Hercule Poirot’s Christmas

‘Why my brother George ever married a girl twenty years younger than himself I can’t think! George was always a fool!’

‘He’s very successful in his career,’ said Lydia. ‘His constituents like him. I believe Magdalene works quite hard politically for him.’

Alfred said slowly:

‘I don’t think I like her very much. She is very good-looking—but I sometimes think she is like one of those beautiful pears one gets—they have a rosy flush and a rather waxen appearance—’ He shook his head.

‘And they’re bad inside?’ said Lydia. ‘How funny you should say that, Alfred!’

‘Why funny?’

She answered:

‘Because—usually—you are such a gentle soul. You hardly ever say an unkind thing about anyone. I get annoyed with you sometimes because you’re not sufficiently—oh, what shall I say?—sufficiently suspicious—not worldly enough!’

Her husband smiled.

‘The world, I always think, is as you yourself make it.’

Lydia said sharply:

‘No! Evil is not only in one’s mind. Evil exists! You seem to have no consciousness of the evil in the world. I have. I can feel it. I’ve always felt it—here in this house—’ She bit her lip and turned away.

Alfred said, ‘Lydia—’

But she raised a quick admonitory hand, her eyes looking past him at something over his shoulder. Alfred turned.

A dark man with a smooth face was standing there deferentially.

Lydia said sharply:

‘What is it, Horbury?’

Horbury’s voice was low, a mere deferential murmur.

‘It’s Mr Lee, madam. He asked me to tell you that there would be two more guests arriving for Christmas, and would you have rooms prepared for them.’

Lydia said, ‘Two more guests?’

Horbury said smoothly, ‘Yes, madam, another gentleman and a young lady.’

Alfred said wonderingly: ‘A young lady?’

‘That’s what Mr Lee said, sir.’

Lydia said quickly:

‘I will go up and see him—’

Horbury made one little step, it was a mere ghost of a movement but it stopped Lydia’s rapid progress automatically.

‘Excuse me, madam, but Mr Lee is having his afternoon sleep. He asked specifically that he should not be disturbed.’

‘I see,’ said Alfred. ‘Of course we won’t disturb him.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Horbury withdrew.

Lydia said vehemently:

‘How I dislike that man! He creeps about the house like a cat! One never hears him going or coming.’

‘I don’t like him very much either. But he knows his job. It’s not so easy to get a good male nurse attendant. And Father likes him, that’s the main thing.’

‘Yes, that’s the main thing, as you say. Alfred, what is this about a young lady? What young lady?’

Her husband shook his head.

‘I can’t imagine. I can’t even think of anyone it might be likely to be.’

They stared at each other. Then Lydia said, with a sudden twist of her expressive mouth:

‘Do you know what I think, Alfred?’

‘What?’

‘I think your father has been bored lately. I think he is planning a little Christmas diversion for himself.’

‘By introducing two strangers into a family gathering?’

‘Oh! I don’t know what the details are—but I do fancy that your father is preparing to—amuse himself.’

‘I hope he will get some pleasure out of it,’ said Alfred gravely. ‘Poor old chap, tied by the leg, an invalid—after the adventurous life he has led.’

Lydia said slowly:

‘After the—adventurous life he has led.’

The pause she made before the adjective gave it some special though obscure significance. Alfred seemed to feel it. He flushed and looked unhappy.

She cried out suddenly:

‘How he ever had a son like you, I can’t imagine! You two are poles apart. And he fascinates you—you simply worship him!’

Alfred said with a trace of vexation:

‘Aren’t you going a little far, Lydia? It’s natural, I should say, for a son to love his father. It would be very unnatural not to do so.’

Lydia said: