A Daughter's a Daughter

by Agatha Christie, writing as Mary Westmacott

  ‘You don’t think –’ Gerry stopped uncertainly.

  ‘Don’t think what?’

  ‘That you might – well, feel the same about anyone?’ He was slightly nervous – but he got the words out. ‘After all, you can’t really know that Cauliflower is the wrong sort for her. You’ve not spoken two words to him. Don’t you think that perhaps it’s really that you are –’ it took courage to get the last word out, but he achieved it – ‘er – jealous?’

  Sarah was up in arms at once.

  ‘Jealous? Me? You mean step-father stuff? My dear Gerry! Didn’t I say to you long ago – before I went to Switzerland – that Mother ought to marry again?’

  ‘Yes. But it’s different,’ said Gerry with a flash of perception, ‘just saying things from when they really happen.’

  ‘I’ve not got a jealous nature,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s only Mother’s happiness I’m thinking about,’ she added virtuously.

  ‘If I was you I wouldn’t go monkeying about with other people’s lives,’ said Gerry decidedly.

  ‘But it’s my own mother.’

  ‘Well, she probably knows her own business best.’

  ‘I tell you, Mother’s weak.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Gerry, ‘there isn’t anything you can do about it.’

  He thought Sarah was making a lot of fuss about nothing. He was tired of Ann and her affairs and wanted to talk about himself.

  He said abruptly:

  ‘I’m thinking about clearing out.’

  ‘Clearing out of your uncle’s office? Oh, Gerry.’

  ‘I really can’t stick it any longer. There’s the hell of a fuss every time I turn up a quarter of an hour late.’

  ‘Well, you have to be punctual in offices, don’t you?’

  ‘Miserable lot of stick-in-the-muds! Fumbling away over ledgers, thinking of nothing but money, morning, noon and night.’

  ‘But Gerry, if you chuck it, what will you do?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll find something,’ said Gerry airily.

  ‘You’ve tried a lot of things already,’ said Sarah doubtfully.

  ‘Meaning I always get the sack? Well, I’m not waiting for the sack this time.’

  ‘But Gerry, really, do you think you’re wise?’ Sarah looked at him with a worried, almost maternal, solicitude. ‘I mean he’s your uncle and about the only relation you have, and you did say he was rolling.’

  ‘And if I behave prettily he may leave me all his money? I suppose that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Well, you grouse enough about your Great-uncle what’s-his-name not leaving his money to your father.’

  ‘If he’d had any decent family feelings I wouldn’t need to go truckling to these City magnates. I think this whole country is rotten to the core. I’ve a good mind to clear out of it altogether.’

  ‘Go abroad somewhere?’

  ‘Yes. Go somewhere where one has scope.’

  They were both silent, envisaging a nebulous life that had scope.

  Sarah, whose feet were always more firmly on the ground than Gerry’s were, said acutely:

  ‘Can you do anything much without capital? You haven’t got any capital, have you?’

  ‘You know I haven’t. Oh, I imagine there are all sorts of things one can do.’

  ‘Well, what can you do – actually?’

  ‘Must you be so damned depressing, Sarah?’

  ‘Sorry. What I mean is you haven’t any particular training of any kind.’

  ‘I’m good at handling men, and at leading an outdoor life. Not cooped up in an office.’

  ‘Oh, Gerry,’ said Sarah and sighed.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I don’t know. Life does seem difficult. All these wars have unsettled things so.’

  They stared gloomily in front of them.

  Presently Gerry said magnanimously that he’d give his uncle another chance. Sarah applauded this decision.

  ‘I’d better go home now,’ she said. ‘Mother will be back from her lecture.’

  ‘What was the lecture about?’

  ‘I don’t know. “Where are we going and Why?” That sort of thing.’

  She got up. ‘Thank you, Gerry,’ she said. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

  ‘Try not to be prejudiced, Sarah. If your mother likes this fellow and is going to be happy with him, that’s the main thing.’

  ‘If Mother’s going to be happy with him, then it’s quite all right.’

