Third Girl hp-37

by Agatha Christie

  "I thought of throwing myself off a bridge first."

  "Did you? You wouldn't have found that so easy. People who build bridges are rather careful nowadays. I mean you'd have had to climb up on to the parapet and it's not so easy. Somebody stops you.

  Well, to continue with my dissertation, I brought you home as you were in too much of a state of shock to tell me your address.

  What is it, by the way?"

  "I haven't got an address. I - I don't live anywhere."

  "Interesting," said Dr. Stillingfleet.

  "What the police call 'of no fixed abode'. What do you do - sit out on the Embankment all night?" She looked at him suspiciously.

  "I could have reported the accident to the police but there was no obligation upon me to do so. I preferred to take the view that in a state of maiden meditation you were crossing the street before looking left first."

  "You're not at all like my idea of a doctor," said Norma.

  "Really? Well, I've been getting gradually disillusioned in my profession in this country. In fact, I'm giving up my practice here and I'm going to Australia in about a fortnight. So you're quite safe from me, and you can if you like tell me how you see pink elephants walking out of the wall, how you think the trees are leaning out their branches to wrap round and strangle you, how you think you know just when the devil looks out of people's eyes, or any other cheerful fantasy, and I shan't do a thing about it! You look sane enough, if I may say so."

  "I don't think I am."

  "Well, you may be right," said Dr. Stillingfleet handsomely. "Let's hear what your reasons are."

  "I do things and don't remember about them… I tell people things about what I've done but I don't remember telling them…"

  "It sounds as though you have a bad memory."

  "You don't understand. They're all - wicked things."

  "Religious mania? Now that would be very interesting."

  "It's not religious. It's just - just hate." There was a tap at the door and an elderly woman came in with a tea tray. She put it down on the desk and went out again.

  "Sugar?" said Dr. Stillingfleet.

  "Yes, please."

  "Sensible girl. Sugar is very good for you when you've had a shock." He poured out two cups of tea, set hers at her side and placed the sugar basin beside it. "Now then," he sat down. "What were we talking about? Oh yes, hate."

  "It is possible, isn't it, that you could hate someone so much that you really want to kill them?"

  "Oh, yes," said Stillingfleet cheerfully still. "Perfectly possible. In fact, most natural. But even if you really want to do it you can't always screw yourself up to the point, you know. The human being is equipped with a natural braking system and it applies the brakes for you just at the right moment."

  "You make it sound so ordinary," said Norma. There was a distinct overtone of annoyance in her voice.

  "Oh, well, it is quite natural. Children feel like it almost every day. Lose their tempers, say to their mothers or their fathers: 'You're wicked, I hate you, I wish you were dead'. Mothers, being sometimes sensible people, don't usually pay any attention. When you grow up, you still hate people, but you can't take quite so much trouble wanting to kill them by then. Or if you still do - well, then you go to prison. That is, if you actually brought yourself to do such a messy and difficult job. You aren't putting all this on, are you, by the way?" he asked casually.

  "Of course not." Norma sat up straight. Her eyes flashed with anger. "Of course not. Do you think I would say such awful things if they weren't true?"

  "Well, again," said Dr. Stillingfleet, "people do. They say all sorts of awful things about themselves and enjoy saying them." He took her empty cup from her. "Now then," he said, "you'd better tell me all about everything. Who you hate, why you hate them, what you'd like to do to them."

  "Love can turn to hate."

  "Sounds like a melodramatic ballad. But remember hate can turn to love, too. It works both ways. And you say it's not a boy friend. He was your man and he did you wrong. None of that stuff, eh?"

  "No, no. Nothing like that. It's - it's my stepmother."

  "The cruel stepmother motif. But that's nonsense. At your age you can get away from a stepmother. What has she done to you beside marrying your father? Do you hate him too, or are you so devoted to him, that you don't want to share him?"

  "It's not like that at all. Not at all. I used to love him once. I loved him dearly. He was - he was - I thought he was wonderful."

