Closed Casket: The New Hercule Poirot Mystery (Hercule Poirot Mystery 2) (5 page)

I had expected to be last to the dining room, but I arrived to find everybody speculating about what had become of Athelinda Playford. Her place at the head of the table was unoccupied. ‘Were you not with her?’ Dorro Playford demanded of me, as if I jolly well ought to have been. I told her that I had been talking to Phyllis and had not seen Lady Playford.

‘Dorro, stop being a harridan,’ said Randall Kimpton as I sat down between Orville Rolfe and Sophie Bourlet. ‘Piece of advice, Catchpool: never answer one of Dorro’s questions—she will quickly come up with another nineteen at least. Whistle and look the other way. It’s the only sensible approach.’

I took a sip from my water glass to avoid having to respond. I would have reached for one of the wine glasses, but they had not yet been filled.

‘Well, I would like to know where she has disappeared to!’ A flush had spread across Dorro’s cheeks. ‘Was she not only just with us? We were all in the drawing room together. She was there. You all saw her! And I didn’t notice her go anywhere else. Did anybody?’

Still looking at me, Kimpton said loudly out of one side of his mouth, ‘Do not answer, I warn you.’

The door opened and Lady Playford entered the room with her hair in a different arrangement from before—one I could not begin to describe if I tried for a hundred years. She looked as elegant as the room we were in, which was perfectly square with a high ceiling and red and gold curtains and chandeliers. It was considerably more aesthetically pleasing than the drawing room. This must have been intended by the architect as the main room of the house, I thought. I wondered if Lady Playford agreed.

Harry waited until his mother was halfway to the table before saying, ‘Look, here she is! Hello, old girl.’

‘Yes. Here she is,’ said Claudia. ‘Isn’t it fortunate that nobody panicked?’

‘Panic?’ Lady Playford laughed. ‘Who would panic, and why?’

‘I simply wanted to know where you had got to,’ Dorro said stiffly. ‘Dinner is delayed, and we have had no explanation.’

‘Well, that’s easy enough,’ said Lady Playford. ‘The cause of the delay is what it always is: Brigid and Phyllis have had another pointless squabble. I heard the distant and sadly familiar sound of a mewling maid and, since I knew it would mean no food for the foreseeable future, I took the opportunity to do something different with my hair. It was too tight before.’

‘Then why wear it in that style in the first place?’

‘Is that another question, Dorro?’ said Kimpton. ‘You know, I might keep a tally tonight. And every night. How else will we know when you set a new record?’

Dorro said quietly, ‘One day, Randall, you will learn that being foul and being amusing are not the same thing.’

‘Come now, let us not carp at one another,’ said Joseph Scotcher. ‘We have guests, after all—some who have not visited Lillieoak before. Monsieur Poirot, Mr Catchpool, I do hope you are enjoying your stay so far.’

I made the appropriate response. I certainly was not bored at Lillieoak, and I was pleased to encounter Poirot again now that I was over the shock of it, but was I
enjoying
this evening? I felt as if I would have had to stand outside myself and watch for clues in order to attempt an accurate answer.

Poirot replied to the effect that he was having the most wonderful time, and it was not every day that one received an invitation from a famous writer.

Lady Playford said, ‘I cannot abide the word “famous”.’

‘She prefers “popular”, “esteemed”, “acclaimed” or “renowned”,’ said Kimpton. ‘Don’t you, Athie?’

‘I am certain that all of those adjectives apply.’ Poirot smiled.

‘I prefer a simpler one,’ said Scotcher.

‘Is that because using long words aggravates your kidneys?’ Claudia asked him.

What an unpleasant remark! I thought. Vicious, really. Astonishingly, no one reacted to it at all.

‘I prefer the adjective “best”,’ Scotcher went on as if nothing had happened, looking at Lady Playford.

‘Oh, Joseph!’ She pretended to scold him, but it was plain to see that she was delighted by the compliment.

I was startled to find Claudia staring at me. The longer she did so, the more I felt as if I had unwittingly fallen into a dangerous machine and might never climb out. She said, ‘Joseph has told us all that he does not wish to be treated as an invalid. Therefore, I treat him as I treat everybody else.’

‘Yes, appallingly,’ said Kimpton with a grin. ‘Sorry, dearest one—you know I don’t mean a word of it. And your treatment of me is exemplary, so who am I to complain?’

Claudia smiled coquettishly at him.

