A Daughter's a Daughter

by Agatha Christie, writing as Mary Westmacott

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘To put it bluntly, Sarah’s got to get out of here.’

  ‘No, Richard. That’s impossible.’

  ‘When girls aren’t happy at home, they go and live on their own.’

  ‘Sarah’s only nineteen, Richard.’

  ‘There are places where girls can live. Hostels. Or as a P.G. with a suitable family.’

  Ann shook her head decidedly.

  ‘I don’t think you realize what you are suggesting. You are suggesting that because I want to marry again, I turn out my young daughter – turn her out of her home.’

  ‘Girls like being independent and living on their own.’

  ‘Sarah doesn’t. It’s not a question of her wanting to go off on her own. This is her home, Richard.’

  ‘Well, I think it’s a good sound scheme. We can give her a good allowance to live on – I’ll contribute. She needn’t feel skimped. She’ll be happy on her own, and we’ll be happy on our own. I can’t see anything wrong with the plan.’

  ‘You’re assuming that Sarah is going to be happy on her own?’

  ‘She’ll enjoy it. I tell you girls like independence.’

  ‘You don’t know anything about girls, Richard. All you’re thinking of is what you want.’

  ‘I’m suggesting what I think is a perfectly reasonable solution.’

  Ann said slowly: ‘You said before dinner that I put Sarah first. In a way, Richard, that’s true … It’s not a question of which of you I love best. But when I consider you both – I know that it’s Sarah whose interests have to come before yours. Because you see, Richard, Sarah is my responsibility. I’ve not done with that responsibility until Sarah is fully a woman – and she isn’t fully a woman yet.’

  ‘Mothers never want their children to grow up.’

  ‘That’s sometimes true, but I honestly don’t think it’s true of me and Sarah. I see, what you can’t possibly see – that Sarah is still very young and defenceless.’

  Richard snorted.

  ‘Defenceless!’

  ‘Yes, that’s just what I mean. She’s unsure of herself, unsure of life. When she’s ready to go out into the world, she’ll want to go – and then I’ll be only too ready to help her. But she’s not ready.’

  Richard sighed. He said:

  ‘I suppose one simply can’t argue with mothers.’

  Ann said with unsuspected firmness:

  ‘I’m not going to turn my daughter out of her home. To do that, when she didn’t want to go, would be wicked.’

  ‘Well, if you feel so strongly about it.’

  ‘Oh, I do. But, Richard dear, if you will only have patience. Don’t you see, it’s not you who are the outsider, it’s Sarah. And she feels it. But I know that, in time, she will learn to make friends with you. Because she really does love me, Richard. And, in the end, she won’t want me to be unhappy.’

  Richard looked at her with a faintly quizzical smile.

  ‘My sweet Ann, what an incurable wishful thinker you are.’

  She moved into the circle of his arm.

  ‘Dear Richard – I love you … Oh dear, I wish I hadn’t got such a headache …’

  ‘I’ll get you some aspirin …’

  It occurred to him that every conversation he had with Ann now ended in aspirin.

  Chapter Nine

  1

  For two days there was an unexpected welcome peace. It encouraged Ann. Things after all were not so bad. In time, as she had said, everything would settle down. Her appeal to Richard had been successful. In a week’s time they would be married – and after that, it seemed to her, life would be more normal. Sarah would surely cease to resent Richard so much, and would find more interest in outside matters.

  ‘I really feel much better today,’ she observed to Edith.

  It occurred to her that a day passing without a headache was now quite a phenomenon.

  ‘Bit of a lull in the storm, as you might say,’ agreed Edith. ‘Just like cat and dog, Miss Sarah and Mr Cauldfield. Taken what you might call a real natural dislike to each other.’

  ‘I think Sarah’s getting over it a bit, though, don’t you?’

  ‘I shouldn’t buoy yourself up with false hopes if I was you, ma’am,’ said Edith gloomily.

  ‘But it can’t go on like that always?’

  ‘I shouldn’t bank on that.’

  Edith, thought Ann, was always gloomy! She enjoyed predicting disasters.

  ‘It has been better just lately,’ she insisted.

  ‘Ah, because Mr Cauldfield’s been here mostly in the daytime when Miss Sarah’s at her flower business, and she’s had you to herself in the evenings. Besides, she’s taken up with that Mr Gerry going off to foreign parts. But once you’re married, you’ll have both of them here together. Tear you to pieces between them, they will.’

  ‘Oh, Edith.’ Dismay seized Ann. A horrible metaphor.

  And so exactly what she had been feeling.

  She said desperately: ‘I can’t bear it. I hate scenes and rows and always have.’

  ‘That’s right. Quiet and sheltered you’ve always lived, and that’s the way it suits you.’

  ‘But what can I do about it? What would you do, Edith?’

  Edith said with relish:

  ‘No use repining. Taught as a child I was. “This life is but a vale of tears.”’

  ‘If that’s all you can suggest to console me!’