  "Now then," said Dr. Stillingfleet, "listen to me. I'm going to suggest something. You see that door?" Norma turned her head and looked in a puzzled fashion at the door.

  "Perfectly ordinary door, isn't it? Not locked. Opens and shuts in the ordinary way. Go on, try it for yourself. You saw my housekeeper come in and go out through it, didn't you? No illusions. Come on. Get up. Do what I tell you." Norma rose from her chair and rather hesitatingly went to the door and opened it.

  She stood in the aperture, her head turned towards him enquiringly.

  "Right. What do you see? A perfectly ordinary hallway, wants redecorating but it's not worth having it done when I'm just off to Australia. Now go to the front door, open it, also no tricks about it. Go outside and down to the pavement and that will show you that you are perfectly free with no attempts to shut you up in any way. After that when you have satisfied yourself that you could walk out of this place at any minute you like, come back, sit in that comfortable chair over there and tell me all about yourself. After which I will give you my valuable advice. You needn't take it," he added consolingly. "People seldom do take advice, but you might as well have it. See? Agreed?" Norma got up slowly, she went a little shakily out of the room, out into - as the doctor had described - the perfectly ordinary hallway, opened the front door with a simple catch, down four steps and stood on the pavement in a street of decorous but rather uninteresting houses. She stood there a moment, unaware that she was being watched through a lace blind by Dr. Stillingfleet himself. She stood there for about two minutes, then with a slightly more resolute bearing she turned, went up the steps again, shut the front door and came back into the room.

  "All right?" said Dr. Stillingfleet. "Satisfy you there's nothing up my sleeve? All clear and above board?

  The girl nodded.

  "Right. Sit down there. Make yourself comfortable. Do you smoke?"

  "Well, I - "

  "Only reefers - something of that kind?

  Never mind, you needn't tell me."

  "Of course I don't take anything of that kind."

  "I shouldn't have said there was any 'of course' about it, but one must believe what the patient tells one. All right. Now tell me all about yourself."

  "I - I don't know. There's nothing to tell really. Don't you want me to lie down on a couch?"

  "Oh, you mean your memory of dreams and all that stuff? No, not particularly. I just like to get a background. You know.

  You were born, you lived in the country or the town, you have brothers and sisters or you're an only child and so on. When your own mother died, were you very upset by her death?"

  "Of course I was." Norma sounded indignant.

  "You're much too fond of saying of course, Miss West. By the way, West isn't really your name, is it? Oh, never mind, I don't want to know any other one. Call yourself West or East or North or anything you like. Anyway, what went on after your mother died?"

  "She was an invalid for a long time before she died. In nursing homes a good deal. I stayed with an aunt, rather an old aunt, down in Devonshire. She wasn't really an aunt, she was Mother's first cousin. And then my father came home just about six months ago. It - it was wonderful." Her face lighted up suddenly. She was unaware of the quick, shrewed glance the apparently casual young man shot at her. "I could hardly remember him, you know. He must have gone away when I was about five.

  I didn't really think I'd ever see him again. Mother didn't very often talk about him. I think at first she hoped that he
'd give up this other woman and come back."

  "Other woman?"

  "Yes. He went away with someone. She was a very bad woman. Mother said.

  Mother talked about her very bitterly and very bitterly about Father too, but I used to think that perhaps - perhaps Father wasn't as bad as she thought, that it was all this woman's fault."

  "Did they marry?"

  "No. Mother said she would never divorce Father. She was a-is it an Anglican? - very High Church, you know. Rather like a Roman Catholic. She didn't believe in divorce."

  "Did they go on living together? What was the woman's name or is that a secret too?"

  "I don't remember her last name." Norma shook her head. "No, I don't think they lived together long, but I don't know much about it all, you see. They went to South Africa but I think they quarrelled and parted quite soon because that's when Mother said she hoped Father might come back again. But he didn't. He didn't write even. Not even to me. But he sent me things at Christmas. Presents always."

  "He was fond of you?"

