Смерть на Ниле / Death on the Nile - [8]

‘She says she is quite sure she took it off and left it on her dressing table.’

‘Well, she didn’t. I saw it with my own eyes. The woman’s a fool. Any woman’s a fool who goes prancing into the sea in December, pretending the water’s quite warm just because the sun happens to be shining rather brightly at the moment. Stout women oughtn’t to be allowed to bathe anyway; they look so revolting in bathing dresses.’

Mrs Allerton murmured:

‘I really feel I ought to give up bathing.’

Tim gave a shout of laughter.

‘You? You can give most of the young things points and to spare.’

Mrs Allerton sighed and said,

‘I wish there were a few more young people for you here.’

Tim Allerton shook his head decidedly.

‘I don’t. You and I get along rather comfortably without outside distractions.’

‘You’d like it if Joanna were here.’

‘I wouldn’t.’ His tone was unexpectedly resolute. ‘You’re all wrong there. Joanna amuses me, but I don’t really like her, and to have her around much gets on my nerves. I’m thankful she isn’t here. I should be quite resigned if I were never to see Joanna again.’ He added, almost below his breath: ‘There’s only one woman in the world I’ve got a real respect and admiration for, and I think, Mrs Allerton, you know very well who that woman is.’

His mother blushed and looked quite confused.

Tim said gravely:

‘There aren’t very many really nice women in the world. You happen to be one of them.’

Chapter 9

In an apartment overlooking Central Park in New York Mrs Robson exclaimed:

‘If that isn’t just too lovely! You really are the luckiest girl, Cornelia.’

Cornelia Robson flushed responsively. She was a big clumsy-looking girl with brown doglike eyes.

‘Oh, it will be wonderful!’ she gasped.

Old Miss Van Schuyler inclined her head in a satisfied fashion at this correct attitude on the part of poor relations.

‘I’ve always dreamed of a trip to Europe,’ sighed Cornelia, ‘but I just didn’t feel I’d ever get there.’

‘Miss Bowers will come with me as usual, of course,’ said Miss Van Schuyler, ‘but as a social companion I find her limited – very limited. There are many little things that Cornelia can do for me.’

‘I’d just love to, Cousin Marie,’ said Cornelia eagerly.

‘Well, well, then that’s settled,’ said Miss Van Schuyler. ‘Just run and find Miss Bowers, my dear. It’s time for my eggnog.’

Cornelia departed. Her mother said:

‘My dear Marie, I’m really most grateful to you! You know I think Cornelia suffers a lot from not being a social success. It makes her feel kind of mortified. If I could afford to take her to places – but you know how it’s been since Ned died.’

‘I’m very glad to take her,’ said Miss Van Schuyler. ‘Cornelia has always been a nice handy girl, willing to run errands, and not so selfish as some of these young people nowadays.’

Mrs Robson rose and kissed her rich relative’s wrinkled and slightly yellow face.

‘I’m just ever so grateful,’ she declared.

On the stairs she met a tall capable-looking woman who was carrying a glass containing a yellow foamy liquid.

‘Well, Miss Bowers, so you’re off to Europe?’

‘Why, yes, Mrs Robson.’

‘What a lovely trip!’

‘Why, yes, I should think it would be very enjoyable.’

‘But you’ve been abroad before?’

‘Oh, yes, Mrs Robson. I went over to Paris with Miss Van Schuyler last fall. But I’ve never been to Egypt before.’

Mrs Robson hesitated.

‘I do hope – there won’t be any – trouble.’

She had lowered her voice. Miss Bowers, however, replied in her usual tone:

‘Oh, no, Mrs Robson; I shall take good care of that. I keep a very sharp look-out always.’

But there was still a faint shadow on Mrs Robson’s face as she slowly continued down the stairs.

Chapter 10

In his office downtown Mr Andrew Pennington was opening his personal mail. Suddenly his fist clenched itself and came down on his desk with a bang; his face crimsoned and two big veins stood out on his forehead. He pressed a buzzer on his desk and a smart-looking stenographer appeared with commendable promptitude.

‘Tell Mr Rockford to step in here.’

‘Yes, Mr Pennington.’

A few minutes later, Sterndale Rockford, Pennington’s partner, entered the office. The two men were not unlike – both tall, spare, with greying hair and cleanshaven clever faces.

‘What’s up, Pennington?’

Pennington looked up from the letter he was rereading. He said:

‘Linnet’s married…’

‘What?’

‘You heard what I said! Linnet Ridgeway’s married!’

‘How? When? Why didn’t we hear about it?’

Pennington glanced at the calendar on his desk.

‘She wasn’t married when she wrote this letter, but she’s married now. Morning of the fourth. That’s today.’

Rockford dropped into a chair.

‘Whew! No warning! Nothing? Who’s the man?’

Pennington referred again to the letter.

‘Doyle. Simon Doyle.’

‘What sort of a fellow is he? Ever heard of him?’

‘No. She doesn’t say much…’ He scanned the lines of clear, upright hand writing. ‘Got an idea there’s something hole-and-corner about this business… That doesn’t matter. The whole point is, she’s married.’

The eyes of the two men met. Rockford nodded.

‘This needs a bit of thinking out,’ he said quietly.