I made up my mind: no, I was not enjoying myself.

While Scotcher explained to Poirot that it was an honour for a humble man like himself to be secretary to the great Athelinda Playford, Claudia rather pointedly started a conversation of her own with Kimpton. Dorro took the opportunity to berate Harry for having failed to intercede on her behalf when Kimpton had attacked her—‘Steady on, old girl! Hardly an attack, eh? Little bit of harmless teasing!’—and soon we were not one large group but many small ones, all conducting separate conversations.

Mercifully, the first course arrived not long afterwards, served ineptly by a red-eyed Phyllis. I noticed that Scotcher made a point of breaking away from his conversation with Poirot and turning to thank her fulsomely as she put down his portion of what Lady Playford described as ‘good old traditional English mutton broth’. The way she said it made me think it must be her favourite thing to eat in the world. It smelled delicious, and I tucked in as soon as was decent.

The conversation died down as we applied ourselves to eating. Beside me, a loud creak came from Orville Rolfe’s chair as he adjusted his position. ‘Is your chair all right, Catchpool?’ he asked. ‘Mine is wobbly. There was a time when a chap making a chair would build it to last. Not any more! Everything made nowadays is flimsy and disposable.’

‘Many people say so,’ I replied tactfully.

‘Well?’ said Rolfe. It was evidently a habit of his to demand an answer immediately after receiving one.

‘I agree with you,’ I said, hoping that would put an end to the matter. I felt as uncomfortable as I would have if we were discussing his size, and irritated that I should be embarrassed while he seemed perfectly all right.

He finished his soup before anybody else, looked around and said, ‘Is there more? I don’t know why modern bowls are made so small—do you, Catchpool? This one’s shallow enough to be a side plate.’

‘I think they are probably a standard size.’

‘Well?’ Rolfe adjusted his position again, giving rise to more loud creaking. I prayed his chair would last for the duration of the meal.

Joseph Scotcher was still talking to Poirot about Lady Playford’s books. ‘As a detective, you more than most will find them a delight,’ he said.

‘I am looking forward to reading many during my stay here,’ Poirot told him. ‘It was my intention to read one or two before I arrived, but alas, it was not to be.’

Scotcher looked concerned. ‘I hope you have not been unwell,’ he said.

‘No, nothing of that sort. I was engaged to offer my opinion on a case of murder in Hampshire and … let us say, it became complicated and frustrating.’

‘I trust your efforts were successful in the end,’ said Scotcher. ‘A chap like you is surely a stranger to failure.’

‘Which novel of Lady Playford’s would you recommend that I read first?’ Poirot asked.

That was interesting, I thought. Like Scotcher, I could not imagine Poirot failing to solve a case, and I had expected him to say something about the business in Hampshire having reached a satisfactory conclusion. Instead, he had altogether changed the subject.

‘Oh, you
must
start with
Shrimp Seddon and the Lady in the Suit
,’ said Scotcher. ‘It’s not the first, but it’s the most straightforward and, in my humble opinion, the best introduction to Shrimp. It’s also the first one I read, so I am sentimental about it for that reason.’

‘No,’ said Michael Gathercole. He had been talking to Lady Playford and Sophie Bourlet, but now he addressed Poirot. ‘One must read them in chronological order.’

‘
Oui
, I think I would prefer to do so,’ Poirot agreed.

‘Then, like Michael here, you must be frightfully conventional,’ said Lady Playford with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Joseph’s clever theory is that it’s
better
to read books in the wrong order, if they are a series. He says—’

‘Let him tell us himself, since we have the benefit of his company tonight,’ said Claudia. ‘We will have plenty of time to remember his wise words once he’s dead, after all.’

‘Claudia!’ said her mother. ‘That is quite enough!’

Sophie Bourlet had covered her mouth with her napkin and was blinking away tears.

Scotcher, however, was laughing. ‘Sincerely, I do not mind. Laughing about a thing takes the sting out of it, I find. Claudia and I understand one another well.’

‘Oh, we certainly do.’ Claudia smiled at him. There was something about her smile, too. Not exactly flirtatiousness, but something … knowing. That was the only way I could describe it to myself.

‘And in fact, doctors and the terminally ill joke about death all the time,’ said Scotcher. ‘Is that not so, Kimpton?’

Kimpton said coldly, ‘It is. I tend not to participate, however. I believe death ought to be taken seriously.’ Was he chastising Scotcher for mocking the idea of his own demise? Or for being overly familiar with Claudia? It was hard to tell.