  "I don't know. How could I tell?

  Nobody ever spoke about him. Only Uncle Simon - his brother, you know.

  He was in business in the City and he was very angry that Father had chucked up everything. He said he had always been the same, could never settle to anything, but he said he wasn't a bad chap really. He said he was just weak. I didn't often see Uncle Simon. It was always Mother's friends.

  Most of them were dreadfully dull. My whole life has been very dull.

  "Oh, it seemed so wonderful that Father was really coming home. I tried to remember him better. You know, things he had said, games he had played with me. He used to make me laugh a lot. I tried to see if I couldn't find some old snapshots or photographs of him. They seem all to have been thrown away. I think Mother must have torn them all up."

  "She had remained vindictive then."

  "I think it was really Louise she was vindictive against."

  "Louise?" He saw a slight stiffening on the girl's part.

  "I don't remember - I told you - I don't remember any names."

  "Never mind. You're talking about the woman your father ran away with. Is that it?"

  "Yes. Mother said she drank too much and took drugs and would come to a bad end."

  "But you don't know whether she did?"

  "I don't know anything."… Her emotion was rising. "I wish you wouldn't ask me questions! I don't know anything about her! I never heard other again! I'd forgotten her until you spoke about her. I tell you I don't know anything.^ "Well, well," said Dr. Stillingfleet.

  "Don't get so agitated. You don't need to bother about past history. Let's think about the future. What are you going to do next?" Norma gave a deep sigh.

  "I don't know. I've nowhere to go. I can't - it's much better - I'm sure it's much better to - to end it all - only - "

  "Only you can't make the attempt a second time, is that it? It would be very foolish if you did, I can tell you that, my girl. All right, you've nowhere to go, no one to trust, got any money?"

  "Yes, I've got a banking account, and Father pays so much into it every quarter but I'm not sure… I think perhaps, by now, they might be looking for me. I don't want to be found."

  "You needn't be. I'll fix that up for you all right. Place called Kenway Court. Not as fine as it sounds. It's a kind of convalescent nursing home where people go for a rest cure. It's got no doctors or couches, and you won't be shut up there, I can promise you. You can walk out any time you like. You can have breakfast in bed, stay in bed all day if you like. Have a good rest and I'll come down one day and talk to you and we'll solve a few problems together. Will that suit you? Are you willing?" Norma looked at him. She sat, without expression, staring at him, slowly she nodded her head.

  ***

  Later that evening Dr. Stillingfleet made a telephone call.

  "Quite a good operation kidnap," he said. "She's down at Kenway Court.

  Came like a lamb. Can't tell you much yet.

  The girl's full of drugs. I'd say she'd been taking purple hearts, and dream bombs, and probably L.S.D… She's been all hopped up for some time. She says no, but I wouldn't trust much to what she says." He listened for a moment. "Don't ask me! One will have to go carefully there.

  She gets the wind up easily… Yes, she's scared of something, or she's pretending to be scared of something.

  "I don't know yet, I can't tell. Remember people who take drugs are tricky. You can't believe what they say always. We haven't rushed things and I don't want to startle her.

  "A father complex as a child. I'd say didn't care much for her mother who sounds a grim woman by all accounts - the self-righteous martyr type. I'd say Father was a gay one, and couldn't quite stand the grimness of married life- Know of anyone called Louise?… The name seemed to frighten her - She was the girl's first hate, I should say. She took Father away at the time the child was five.

  Children don't understand very much at that age, but they're very quick to feel resentment of the person they feel was responsible. She didn't see Father again until apparently a few months ago. I'd say she'd had sentimental dreams of being her father's companion and the apple of his eye. She got disillusioned apparently.

  Father came back with a wife, a new young attractive wife. She's not called Louise, is she?… Oh well, I only asked. I'm giving you roughly the picture, the general picture, that is." The voice at the other end of the wire said sharply, "What is that you say? Say it again."

  "I said I'm giving you roughly the picture." There was a pause.

