Closed Casket. Sophie Hannah
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them in chronological order.’
‘Oui, I think I would prefer to do so,’ Poirot agreed.
‘Then, like Michael here, you must be frightfully conventional,’ said Lady Playford with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Joseph’s clever theory is that it’s better to read books in the wrong order, if they are a series. He says—’
‘Let him tell us himself, since we have the benefit of his company tonight,’ said Claudia. ‘We will have plenty of time to remember his wise words once he’s dead, after all.’
‘Claudia!’ said her mother. ‘That is quite enough!’
Sophie Bourlet had covered her mouth with her napkin and was blinking away tears.
Scotcher, however, was laughing. ‘Sincerely, I do not mind. Laughing about a thing takes the sting out of it, I find. Claudia and I understand one another well.’
‘Oh, we certainly do.’ Claudia smiled at him. There was something about her smile, too. Not exactly flirtatiousness, but something … knowing. That was the only way I could describe it to myself.
‘And in fact, doctors and the terminally ill joke about death all the time,’ said Scotcher. ‘Is that not so, Kimpton?’
Kimpton said coldly, ‘It is. I tend not to participate, however. I believe death ought to be taken seriously.’ Was he chastising Scotcher for mocking the idea of his own demise? Or for being overly familiar with Claudia? It was hard to tell.
To Poirot, Scotcher said, ‘My theory is simply this: when you read the Shrimp books in the wrong order, you meet Shrimp and Podge and the gang not at the beginning of their story, but in the middle. Certain things have already happened to them, and if you want to find out more about their histories, you have to read the earlier books. Now, to my mind, this is much more faithful to real life. For example, here I am meeting the great Hercule Poirot for the first time! I know only what I see of him and what he says to me in the present moment. But if I find him interesting enough—and I most certainly do—then I will endeavour to learn more about his past adventures. That was how I felt about Shrimp Seddon after reading The Lady in the Suit. It’s terribly ingenious, Poirot, and contains the best Shrimp moment of all: when she discovers that “hirsute” is another word for hairy, and realizes there is no lady in a suit! There never was!’
‘You have just given away the resolution of the mystery,’ said Gathercole impatiently. ‘Why should Monsieur Poirot read it now that you’ve spoilt it for him?’
‘Don’t be silly, Michael,’ Lady Playford waved away his objection. ‘There are many intricacies to that story about which Joseph has said nothing. I should hope that nobody would read one of my books only to find out the answer. Monsieur Poirot, I am sure, is no philistine. It’s the working out, and the psychology, that matters.’
‘Not you as well, Athie,’ Kimpton grumbled. ‘Psychology! Hobby for degenerates—that’s all it is.’
Scotcher appeared to regret his words. ‘Gathercole is quite right. How cloth-headed of me to reveal such a pivotal moment. I am aghast at my own stupidity. I allowed my love for Lady Playford’s work to carry me quite away. I forgot myself.’
Gathercole, at the other end of the table, was shaking his head in apparent disgust.
Poirot said, ‘I am not a philistine, but I enjoy a mystery and I prefer to try to work out the solution myself. Is that wrong, Lady Playford? Surely that is the point of a mystery?’
‘Oh, yes. I mean, it is, but …’ She looked doubtful. ‘I do hope the chicken arrives soon,’ she said, glancing towards the door.
Dorro said very quietly and without expression, ‘Nothing Joseph does is wrong. The opposite rule applies to me.’ It was not clear whether she intended to criticize herself or her mother-in-law.
‘Of course you prefer not to have the mystery ruined for you by a fool like me,’ said Scotcher. ‘What appalling carelessness on my part. A million apologies, Monsieur Poirot. Though I must insist that you withhold your forgiveness indefinitely. Some sins are not deserving of pardon.’
Claudia threw her head back and laughed. ‘Oh, Joseph, you are a scream!’
‘I wish Phyllis would clear away the first course and bring the entrée,’ said Lady Playford. ‘I have an announcement to make, but let us see dinner on the table first.’
‘I see—an announcement that requires an amply lined stomach, is it?’ Kimpton teased.
As soon as Phyllis had served what we were told was Brigid’s finest dish, Chicken à la Rose, Lady Playford stood up. ‘Please, do not wait,’ she said. ‘I have something to say to you all. Many of you won’t like it one bit, and nothing is ever better on an empty stomach.’
‘I do so agree,’ said Orville Rolfe. ‘Well?’ He set about his chicken with a ferocious enthusiasm.
Lady Playford waited until a few more knives and forks had started to move before saying, ‘This afternoon I made a new will.’
Dorro made a choking noise. ‘What? A new will? Why? How is it different from the old one?’
‘I assume that is what we are about to hear,’ said Claudia. ‘Do tell, dearest Mama!’
‘Do you know about this, Claudia?’ Dorro fussed. ‘You sound as if you do!’
‘Most of you will be shocked by what I am about to say.’ Lady Playford’s words sounded rehearsed. ‘I must ask you all to trust me. I have confidence that all will be well.’
‘Out with it, Athie,’ said Kimpton.
In the silent ten or so seconds that followed—perhaps it was not even as long as that; it certainly felt far longer—I was acutely aware of the jagged breathing of everybody around the table. Dorro’s long neck twitched and she gulped several times. She seemed barely able to sit still.
Lady Playford said, ‘According to the provisions of my new will—made this afternoon and witnessed by Michael Gathercole and Hatton—everything I own is to go to Joseph Scotcher upon my death.’
‘What!’ Dorro’s voice shook. Her thin lips were twisted in terror, as if she had come face to face with a grisly spectre invisible to the rest of us.
‘By everything, you mean …?’ Claudia prompted. She appeared unruffled; Kimpton too. They had an air about them of people watching a pantomime and rather enjoying it.
‘I mean everything,’ Lady Playford said. ‘The Lillieoak estate, my houses in London, everything. All that I own.’
Scotcher rose to his feet so quickly, his chair crashed to the floor. He looked suddenly pale, as if he had heard bad news. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I never asked or expected … Please … There is no need …’
‘Joseph, are you all right?’ Sophie stood, ready to hurry over to him.
‘Here, give him this.’ Kimpton, on her left, handed her his water glass. ‘He looks as if he needs it.’
The nurse was soon by Scotcher’s side. She placed one of her hands under his elbow, as if to hold him upright.
‘It’s always so upsetting to discover a vast fortune is one day to be yours,’ Kimpton remarked drily.
‘Has everybody gone mad?’ Dorro said. ‘Joseph is dying. He will be dead and buried before he has a chance to inherit anything! Is this some sort of cruel trick?’
‘I am entirely