  ‘After all, you’ll be getting married yourself – I suppose – one of these days …’

  He said it without looking at her. Sarah stared with absorption at her handbag.

  ‘Someday, I suppose,’ she murmured. ‘I’m not particularly keen …’

  Embarrassment with a pleasurable tinge to it hovered in the air between them …

  2

  Ann felt relieved in her mind during lunch on the following day. Sarah was behaving beautifully. She greeted Richard pleasantly and made conversation politely during the meal.

  Ann felt proud of her young daughter with her vivid face, and her pretty manners. She might have known she could rely on Sarah – Sarah would never let her down.

  What she did wish was that Richard could show to better advantage. He was nervous, she realized that. He was anxious to make a good impression, and as is so often the case, his very anxiety told against him. His manner was didactic, almost pompous. Being anxious to appear at ease, he gave the impression of dominating the party. The very deference that Sarah showed to him, heightened the impression he made. He was over-positive in his statements and seemed to indicate that no opinion was possible but his own. It vexed Ann, who knew only too well the very real diffidence that there was in his nature.

  But how could Sarah perceive it? She was seeing the worst side of Richard, and it was so important that she should see the best. It made Ann herself nervous and ill at ease and that, she soon saw, annoyed Richard.

  After the meal was over and coffee had been brought, she left them on the excuse of having a telephone call to make. There was an extension in her bedroom. She hoped that, left together, Richard might feel more at ease and show more of his true self. It was she who was really the irritant. Once she had removed herself, things might settle down.

  After Sarah had given Richard his coffee, she offered a few polite commonplaces and the conversation then petered out.

  Richard braced himself. Frankness, he judged, was his best suit. He was favourably impressed on the whole with Sarah. She had shown no hostility. The great thing was to show her how well he understood the position. Before coming he had rehearsed what he meant to say. Like most things that have been rehearsed beforehand, they came out flatly and in an artificial manner. To make himself feel at ease he adopted a confident bonhomie that was wildly removed from his actual painful shyness.

  ‘Look here, young lady, there are just one or two things I’d like to say to you.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ Sarah turned an attractive but at the moment quite expressionless face towards him. She waited politely and Richard felt more nervous still.

  ‘I just want to say that I quite understand your feelings. This must all have come as a bit of a shock to you. You and your mother have always been very close. It’s perfectly natural that you should resent somebody else coming into her life. You’re bound to feel a bit sore and jealous about it.’

  Sarah said quickly in pleasant formal tones:

  ‘Not at all, I assure you.’

  Unwary, Richard took no notice of what was, in effect, a warning.

  He blundered on:

  ‘As I say, that’s all quite normal. I shan’t hurry you. Be as cool to me as you please. When you decide you’re ready to be friends, I’ll be ready to meet you halfway. What you’ve got to think of is your mother’s happiness.’

  ‘I do think of that,’ said Sarah.

  ‘Up to now, she’s done everything for you. Now it’s her turn to be considered. You want her to be happy, I’m sure.
And you’ve got to remember this: you’ve got your own life to lead – it’s all in front of you. You’ve got your own friends and your own hopes and ambitions. If you were to marry, or take up some job, your mother would be left all alone. That would mean great loneliness for her. This is the moment when you’ve got to put her first and yourself last.’

  He paused. He thought he had put that rather well.

  Sarah’s voice, polite but with an almost imperceptible undercurrent of impertinence, broke into his self-congratulations.

  ‘Do you often make public speeches?’ she inquired.

  Startled, he said: ‘Why?’

  ‘I should think you would be rather good at it,’ Sarah murmured.

  She was leaning back now in her chair admiring her nails. The fact that they were carmine red, a fashion which he disliked intensely, added to Richard’s irritation. He had recognized now that he was meeting hostility.

  With an effort he kept his temper. As a result he spoke in an almost patronizing tone.