  ‘These things are sent to try us,’ said Edith sententiously. ‘Now if only you were one of those ladies who enjoys rows! There’s many that do. My uncle’s second wife, for instance. Nothing she enjoys more than going at it hammer and tongs. Wicked tongue she’s got – but there, once it’s over, she bears no malice and never thinks twice about it again. Cleared the air, so to speak. Irish blood, I put it down to. Her mother came from Limerick. No spite in them, but always spoiling for a fight. Miss Sarah’s got a bit of that. Mr Prentice was half Irish, I remember your telling me. Likes to blow off steam, Miss Sarah does, but a better-hearted young lady never lived. If you ask me it’s a good thing Mr Gerry’s taking himself off across the sea. He’ll never settle down and go steady. Miss Sarah can do better than him.’

  ‘I’m afraid she’s rather fond of him, Edith.’

  ‘I shouldn’t worry. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say, but my Aunt Jane used to add on to that, “of somebody else”. Out of sight out of mind is the truer proverb. Now don’t you worry about her or anyone else. Here’s that book you got from the library that you wanted so much to read, and I’ll bring you in a nice cup of coffee and a biscuit or two. You enjoy yourself while you can.’

  The slightly sinister suggestion of the last three words was ignored by Ann. She said: ‘You’re a great comfort, Edith.’

  On Thursday Gerry Lloyd left and Sarah came home that evening to have a worse quarrel than ever with Richard.

  Ann left them and sought refuge in her own room. She lay there in the dark, her hands over her eyes, the fingers pressing on her aching forehead. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  She said to herself again and again under her breath: ‘I can’t bear it … I can’t bear it …’

  Presently she heard the end of a sentence by Richard, almost shouted as he stormed out of the sitting-room:

  ‘– and your mother can’t always get out of it by running away with one of her eternal headaches.’

  Then came the slam of the front door.

  Sarah’s footsteps sounded in the passage, coming slowly and hesitantly to her own room. Ann called out:

  ‘Sarah.’

  The door opened. Sarah’s voice, slightly conscience-stricken, said:

  ‘All in the dark?’

  ‘My head aches. Turn on the little lamp over in the corner.’

  Sarah did so. She came slowly towards the bed, her eyes averted. There was something forlorn and childish about her that struck at Ann’s heart, although only a few minutes before she had felt violently angry
with her.

  ‘Sarah,’ said Ann. ‘Must you?’

  ‘Must I what?’

  ‘Quarrel with Richard the whole time? Haven’t you got any feeling for me at all? Don’t you realize how unhappy you’re making me? Don’t you want me to be happy?’

  ‘Of course I want you to be happy. That’s just it!’

  ‘I don’t understand you. You make me perfectly miserable. Sometimes I feel I can’t go on … Everything’s so different.’

  ‘Yes, it’s all different. He’s spoilt everything. He wants to get me out of here. You won’t let him make you send me away, will you?’

  Ann was angry.

  ‘Of course not. Who suggested such a thing?’

  ‘He did. Just now. But you won’t, will you? It’s all like a bad dream.’ Suddenly Sarah’s tears began to flow. ‘It’s all gone wrong. Everything. Ever since I came back from Switzerland. Gerry’s gone away – I shall probably never see him again. And you’ve turned against me –’

  ‘I haven’t turned against you! Don’t say such things.’

  ‘Oh, Mother – Mother.’

  The girl flung herself down on her knees by the bed and sobbed uncontrollably.

  She repeated at intervals that one word ‘Mother’ …

  2

  On Ann’s breakfast tray the next morning was a note from Richard.

  Dear Ann. Things really can’t go on like this. We shall have to work out some kind of plan. I believe you will find Sarah more amenable than you think. Yours ever, Richard.

  Ann frowned. Was Richard wilfully deceiving himself? Or had Sarah’s outburst last night been largely hysterical? The latter was possible. Sarah, Ann felt sure, was suffering all the misery of calf love, and her first good-bye to the loved one. After all, since she disliked Richard so much, it might be that she really would be happier away from home …

  On an impulse Ann reached for the telephone and dialled Laura Whitstable’s number.

  ‘Laura? It’s Ann.’

  ‘Good morning. This is a very early call.’

  ‘Oh, I’m at my wits’ end. My head never stops aching and I feel quite ill. Things just can’t go on like this. I wanted to ask your advice.’

  ‘I don’t give advice. It’s a most dangerous thing to do.’

  Ann paid no attention.

  ‘Listen, Laura, do you think – possibly – it would be a good thing – if – if Sarah went to live by herself – I mean shared a flat with a friend – or something like that?’

  There was a moment’s pause and then Dame Laura asked: ‘Does she want to?’

  ‘Well – no – not exactly. I mean, it was just an idea.’

  ‘Who suggested it? Richard?’

  ‘Well – yes.’

  ‘Very sensible.’

  ‘You do think it’s sensible?’ Ann said eagerly.

