Spider’s Web. Agatha Christie
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the door behind her. Sir Rowland laughed, and Clarissa, joining in, took a cigarette from a box on the table. Outside, the daylight was now beginning to fade, and the room was becoming a little darker.
‘You know, it’s wonderful!’ Sir Rowland exclaimed. ‘Pippa’s a different child, now. You’ve done a remarkably good job there, Clarissa.’
Clarissa sank down on the sofa. ‘I think she really likes me now and trusts me,’ she said. ‘And I quite enjoy being a stepmother.’
Sir Rowland took a lighter from the occasional table by the sofa to light Clarissa’s cigarette. ‘Well,’ he observed, ‘she certainly seems a normal, happy child again.’
Clarissa nodded in agreement. ‘I think living in the country has made all the difference,’ she suggested. ‘And she goes to a very nice school and is making lots of friends there. Yes, I think she’s happy, and, as you say, normal.’
Sir Rowland frowned. ‘It’s a shocking thing,’ he exclaimed, ‘to see a kid get into the state she was in. I’d like to wring Miranda’s neck. What a dreadful mother she was.’
‘Yes,’ Clarissa agreed. ‘Pippa was absolutely terrified of her mother.’
He joined her on the sofa. ‘It was a shocking business,’ he murmured.
Clarissa clenched her fists and made an angry gesture. ‘I feel furious every time I think of Miranda,’ she said. ‘What she made Henry suffer, and what she made that child go through. I still can’t understand how any woman could.’
‘Taking drugs is a nasty business,’ Sir Rowland went on. ‘It alters your whole character.’
They sat for a moment in silence, then Clarissa asked, ‘What do you think started her on drugs in the first place?’
‘I think it was her friend, that swine Oliver Costello,’ Sir Rowland declared. ‘I believe he’s in on the drug racket.’
‘He’s a horrible man,’ Clarissa agreed. ‘Really evil, I always think.’
‘She’s married him now, hasn’t she?’
‘Yes, they married about a month ago.’
Sir Rowland shook his head. ‘Well, there’s no doubt Henry’s well rid of Miranda,’ he said. ‘He’s a nice fellow, Henry.’ He repeated, emphatically, ‘A really nice fellow.’
Clarissa smiled, and murmured gently, ‘Do you think you need to tell me that?’
‘I know he doesn’t say much,’ Sir Rowland went on. ‘He’s what you might call undemonstrative—but he’s sound all the way through.’ He paused, and then added, ‘That young fellow, Jeremy. What do you know about him?’
Clarissa smiled again. ‘Jeremy? He’s very amusing,’ she replied.
‘Ptscha!’ Sir Rowland snorted. ‘That’s all people seem to care about these days.’ He gave Clarissa a serious look, and continued, ‘You won’t—you won’t do anything foolish, will you?’
Clarissa laughed. ‘Don’t fall in love with Jeremy Warrender,’ she answered him. ‘That’s what you mean, isn’t it?’
Sir Rowland still regarded her seriously. ‘Yes,’ he told her, ‘that’s precisely what I mean. He’s obviously very fond of you. Indeed, he seems unable to keep his hands off you. But you have a very happy marriage with Henry, and I wouldn’t want you to do anything to put that in jeopardy.’
Clarissa gave him an affectionate smile. ‘Do you really think I would do anything so foolish?’ she asked, playfully.
‘That would certainly be extremely foolish,’ Sir Rowland advised. He paused before continuing, ‘You know, Clarissa darling, I’ve watched you grow up. You really mean a great deal to me. If ever you’re in trouble of any kind, you would come to your old guardian, wouldn’t you?’
‘Of course, Roly darling,’ Clarissa replied. She kissed him on the cheek. ‘And you needn’t worry about Jeremy. Really, you needn’t. I know he’s very engaging, and attractive and all that. But you know me, I’m only enjoying myself. Just having fun. It’s nothing serious.’
Sir Rowland was about to speak again when Miss Peake suddenly appeared at the French windows.
Miss Peake had by now discarded her boots, and was in her stockinged feet. She was carrying a head of broccoli.
‘I hope you don’t mind my coming in this way, Mrs Hailsham-Brown,’ she boomed, as she strode across to the sofa. ‘I shan’t make the room dirty, I’ve left my boots outside. I’d just like you to look at this broccoli.’ She thrust it belligerently over the back of the sofa and under Clarissa’s nose.
‘It—er—it looks very nice,’ was all Clarissa could think of by way of reply.
Miss Peake pushed the broccoli at Sir Rowland. ‘Take a look,’ she ordered him.
Sir Rowland did as he was told and pronounced his verdict. ‘I can’t see anything wrong with it,’ he declared. But he took the broccoli from her in order to give it a closer investigation.
‘Of course there’s nothing wrong with it,’ Miss Peake barked at him. ‘I took another one just like this into the kitchen yesterday, and that woman in the kitchen—’ She broke off to add, by way of parenthesis, ‘Of course, I don’t want to say anything against your servants, Mrs Hailsham-Brown, though I could say a great deal.’ Returning to her main theme, she continued, ‘But that Mrs Elgin actually had the nerve to tell me that it was such a poor specimen she wasn’t going to cook it. She said something about, “If you can’t do better than that in the kitchen garden, you’d better take up some other job.” I was so angry I could have killed her.’
Clarissa began to speak, but Miss Peake ploughed on regardless. ‘Now you know I never want to make trouble,’ she insisted, ‘but I’m not going into that kitchen to be insulted.’ After a brief pause for breath, she resumed her tirade. ‘In future,’ she announced, ‘I shall dump the vegetables outside the back door, and Mrs Elgin can leave a list there—’
Sir Rowland at this point attempted to hand the broccoli back to her, but Miss Peake ignored him, and continued, ‘She can leave a list there of what is required.’ She nodded her head emphatically.
Neither Clarissa nor Sir Rowland could think of anything to say in reply, and just as the gardener opened her mouth to speak again the telephone rang. ‘I’ll answer it,’ she bellowed. She crossed to the phone and lifted the receiver. ‘Hello—yes,’ she barked into the mouthpiece, wiping the top of the table with a corner of her overall as she spoke. ‘This is Copplestone Court—You want Mrs Brown?—Yes, she’s here.’
Miss Peake held out the receiver, and Clarissa stubbed out her cigarette, went over to the phone, and took the receiver from her.
‘Hello,’ said Clarissa, ‘This is Mrs Hailsham-Brown.—Hello—hello.’ She looked at Miss Peake. ‘How odd,’ she exclaimed. ‘They seem to have rung off.’
As Clarissa replaced the receiver, Miss Peake suddenly darted to the console table and set it back against the wall. ‘Excuse me,’ she boomed, ‘but Mr Sellon always liked this table flat against the wall.’
Clarissa surreptitiously pulled a face at Sir Rowland, but hastened nevertheless to assist Miss Peake with the table. ‘Thank you,’ said the gardener. ‘And,’ she added, ‘you will be careful about marks made with glasses on the furniture, won’t you, Mrs Brown-Hailsham.’ Clarissa looked anxiously at the table as the gardener corrected herself. ‘I’m sorry—I mean Mrs Hailsham-Brown.’ She laughed in a hearty fashion. ‘Oh well, Brown-Hailsham, Hailsham-Brown,’ she continued. ‘It’s really all the same thing, isn’t it?’
‘No,