The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side. Agatha Christie
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in particular caused immense satisfaction. Most people’s ideas of Hollywood stars were of sun-bathing by a pool in exotic surroundings and in exotic company. That the climate of Hollywood might be more suited to swimming pools than that of St Mary Mead failed to be considered. After all, England always has one fine hot week in the summer and there is always one day that the Sunday papers publish articles on How to Keep Cool, How to Have Cool Suppers and How to Make Cool Drinks. The pool was almost exactly what everyone had imagined it might be. It was large, its waters were blue, it had a kind of exotic pavilion for changing and was surrounded with a highly artificial plantation of hedges and shrubs. The reactions of the multitude were exactly as might have been expected and hovered over a wide range of remarks.
‘O-oh, isn’t it lovely!’
‘Two penn’orth of splash here, all right!’
‘Reminds me of that holiday camp I went to.’
‘Wicked luxury I call it. It oughtn’t to be allowed.’
‘Look at all that fancy marble. It must have cost the earth!’
‘Don’t see why these people think they can come over here and spend all the money they like.’
‘Perhaps this’ll be on the telly sometime. That’ll be fun.’
Even Mr Sampson, the oldest man in St Mary Mead, boasting proudly of being ninety-six though his relations insisted firmly that he was only eighty-six, had staggered along supporting his rheumatic legs with a stick, to see this excitement. He gave it his highest praise: ‘Wicked, this!’ He smacked his lips hopefully. ‘Ah, there’ll be a lot of wickedness here, I don’t doubt. Naked men and women drinking and smoking what they call in the papers them reefers. There’ll be all that, I expect. Ah yes,’ said Mr Sampson with enormous pleasure, ‘there’ll be a lot of wickedness.’
It was felt that the final seal of approval had been set on the afternoon’s entertainment. For an extra shilling people were allowed to go into the house, and study the new music room, the drawing-room, the completely unrecognizable dining-room, now done in dark oak and Spanish leather, and a few other joys.
‘Never think this was Gossington Hall, would you, now?’ said Mr Sampson’s daughter-in-law.
Mrs Bantry strolled up fairly late and observed with pleasure that the money was coming in well and that the attendance was phenomenal.
The large marquee in which tea was being served was jammed with people. Mrs Bantry hoped the buns were going to go round. There seemed some very competent women, however, in charge. She herself made a bee-line for the herbaceous border and regarded it with a jealous eye. No expense had been spared on the herbaceous border, she was glad to note, and it was a proper herbaceous border, well planned and arranged and expensively stocked. No personal labours had gone into it, she was sure of that. Some good gardening firm had been given the contract, no doubt. But aided by carte blanche and the weather, they had turned out a very good job.
Looking round her, she felt there was a faint flavour of a Buckingham Palace garden party about the scene. Everybody was craning to see all they could see, and from time to time a chosen few were led into one of the more secret recesses of the house. She herself was presently approached by a willowy young man with long wavy hair.
‘Mrs Bantry? You are Mrs Bantry?’
‘I’m Mrs Bantry, yes.’
‘Hailey Preston.’ He shook hands with her. ‘I work for Mr Rudd. Will you come up to the second floor? Mr and Mrs Rudd are asking a few special friends up there.’
Duly honoured Mrs Bantry followed him. They went in through what had been called in her time the garden door. A red cord cordoned off the bottom of the main stairs. Hailey Preston unhooked it and she passed through. Just in front of her Mrs Bantry observed Councillor and Mrs Allcock. The latter who was stout was breathing heavily.
‘Wonderful what they’ve done, isn’t it, Mrs Bantry?’ panted Mrs Allcock. ‘I’d like to have a look at the bathrooms, I must say, but I suppose I shan’t get the chance.’ Her voice was wistful.
At the top of the stairs Marina Gregg and Jason Rudd were receiving this specially chosen élite. What had once been a spare bedroom had been thrown into the landing so as to make a wide lounge-like effect. Giuseppe the butler was officiating with drinks.
A stout man in livery was announcing guests.
‘Councillor and Mrs Allcock,’ he boomed.
Marina Gregg was being, as Mrs Bantry had described her to Miss Marple, completely natural and charming. She could already hear Mrs Allcock saying later: ‘—and so unspoiled, you know, in spite of being so famous.’
How very nice of Mrs Allcock to come, and the Councillor, and she did hope they’d enjoy their afternoon. ‘Jason, please look after Mrs Allcock.’
Councillor and Mrs Allcock were passed on to Jason and drinks.
‘Oh, Mrs Bantry, it is nice of you to come.’
‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ said Mrs Bantry and moved on purposefully towards the Martinis.
The young man called Hailey Preston ministered to her in a tender manner and then made off, consulting a little list in his hand, to fetch, no doubt, more of the Chosen to the Presence. It was all being managed very well, Mrs Bantry thought, turning, Martini in hand, to watch the next arrivals. The vicar, a lean, ascetic man, was looking vague and slightly bewildered. He said earnestly to Marina Gregg:
‘Very nice of you to ask me. I’m afraid, you know, I haven’t got a television set myself, but of course I—er—I—well, of course my young people keep me up to the mark.’
Nobody knew what he meant. Miss Zielinsky, who was also on duty, administered a lemonade to him with a kindly smile. Mr and Mrs Badcock were next up the stairs. Heather Badcock, flushed and triumphant, came a little ahead of her husband.
‘Mr and Mrs Badcock,’ boomed the man in livery.
‘Mrs Badcock,’ said the vicar, turning back, lemonade in his hand, ‘the indefatigable secretary of the association. She’s one of our hardest workers. In fact I don’t know what the St John would do without her.’
‘I’m sure you’ve been wonderful,’ said Marina.
‘You don’t remember me?’ said Heather, in an arch manner. ‘How should you, with all the hundreds of people you meet. And anyway, it was years ago. In Bermuda of all places in the world. I was there with one of our ambulance units. Oh, it’s a long time ago now.’
‘Of course,’ said Marina Gregg, once more all charm and smiles.
‘I remember it all so well,’ said Mrs Badcock. ‘I was thrilled, you know, absolutely thrilled. I was only a girl at the time. To think there was a chance of seeing Marina Gregg in the flesh—oh! I was a mad fan of yours always.’
‘It’s too kind of you, really too kind of you,’ said Marina sweetly, her eyes beginning to hover faintly over Heather’s shoulder towards the next arrivals.
‘I’m not going to detain you,’ said Heather—‘but I must—’
‘Poor Marina Gregg,’ said Mrs Bantry to herself. ‘I suppose this kind of thing is always happening to her! The patience they need!’
Heather was continuing in a determined manner with her story.
Mrs Allcock breathed heavily at Mrs Bantry’s shoulder.
‘The changes they’ve made here! You wouldn’t believe till you saw for yourself. What it must have cost …’
‘I—didn’t feel really ill—and I thought I just must—’
‘This is vodka,’ Mrs Allcock regarded her glass suspiciously. ‘Mr Rudd asked if I’d like to try it. Sounds very Russian. I don’t think I like it very much …’