so. She had lived on in the house, and her only visible reaction had been to dispose of all the boats and do away with the boathouse. There were no boats available for guests at Gull’s Point. They had to walk along to the ferry and hire a boat from one of the rival boatmen there.
Mary said, hesitating a little:
“Shall I write, then, to Nevile and tell him that what he proposes does not fit in with our plans?”
“I certainly shall not dream of interfering with Audrey’s visit. She has always come to us in September and I shall not ask her to change her plans.”
Mary said, looking down at the letter:
“You did see that Nevile says Audrey—er—approves of the idea—that she is quite willing to meet Kay?”
“I simply don’t believe it,” said Lady Tressilian. “Nevile, like all men, believes what he wants to believe!”
Mary persisted:
“He says he has actually spoken to her about it.”
“What a very odd thing to do! No—perhaps, after all, it isn’t!”
Mary looked at her inquiringly.
“Like Henry the Eighth,” said Lady Tressilian.
Mary looked puzzled.
Lady Tressilian elaborated
“Conscience, you know! Henry was always trying to get Catherine to agree that the divorce was the right thing. Nevile knows that he has behaved badly—he wants to feel comfortable about it all. So he has been trying to bully Audrey into saying everything is all right and that she’ll come and meet Kay and that she doesn’t mind at all.”
“I wonder,” said Mary slowly.
Lady Tressilian looked at her sharply.
“What’s in your mind, my dear?”
“I was wondering—” She stopped, then went on: “It—it seems so unlike Nevile—this letter! You don’t think that, for some reason, Audrey wants this—this meeting?”
“Why should she?” said Lady Tressilian sharply. “After Nevile left her she went to her aunt, Mrs. Royde, at the Rectory, and had a complete breakdown. She was absolutely like a ghost of her former self. Obviously it hit her terribly hard. She’s one of those quiet self-contained people who feel things intensely.”
Mary moved uneasily.
“Yes, she is intense. A queer girl in many ways….”
“She suffered a lot…Then the divorce went through and Nevile married the girl, and little by little Audrey began to get over it. Now she’s almost back to her old self. You can’t tell me she wants to rake up old memories again?”
Mary said with gentle obstinacy: “Nevile says she does.”
The old lady looked at her curiously.
“You’re extraordinarily obstinate about this, Mary. Why? Do you want to have them here together?”
Mary Aldin flushed. “No, of course not.”
Lady Tressilian said sharply:
“It’s not you who have been suggesting all this to Nevile?”
“How can you be so absurd?”
“Well, I don’t believe for a minute it’s really his idea. It’s not like Nevile.” She paused a minute, then her face cleared. “It’s the 1st of May tomorrow, isn’t it? Well, on the 3rd Audrey is coming to stay with the Darlingtons at Esbank. It’s only twenty miles away. Write and ask her to come over and lunch here.”
May 5th
“Mrs. Strange, m’lady.”
Audrey Strange came into the big bedroom, crossed the room to the big bed, stooped down and kissed the old lady and sat down in the chair placed ready for her.
“Nice to see you, my dear,” said Lady Tressilian.