Sparkling Cyanide. Агата Кристи
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flushed, pleased.
‘I’ve never been able to say much—I’ve taken all you do for granted—but it’s not really like that. You don’t know how much I rely on you for everything—’ he repeated: ‘everything. You’re the kindest, dearest, most helpful girl in the world!’
Ruth said, laughing to hide her pleasure and embarrassment, ‘You’ll spoil me saying such nice things.’
‘Oh, but I mean them. You’re part of the firm, Ruth. Life without you would be unthinkable.’
She went out feeling a warm glow at his words. It was still with her when she arrived at the Rupert Hotel on her errand.
Ruth felt no embarrassment at what lay before her. She was quite confident of her powers to deal with any situation. Hard-luck stories and people never appealed to her. She was prepared to take Victor Drake as all in the day’s work.
He was very much as she had pictured him, though perhaps definitely more attractive. She made no mistake in her estimate of his character. There was not much good in Victor Drake. As cold-hearted and calculating a personality as could exist, well masked behind an agreeable devilry. What she had not allowed for was his power of reading other people’s souls, and the practised ease with which he could play on the emotions. Perhaps, too, she had underestimated her own resistance to his charm. For he had charm.
He greeted her with an air of delighted surprise.
‘George’s emissary? But how wonderful. What a surprise!’
In dry even tones, she set out George’s terms. Victor agreed to them in the most amiable manner.
‘A hundred pounds? Not bad at all. Poor old George. I’d have taken sixty—but don’t tell him so! Conditions:—“Do not worry lovely Cousin Rosemary—do not contaminate innocent Cousin Iris—do not embarrass worthy Cousin George.” All agreed to! Who is coming to see me off on the San Cristobal? You are, my dear Miss Lessing? Delightful.’ He wrinkled up his nose, his dark eyes twinkled sympathetically. He had a lean brown face and there was a suggestion about him of a toreador—romantic conception! He was attractive to women and knew it!
‘You’ve been with Barton some time, haven’t you, Miss Lessing?’
‘Six years.’
‘And he wouldn’t know what to do without you. Oh yes, I know all about it. And I know all about you, Miss Lessing.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Ruth sharply.
Victor grinned. ‘Rosemary told me.’
‘Rosemary? But—’
‘That’s all right. I don’t propose to worry Rosemary any further. She’s already been very nice to me—quite sympathetic. I got a hundred out of her, as a matter of fact.’
‘You—’
Ruth stopped and Victor laughed. His laugh was infectious. She found herself laughing too.
‘That’s too bad of you, Mr Drake.’
‘I’m a very accomplished sponger. Highly finished technique. The mater, for instance, will always come across if I send a wire hinting at imminent suicide.’
‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself.’
‘I disapprove of myself very deeply. I’m a bad lot, Miss Lessing. I’d like you to know just how bad.’
‘Why?’ She was curious.
‘I don’t know. You’re different. I couldn’t play up the usual technique to you. Those clear eyes of yours—you wouldn’t fall for it. No, “More sinned against than sinning, poor fellow,” wouldn’t cut any ice with you. You’ve no pity in you.’
Her face hardened.
‘I despise pity.’
‘In spite of your name? Ruth is your name, isn’t it? Piquant that. Ruth the ruthless.’
She said, ‘I’ve no sympathy with weakness!’
‘Who said I was weak? No, no, you’re wrong there, my dear. Wicked, perhaps. But there’s one thing to be said for me.’
Her lip curled a little. The inevitable excuse.
‘Yes?’
‘I enjoy myself. Yes,’ he nodded, ‘I enjoy myself immensely. I’ve seen a good deal of life, Ruth. I’ve done almost everything. I’ve been an actor and a storekeeper and a waiter and an odd job man, and a luggage porter, and a property man in a circus! I’ve sailed before the mast in a tramp steamer. I’ve been in the running for President in a South American Republic. I’ve been in prison! There are only two things I’ve never done, an honest day’s work, or paid my own way.’
He looked at her, laughing. She ought, she felt, to have been revolted. But the strength of Victor Drake was the strength of the devil. He could make evil seem amusing. He was looking at her now with that uncanny penetration.
‘You needn’t look so smug, Ruth! You haven’t as many morals as you think you have! Success is your fetish. You’re the kind of girl who ends up by marrying the boss. That’s what you ought to have done with George. George oughtn’t to have married that little ass Rosemary. He ought to have married you. He’d have done a damned sight better for himself if he had.’
‘I think you’re rather insulting.’
‘Rosemary’s a damned fool, always has been. Lovely as paradise and dumb as a rabbit. She’s the kind men fall for but never stick to. Now you—you’re different. My God, if a man fell in love with you—he’d never tire.’
He had reached the vulnerable spot. She said with sudden raw sincerity:
‘If! But he wouldn’t fall in love with me!’
‘You mean George didn’t? Don’t fool yourself, Ruth. If anything happened to Rosemary, George would marry you like a shot.’
(Yes, that was it. That was the beginning of it all.)
Victor said, watching her:
‘But you know that as well as I do.’
(George’s hand on hers, his voice affectionate, warm—Yes, surely it was true … He turned to her, depended on her …)
Victor said gently: ‘You ought to have more confidence in yourself, my dear girl. You could twist George round your little finger. Rosemary’s only a silly little fool.’
‘It’s true,’ Ruth thought. ‘If it weren’t for Rosemary, I could make George ask me to marry him. I’d be good to him. I’d look after him well.’
She felt a sudden blind anger, an uprushing of passionate resentment. Victor Drake was watching her with a good deal of amusement. He liked putting ideas into people’s heads. Or, as in this case, showing them the ideas that were already there …
Yes, that was how it started—that chance meeting with the man who was going to the other side of the globe on the following day. The Ruth who came back to the office was not quite the same Ruth who had left it, though no one could have noticed anything different in her manner or appearance.
Shortly after she had returned to the office Rosemary Barton rang up on the telephone.
‘Mr Barton has just gone out to lunch. Can I do anything?’
‘Oh, Ruth, would you? That tiresome Colonel Race has sent a telegram to say he won’t be back in time for my party. Ask George who he’d like to ask instead. We really ought to have another man. There are four women—Iris is coming as a treat and Sandra Farraday and—who on earth’s the other? I can’t remember.’
‘I’m the fourth, I think. You very kindly asked me.’
‘Oh, of course. I’d forgotten all about you!’
Rosemary’s