  "By the way, here's one little fact might interest you. The girl made a rather hamhanded attempt to commit suicide. Does that startle you.

  "Oh, it doesn't… No, she didn't swallow the aspirin bottle, or put her head in the gas oven. She rushed into the traffic in the path of a Jaguar going faster than it should have done… I can tell you I only got to her just in time… Yes, I'd say it was a genuine impulse… She admitted it.

  Usual classic phrase - she 'wanted to get out of it all'." He listened to a rapid flow of words, then he said: "I don't know. At this stage, I can't be sure - The picture presented is clear. A nervy girl, neurotic and in an overwrought state from taking drugs of too many kinds. No, I couldn't tell you definitely what kind. There are dozens of these things going about all producing slightly different effects. There can be confusion, loss of memory, aggression, bewilderment, or sheer fuzzleheadedness!

  The difficulty is to tell what the real reactions are as opposed to the reactions produced by drugs. There are two choices, "ou see. Either this is a girl who is playing herself up, depicting herself as neurotic and nervy and claiming suicidal tendencies.

  It could be actually so. Or it could be a whole pack of lies. I wouldn't put it past her to be putting up this story for some obscure reason of her own - wanting to give an entirely false impression of herself.

  If so, she's doing it very cleverly. Every now and then, there seems something not quite right in the picture she's giving. Is she a very clever little actress acting a part?

  Or is she a genuine semi-moronic suicidal victim? She could be either… What did you say?… Oh, the Jaguar!… Yes, it was being driven far too fast. You think it mightn't have been an attempt at suicide?

  That the Jaguar was deliberately meaning to run her down." He thought for a minute or two. "I can't say," he said slowly. "It just could be so.

  Yes, it could be so, but I hadn't thought of it that way. The trouble is, everything's possible, isn't it? Anyway, I'm going to get more out of her shortly. I've got her in a position where she's semi-willing to trust me, so long as I don't go too far too quickly, and make her suspicious. She'll become more trusting soon, and tell me more, and if she's a genuine case, she'll pour out her whole story to me - force it on me in the end. At the moment she's frightened of something.

  "If, of course, she's leading me up the garden path we'll have to find out the reason why. She's at Kenway Court and I think sh
e'll stay there. I'd suggest that you keep someone with an eye on it for a day or so and if she does attempt to leave, someone she doesn't know by sight had better follow her."

  Chapter Eleven

  ANDREW RESTARICK was writing a cheque - he made a slight grimace as he did so.

  His office was large and handsomely furnished in typical conventional tycoon fashion - the furnishing and fittings had been Simon Restarick's and Andrew Restarick had accepted them without interest and had made few changes except for removing a couple of pictures and replacing them by his own portrait which he had brought up from the country, and a water colour of Table Mountain.

  Andrew Restarick was a man of middle age, beginning to put on flesh, yet strangely little changed from the man some fifteen years younger in the picture hanging above him. There was the same jutting out chin, the lips firmly pressed together, and the slightly raised quizzical eyebrows. Not a very noticeable man - an ordinary type and at the moment not a very happy man.

  His secretary entered the room - she advanced towards his desk, as he looked up.

  "A Monsieur Hercule Poirot is here. He insists that he has an appointment with you - but I can find no trace of one."

  "A Monsieur Hercule Poirot?" The name seemed vaguely familiar, but he could not remember in what context. He shook his head - "I can't remember anything about him - though I seem to have heard the name. What does he look like?"

  "A very small man - foreign - French I should say - with an enormous moustache - "

  "Of course! I remember Mary describing him. He came to see old Roddy. But what's all this about an appointment with me."

  "He says you wrote him a letter."

  "Can't remember it - even if I did.

  Perhaps Mary - Oh well, never mind - bring him in. I suppose I'd better see what this is all about." A moment or two later Claudia ReeceHolland returned ushering with her a small man with an egg-shaped head, large moustaches, pointed patent leather shoes and a general air of complacency which accorded very well with the description he had had from his wife.