Chapter 2
I
When Rosamund Darnley came and sat down by him, Hercule Poirot made no attempt to disguise his pleasure.
As he has since admitted, he admired Rosamund Darnley as much as any woman he had ever met. He liked her distinction, the graceful lines of her figure, the alert proud carriage of her head. He liked the neat sleek waves of her dark hair and the ironic quality of her smile.
She was wearing a dress of some navy blue material with touches of white. It looked very simple owing to the expensive severity of its line. Rosamund Darnley as Rose Mond Ltd was one of London’s best-known dressmakers.
She said:
Hercule Poirot murmured:
‘A man might be excused such a folly-she is beautiful, Mademoiselle.’
‘Yes, there’s no doubt of that. There was another scandal about three years ago. Old Sir Roger Erskine left her every penny of his money. I should have thought that would have opened Ken’s eyes if anything would.’
‘And did it not?’
Rosamund Darnley shrugged her shoulders.
‘I tell you I’ve seen nothing of him for years. People say, though, that he took it with absolute equanimity. Why, I should like to know? Has he got an absolutely blind belief in her?’
There might be other reasons.’
‘Yes. Pride! Keeping a stiff upper lip! I don’t know what he really feels about her. Nobody does.’
‘And she? What does she feel about him?’
Rosamund stared at him.
She said:
‘She? She’s the world’s first gold-digger. And a man-eater as well! If anything personable in trousers comes within a hundred yards of her, it’s fresh sport for Arlena! She’s that kind.’
Poirot nodded his head slowly in complete agreement.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That is true what you say…Her eyes look for one thing only-men.’
Rosamund said:
‘She’s got her eye on Patrick Redfern now. He’s a good-looking man-and rather the simple kind-you know, fond of his wife, and not a philanderer. That’s the kind that’s meat and drink to Arlena. I like little Mrs Redfern-she’s nice-looking in her fair washed-out way-but I don’t think she’ll stand a dog’s chance against that man-eating tiger, Arlena.’
Poirot said:
‘No, it is as you say.’
He looked distressed.
Rosamund said:
‘Christine Redfern was a school teacher, I believe. She’s the kind that thinks that mind has a pull over matter. She’s got a rude shock coming to her.’
Poirot shook his head vexedly.
Rosamund got up. She said:
‘It’s a shame, you know.’ She added vaguely: ‘Somebody ought to do something about it.’
II
Linda Marshall was examining her face dispassionately in her bedroom mirror. She disliked her face very much. At this minute it seemed to her to be mostly bones and freckles. She noted with distaste her heavy bush of soft brown hair (mouse, she called it in her own mind), her greenish-grey eyes, her high cheek-bones and the long aggressive line of the chin. Her mouth and teeth weren’t perhaps quite so bad-but what were teeth after all? And was that a spot coming on the side of her nose?
III
Kenneth Marshall tapped on his wife’s door. When her voice answered, he opened the door and went in.
Arlena was just putting the finishing touches to her toilet. She was dressed in glittering green and looked a little like a mermaid. She was standing in front of the glass applying mascara to her eyelashes. She said:
‘Oh, it’s you, Ken.’
‘Yes. I wondered if you were ready.’
‘Just a minute.’
Kenneth Marshall strolled to the window. He looked out on the sea. His face, as usual, displayed no emotion of any kind. It was pleasant and ordinary.
Turning round, he said:
‘Arlena?’
‘Yes?’
IV
When you came out of the hotel on the south side the terraces and the bathing beach were immediately below you. There was also a path that led off round the cliff on the south-west side of the island. A little way along it, a few steps led down to a series of recesses cut into the cliff and labelled on the hotel map of the island as Sunny Ledge. Here cut out of the cliff were niches with seats in them.
To one of these, immediately after dinner, came Patrick Redfern and his wife. It was a lovely clear night with a bright moon.
The Redferns sat down. For a while they were silent.
At last Patrick Redfern said:
‘It’s a glorious evening, isn’t it, Christine?’
‘Yes.’
Something in her voice may have made him uneasy. He sat without looking at her.
Christine Redfern asked in her quiet voice:
‘Did you know that woman was going to be here?’
He turned sharply. He said:
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I think you do.’
‘Look here, Christine. I don’t know what has come over you-’
She interrupted. Her voice held feeling now. It trembled.
‘Overme? It’s what has come overyou!’
‘Nothing’s come over me.’
‘Oh! Patrick! ithas! You insisted so on coming here. You were quite vehement. I wanted to go to Tintagel again where-where we had our honeymoon. You were bent on coming here.’
‘Well, why not? It’s a fascinating spot.’