To Poirot, Scotcher said, ‘My theory is simply this: when you read the Shrimp books in the
wrong
order, you meet Shrimp and Podge and the gang not at the beginning of their story, but in the middle. Certain things have already happened to them, and if you want to find out more about their histories, you have to read the earlier books. Now, to my mind, this is much more faithful to real life. For example, here I am meeting the great Hercule Poirot for the first time! I know only what I see of him and what he says to me in the present moment. But if I find him interesting enough—and I most certainly do—then I will endeavour to learn more about his past adventures. That was how I felt about Shrimp Seddon after reading
The Lady in the Suit
. It’s terribly ingenious, Poirot, and contains the best Shrimp moment of all: when she discovers that “hirsute” is another word for hairy, and realizes there is no lady in a suit! There never was!’

‘You have just given away the resolution of the mystery,’ said Gathercole impatiently. ‘Why should Monsieur Poirot read it now that you’ve spoilt it for him?’

‘Don’t be silly, Michael,’ Lady Playford waved away his objection. ‘There are many intricacies to that story about which Joseph has said nothing. I should hope that nobody would read one of my books only to find out the answer. Monsieur Poirot, I am sure, is no philistine. It’s the working out, and the psychology, that matters.’

‘Not you as well, Athie,’ Kimpton grumbled. ‘Psychology! Hobby for degenerates—that’s all it is.’

Scotcher appeared to regret his words. ‘Gathercole is quite right. How cloth-headed of me to reveal such a pivotal moment. I am aghast at my own stupidity. I allowed my love for Lady Playford’s work to carry me quite away. I forgot myself.’

Gathercole, at the other end of the table, was shaking his head in apparent disgust.

Poirot said, ‘I am not a philistine, but I enjoy a mystery and I prefer to try to work out the solution myself. Is that wrong, Lady Playford? Surely that is the point of a mystery?’

‘Oh, yes. I mean, it is, but …’ She looked doubtful. ‘I do hope the chicken arrives soon,’ she said, glancing towards the door.

Dorro said very quietly and without expression, ‘Nothing Joseph does is wrong. The opposite rule applies to me.’ It was not clear whether she intended to criticize herself or her mother-in-law.

‘Of course you prefer not to have the mystery ruined for you by a fool like me,’ said Scotcher. ‘What appalling carelessness on my part. A million apologies, Monsieur Poirot. Though I must insist that you withhold your forgiveness indefinitely. Some sins are not deserving of pardon.’

Claudia threw her head back and laughed. ‘Oh, Joseph, you are a scream!’

‘I wish Phyllis would clear away the first course and bring the entrée,’ said Lady Playford. ‘I have an announcement to make, but let us see dinner on the table first.’

‘I see—an announcement that requires an amply lined stomach, is it?’ Kimpton teased.

As soon as Phyllis had served what we were told was Brigid’s finest dish, Chicken à la Rose, Lady Playford stood up. ‘Please, do not wait,’ she said. ‘I have something to say to you all. Many of you won’t like it one bit, and nothing is ever better on an empty stomach.’

‘I do so agree,’ said Orville Rolfe. ‘Well?’ He set about his chicken with a ferocious enthusiasm.

Lady Playford waited until a few more knives and forks had started to move before saying, ‘This afternoon I made a new will.’

Dorro made a choking noise. ‘What? A new will? Why? How is it different from the old one?’

‘I assume that is what we are about to hear,’ said Claudia. ‘Do tell, dearest Mama!’

‘Do you know about this, Claudia?’ Dorro fussed. ‘You sound as if you do!’

‘Most of you will be shocked by what I am about to say.’ Lady Playford’s words sounded rehearsed. ‘I must ask you all to trust me. I have confidence that all will be well.’

‘Out with it, Athie,’ said Kimpton.

In the silent ten or so seconds that followed—perhaps it was not even as long as that; it certainly felt far longer—I was acutely aware of the jagged breathing of everybody around the table. Dorro’s long neck twitched and she gulped several times. She seemed barely able to sit still.

Lady Playford said, ‘According to the provisions of my new will—made this afternoon and witnessed by Michael Gathercole and Hatton—everything I own is to go to Joseph Scotcher upon my death.’

‘
What!
’ Dorro’s voice shook. Her thin lips were twisted in terror, as if she had come face to face with a grisly spectre invisible to the rest of us.