  ‘Perhaps I was lecturing you a bit, my child. But I wanted to draw your attention to a few things you mightn’t have considered. And I can assure you of one thing: your mother’s not going to care for you any less because she cares for me, you know.’

  ‘Really? How kind of you to tell me so.’

  There was no doubt of the hostility now.

  If Richard had abandoned his defences, if he had said simply:

  ‘I’m making an awful mess of this, Sarah. I’m shy and unhappy and it makes me say all the wrong things, but I’m terribly fond of Ann and I do want you to like me if you possibly can,’ it might perhaps have melted Sarah’s defences, since she was at heart a generous creature.

  But instead, his tone stiffened.

  ‘Young people,’ he said, ‘are inclined to be selfish. They don’t usually think of anybody but themselves. But you’ve got to think of your mother’s happiness. She’s a right to a life of her own, and a right to take happiness when she finds it. She needs someone to look after her and protect her.’

  Sarah raised her eyes and looked him full in the face. The look in her eyes puzzled him. It was hard and there was a kind of calculation about it.

  ‘I couldn’t agree with you more,’ she said unexpectedly.

  Ann came back into the room rather nervously.

  ‘Any coffee left?’ she asked.

  Sarah poured out a cup carefully. She rose to her feet and handed the cup to her mother.

  ‘There you are, Mother,’ she said. ‘You came back at just the right minute. We’ve had our little talk.’

  She walked out of the room. Ann looked inquiringly at Richard. His face was rather red.

  ‘Your daughter,’ he said, ‘has made up her mind not to like me.’

  ‘Be patient with her, Richard, please be patient.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Ann, I’m perfectly prepared to be patient.’

  ‘You see, it has come to her as rather a shock.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Sarah has really a very loving heart. She’s such a dear child, really.’

  Richard did not reply. He considered Sarah an odious young woman, but he could not very well tell her mother so.

  ‘It will all work out,’ he said reassuringly.

  ‘I’m sure it will. It only needs time.’

  They were both unhappy and they did not know quite what to say next.

  3

  Sarah had gone to her bedroom. With unseeing eyes she took clothes out of the wardrobe and spread them out on the bed.

  Edith came in. ‘What are you doing, Miss Sarah?’

  ‘Oh, looking through my things. Perhaps they need cleaning. Or mending or something.’

  ‘I’ve seen to all that. You’ve no need to bother.’

  Sarah did not reply. Edith took a quick look at her. She saw the tears welling up in Sarah’s eyes.

  ‘There, there, now, don’t take on so.’

  ‘He’s odious, Edith, quite odious. How could Mother? Oh, everything’s ruined, spoilt – nothing will ever be the same again!’

  ‘Now, now, Miss Sarah. It’s no good working yourself up. Least said, soonest mended. What can’t be cured must be endured.’

  Sarah laughed wildly.

  ‘A stitch in time saves nine! And rolling stones gather no moss! Go away, Edith. Do go away.’

  Edith shook her head sympathetically and went away, shutting the door.

  Sarah cried passionately, like a child. She was torn with misery. Like a child she saw blackness everywhere with nothing to redeem the gloom.

  Under her breath she sobbed: ‘Oh, Mother, Mother, Mother …’

  Chapter Eight

  1

  ‘Oh, Laura, how pleased I am to see you.’

  Laura Whitstable sat down in an upright chair. She never lolled.

  ‘Well, Ann, how’s everything going?’

  Ann sighed.

  ‘Sarah’s being rather difficult, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Well, that was to be expected, wasn’t it?’

  Laura Whitstable spoke with casual cheerfulness. But she looked at Ann with some concern.

  ‘You’re not looking very fit, my dear.’

  ‘I know. I don’t sleep well and I get headaches.’

  ‘Don’t take things too seriously.’

  ‘It’s all very well to say that, Laura. You’ve no idea what it’s like the whole time.’ Ann spoke fretfully. ‘The moment Sarah and Richard are left together for a moment, they quarrel.’

  ‘Sarah’s jealous, of course.’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Well, as I said, that was to be expected. Sarah is still very much of a child. All children resent their mothers giving time and attention to somebody else. Surely you were prepared for that, Ann?’

