Hercule Poirot’s Christmas

Lydia controlled a sudden impatient movement. She said:

‘Must you always give in to him?’

‘He’s a very old man, my dear—’

‘Oh, I know—I know!’

‘He expects to have his own way.’

Lydia said dryly:

‘Naturally, since he has always had it! But some time or other, Alfred, you will have to make a stand.’

‘What do you mean, Lydia?’

He stared at her, so palpably upset and startled, that for a moment she bit her lip and seemed doubtful whether to go on.

Alfred Lee repeated:

‘What do you mean, Lydia?’

She shrugged her thin, graceful shoulders.

She said, trying to choose her words cautiously:

‘Your father is—inclined to be—tyrannical—’

‘He’s old.’

‘And will grow older. And consequently more tyrannical. Where will it end? Already he dictates our lives to us completely. We can’t make a plan of our own! If we do, it is always liable to be upset.’

Alfred said:

‘Father expects to come first. He is very good to us, remember.’

‘Oh! good to us!’

‘Very good to us.’

Alfred spoke with a trace of sternness.

‘Lydia said calmly:

‘You mean financially?’

‘Yes. His own wants are very simple. But he never grudges us money. You can spend what you like on dress and on this house, and the bills are paid without a murmur. He gave us a new car only last week.’

‘As far as money goes, your father is very generous, I admit,’ said Lydia. ‘But in return he expects us to behave like slaves.’

‘Slaves?’

‘That’s the word I used. You are his slave, Alfred. If we have planned to go away and Father suddenly wishes us not to go, you cancel your arrangements and remain without a murmur! If the whim takes him to send us away, we go…We have no lives of our own—no independence.’

Her husband said distressfully:

‘I wish you wouldn’t talk like this, Lydia. It is very ungrateful. My father has done everything for us…’

She bit off a retort that was on her lips. She shrugged those thin, graceful shoulders once more.

Alfred said:

‘You know, Lydia, the old man is very fond of you—’

His wife said clearly and distinctly:

‘I am not at all fond of him.’

‘Lydia, it distresses me to hear you say things like that. It is so unkind—’

‘Perhaps. But sometimes a compulsion comes over one to speak the truth.’

‘If Father guessed—’

‘Your father knows perfectly well that I do not like him! It amuses him, I think.’

‘Really, Lydia, I am sure you are wrong there. He has often told me how charming your manner to him is.’

‘Naturally I’ve always been polite. I always shall be. I’m just letting you know what my real feelings are. I dislike your father, Alfred. I think he is a malicious and tyrannical old man. He bullies you and presumes on your affection for him. You ought to have stood up to him years ago.’

Alfred said sharply:

‘That will do, Lydia. Please don’t say any more.’

She sighed.

‘I’m sorry. Perhaps I was wrong…Let’s talk of our Christmas arrangements. Do you think your brother David will really come?’

‘Why not?’

She shook her head doubtfully.

‘David is—queer. He’s not been inside the house for years, remember. He was so devoted to your mother—he’s got some feeling about this place.’

‘David always got on Father’s nerves,’ said Alfred, ‘with his music and his dreamy ways. Father was, perhaps, a bit hard on him sometimes. But I think David and Hilda will come all right. Christmas time, you know.’

‘Peace and goodwill,’ said Lydia. Her delicate mouth curved ironically. ‘I wonder! George and Magdalene are coming. They said they would probably arrive tomorrow. I’m afraid Magdalene will be frightfully bored.’

Alfred said with some slight annoyance: