Spider’s Web. Agatha Christie
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‘I suppose when you’re making things up, you get carried away and that makes it sound more convincing.’ She drifted over to the French windows.
‘I might have broken a blood vessel,’ Jeremy complained. ‘A fat lot you’d have cared about that.’
Clarissa laughed. Opening the window she observed, ‘I do believe it’s cleared up. It’s going to be a lovely evening. How delicious the garden smells after rain.’ She leaned out and sniffed. ‘Narcissus.’
As she closed the window again, Jeremy came over to join her. ‘Do you really like living down here in the country?’ he asked.
‘I love it.’
‘But you must get bored to death,’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s all so incongruous for you, Clarissa. You must miss the theatre terribly. I hear you were passionate about it when you were younger.’
‘Yes, I was. But I manage to create my own theatre right here,’ said Clarissa with a laugh.
‘But you ought to be leading an exciting life in London.’
Clarissa laughed again. ‘What—parties and night clubs?’ she asked.
‘Parties, yes. You’d make a brilliant hostess,’ Jeremy told her, laughing.
She turned to face him. ‘It sounds like an Edwardian novel,’ she said. ‘Anyway, diplomatic parties are terribly dull.’
‘But it’s such a waste, your being tucked away down here,’ he persisted, moving close to her and attempting to take her hand.
‘A waste—of me?’ asked Clarissa, withdrawing her hand.
‘Yes,’ Jeremy responded fervently. ‘Then there’s Henry.’
‘What about Henry?’ Clarissa busied herself patting a cushion on an easy chair.
Jeremy looked at her steadily. ‘I can’t imagine why you ever married him,’ he replied, plucking up his courage. ‘He’s years older than you, with a daughter who’s a school-kid.’ He leaned on the armchair, still observing her closely. ‘He’s an excellent man, I have no doubt, but really, of all the pompous stuffed shirts. Going about looking like a boiled owl.’ He paused, waiting for a reaction. When none came, he continued, ‘He’s as dull as ditchwater.’
Still she said nothing. Jeremy tried again. ‘And he has no sense of humour,’ he muttered somewhat petulantly.
Clarissa looked at him, smiled, but said nothing.
‘I suppose you think I oughtn’t to say these things,’ Jeremy exclaimed.
Clarissa sat on one end of a long stool. ‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she told him. ‘Say anything you like.’
Jeremy went over to sit beside her. ‘So you do realize that you’ve made a mistake?’ he asked, eagerly.
‘But I haven’t made a mistake,’ was Clarissa’s softly uttered response. Then, teasingly, she added, ‘Are you making immoral advances to me, Jeremy?’
‘Definitely,’ was his prompt reply.
‘How lovely,’ exclaimed Clarissa. She nudged him with her elbow. ‘Do go on.’
‘I think you know how I feel about you, Clarissa,’ Jeremy responded somewhat moodily. ‘But you’re just playing with me, aren’t you? Flirting. It’s another one of your games. Darling, can’t you be serious just for once?’
‘Serious? What’s so good about “serious”?’ Clarissa replied. ‘There’s enough seriousness in the world already. I like to enjoy myself, and I like everyone around me to enjoy themselves as well.’
Jeremy smiled ruefully. ‘I’d be enjoying myself a great deal more at this moment if you were serious about me,’ he observed.
‘Oh, come on,’ she ordered him playfully. ‘Of course you’re enjoying yourself. Here you are, our house-guest for the weekend, along with my lovely godfather Roly. And sweet old Hugo’s here for drinks this evening as well. He and Roly are so funny together. You can’t say you’re not enjoying yourself.’
‘Of course I’m enjoying myself,’ Jeremy admitted. ‘But you won’t let me say what I really want to say to you.’
‘Don’t be silly, darling,’ she replied. ‘You know you can say anything you like to me.’
‘Really? You mean that?’ he asked her.
‘Of course.’
‘Very well, then,’ said Jeremy. He rose from the stool and turned to face her. ‘I love you,’ he declared.
‘I’m so glad,’ replied Clarissa, cheerfully.
‘That’s entirely the wrong answer,’ Jeremy complained. ‘You ought to say, “I’m so sorry” in a deep, sympathetic voice.’
‘But I’m not sorry,’ Clarissa insisted. ‘I’m delighted. I like people to be in love with me.’
Jeremy sat down beside her again, but turned away from her. Now he seemed deeply upset. Looking at him for a moment, Clarissa asked, ‘Would you do anything in the world for me?’
Turning to her, Jeremy responded eagerly. ‘You know I would. Anything. Anything in the world,’ he declared.
‘Really?’ said Clarissa. ‘Supposing, for instance, that I murdered someone, would you help—no, I must stop.’ She rose and walked away a few paces.
Jeremy turned to face Clarissa. ‘No, go on,’ he urged her.
She paused for a moment and then began to speak. ‘You asked me just now if I ever got bored, down here in the country.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I suppose in a way, I do,’ she admitted. ‘Or, rather, I might, if it wasn’t for my private hobby.’
Jeremy looked puzzled. ‘Private hobby? What is that?’ he asked her.
Clarissa took a deep breath. ‘You see, Jeremy,’ she said, ‘my life has always been peaceful and happy. Nothing exciting ever happened to me, so I began to play my little game. I call it “supposing”.’
Jeremy looked perplexed. ‘Supposing?’
‘Yes,’ said Clarissa, beginning to pace about the room. ‘For example, I might say to myself, “Supposing I were to come down one morning and find a dead body in the library, what should I do?” Or “Supposing a woman were to be shown in here one day and told me that she and Henry had been secretly married in Constantinople, and that our marriage was bigamous, what should I say to her?” Or “Supposing I’d followed my instincts and become a famous actress.” Or “Supposing I had to choose between betraying my country and seeing Henry shot before my eyes?” Do you see what I mean?’ She smiled suddenly at Jeremy. ‘Or even—’ She settled into the armchair. ‘“Supposing I were to run away with Jeremy, what would happen next?”’
Jeremy went and knelt beside her. ‘I feel flattered,’ he told her. ‘But have you ever really imagined that particular situation?’
‘Oh yes,’ Clarissa replied with a smile.
‘Well? What did happen?’ He clasped her hand.
Again she withdrew it. ‘Well, the last time I played, we were on the Riviera at Juan les Pins, and Henry came after us. He had a revolver with him.’
Jeremy looked startled. ‘My God!’ he exclaimed. ‘Did he shoot me?’
Clarissa smiled reminiscently. ‘I seem to remember,’ she told Jeremy, ‘that he said—’ She paused, and then, adopting a highly dramatic delivery, continued, ‘“Clarissa, either you come back with me, or I kill myself.”’
Jeremy rose and moved away. ‘Jolly decent of him,’ he