  ‘Yes, in a way. Although Sarah has always seemed so very detached and grown-up. Still, as you say, I was prepared for that. What I wasn’t prepared for was Richard being jealous of Sarah.’

  ‘You expected Sarah to make a fool of herself, but thought Richard might have a little more sense?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He’s a man who’s fundamentally unsure of himself. A more self-confident man would just laugh and tell Sarah to go to the devil.’

  Ann rubbed her forehead in an exasperated gesture.

  ‘Really, Laura, you’ve no idea what it’s like! They fall out about the silliest things and then they look at me to see which side I’m going to take.’

  ‘Very interesting.’

  ‘Very interesting to you – but it’s not much fun for me.’

  ‘Which side do you take?’

  ‘Neither if I can help it. But sometimes –’

  ‘Yes, Ann?’

  Ann was silent for a moment, then she said:

  ‘You see, Laura, Sarah is cleverer than Richard about it all.’

  ‘In what way do you mean?’

  ‘Well, Sarah’s manner is always quite correct – outwardly. Polite, you know, and all that. But she knows how to get under Richard’s skin. She – torments him. And then he bursts out and becomes quite unreasonable. Oh, why can’t they like each other?’

  ‘Because there’s a real natural antipathy between them, I should suppose. Do you agree with that? Or do you think it’s only jealousy about you?’

  ‘I’m afraid you may be right, Laura.’

  ‘What sort of things do they quarrel about?’

  ‘The silliest things. For instance, you remember that I changed the furniture round, moved the desk and the sofa – and then Sarah moved it all back again, because she hates things changed … Well, Richard said suddenly one day: “I thought you liked the desk over there, Ann.” I said I did think it gave more space. Then Sarah said, “Well, I like it the way it always was.” And immediately Richard said in that domineering tone he sometimes puts on: “It’s not a question of what you like, Sarah, it’s a question of what your mother likes. We’ll arrange it the way she likes here and now.” And he moved the desk
then and there and said to me: “That’s how you want it, isn’t it?” So I more or less had to say “Yes.” And he turned on Sarah and said: “Any objections, young woman?” And Sarah looked at him and said quite quietly and politely: “Oh, no. It’s for Mother to say. I don’t count.” And you know Laura, although I’d been backing up Richard, I really felt with Sarah. She loves her home and all the things in it – and Richard doesn’t understand how she feels in the least. Oh dear, I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Yes, it’s trying for you.’

  ‘I suppose it will wear off?’

  Ann looked at her friend hopefully.

  ‘I shouldn’t count on that.’

  ‘I must say, you’re not very comforting, Laura!’

  ‘No good telling oneself fairy stories.’

  ‘It’s really too unkind of them both. They ought to realize how unhappy they are making me. I really do feel ill.’

  ‘Self-pity won’t help you, Ann. It never helps anybody.’

  ‘But I’m so unhappy.’

  ‘So are they, my dear. Give your pity to them. Sarah, poor child, is desperately miserable – and so, I imagine, is Richard.’

  ‘Oh dear, and we were so happy together until Sarah came home.’

  Dame Laura raised her eyebrows slightly. She was silent for a moment or two. Then she said: ‘You are getting married – when?’

  ‘March 13th.’

  ‘Nearly two weeks still. You put it off – why?’

  ‘Sarah begged me to. She said it would give her more time to get used to the idea. She went on and on at me until I gave way.’

  ‘Sarah … I see. And Richard was annoyed?’

  ‘Of course he was annoyed. He was really very angry. He keeps saying that I’ve always spoilt Sarah. Laura, do you think that is true?’

  ‘No, I don’t. For all your love for Sarah you’ve never indulged her unduly. And up to now Sarah has always shown a reasonable consideration for you – as much, that is, as any egotistical young creature can.’

  ‘Laura, do you think I ought to –’

  She stopped.

  ‘Do I think you ought to do what?’