  ‘I mean that it was very sensible from Richard’s point of view. Richard knows what he wants – and goes for it.’

  ‘But what do you think?’

  ‘I told you, Ann, I don’t give advice. What does Sarah say?’

  Ann hesitated.

  ‘I haven’t really discussed it with her – yet.’

  ‘But you’ve probably got some idea.’

  Ann said rather reluctantly: ‘I don’t think she’d want to for a moment.’

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘But perhaps I ought, really, to insist?’

  ‘Why? To cure your headaches?’

  ‘No, no,’ cried Ann, horrified. ‘I mean, entirely for her own happiness.’

  ‘That sounds magnificent! I always distrust noble sentiments. Elaborate, won’t you?’

  ‘Well, I’ve wondered whether perhaps I’m a rather clinging kind of mother. Whether it mightn’t really be for Sarah’s good to get away from me? So that she can develop her own personality.’

  ‘Yes, yes, very modern.’

  ‘Really, you know, I think, she might quite take to the idea. I didn’t at first, but now – Oh, do say what you think!’

  ‘My poor Ann.’

  ‘Why do you say “My poor Ann”?’

  ‘You asked me what I thought.’

  ‘You’re not being very helpful, Laura.’

  ‘In the sense you mean, I don’t want to be.’

  ‘You see, Richard is really getting very hard to manage. He wrote me a kind of ultimatum this morning … Soon he’ll be asking me to choose between him and Sarah.’

  ‘And which would you choose?’

  ‘Oh, don’t, Laura. I didn’t really mean it had come to that.’

  ‘It may do.’

  ‘Oh, you’re maddening, Laura. You don’t even try and help.’ Ann banged down the receiver angrily.

  3

  At six o’clock that evening Richard Cauldfield rang up.

  Edith answered the telephone.

  ‘Mrs Prentice in?’

  ‘No, sir. She’s out on that committee she goes to – an Old Ladies’ Home or some such. She won’t be back much before seven.’

  ‘And Miss Sarah?’

  ‘Just come in. Do you want to speak to her?’

  ‘No, I’ll come round.’

  Richard covered the distance between his service flat and Ann’s block of flats with a firm even tread. He had passed a sleepless night and had finally come to a definite resolution. Though a man who took a little time to make up his mind, once he had made it up, he stuck to his decision obstinately.

  Things could not go on as they were. First Sarah and then Ann would have to be made to see that. That girl was wearing her mother out with her tantrums and her obstinacy! His poor tender Ann. But his thoughts of her were not entirely loving. Almost unrecognized, he felt a certain resentment against her. She was continually evading the point by her feminine artifices – her headaches, her collapse whenever a battle raged …

  Ann had got to face up to things!

  These two women … All this feminine nonsense had got to stop!

  He rang the bell, was admitted by Edith and went into the sitting-room. Sarah, a glass in her hand, turned from the mantelpiece.

  ‘Good evening, Richard.’

  ‘Good evening, Sarah.’

  Sarah said with an effort:

  ‘I’m sorry, Richard, about last night. I’m afraid I was rather rude.’

  ‘That’s all right.’ Richard waved a magnanimous hand. ‘We’ll say no more about it.’

  ‘Will you have a drink?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘I’m afraid Mother won’t be in for some time. She’s gone to –’

  He interrupted:

  ‘That’s all right. It’s you I came to see.’

  ‘Me?’

  Sarah’s eyes darkened and narrowed. She came forward and sat down, watching him suspiciously.

  ‘I want to talk things over with you. It seems to me perfectly clear that we can’t go on as we are. All this sparring and bickering. It’s not fair on your mother for one thing. You care for your mother, I’m sure.’

  ‘Naturally,’ said Sarah unemotionally.

  ‘Then, between us, we’ve got to give her a break. In a week’s time she and I are getting married. When we come back from our honeymoon, what sort of life do you think it is going to be, the three of us living here in this flat?’

  ‘Pretty fair hell, I should think.’

  ‘You see? You recognize it yourself. Now I want to say right at the start that I don’t put all the blame on you.’

  ‘That’s very magnanimous of you, Richard,’ said Sarah.

  Her tone was earnest and polite. He still did not know Sarah well enough to recognize a danger signal.

  ‘It’s unfortunate that we just don’t get on. To be frank, you dislike me.’

  ‘If you must have it, yes, I do.’

  ‘That’s all right. On my side, I’m not particularly fond of you.’

  ‘You hate me like poison,’ said Sarah.

  ‘Oh, come now,’ said Richard, ‘I wouldn’t put it as strongly as that.’ />
  ‘I would.’

  ‘Well, let’s put it this way. We dislike each other. It doesn’t matter much to me whether you like me or not. It’s your mother I’m marrying, not you. I’ve tried to make friends with you but you won’t have it … So we’ve got to find a solution. I’m willing to do what I can in other ways.’

  Sarah said suspiciously: ‘What other ways?’

  ‘Since you can’t stick life at home, I’ll do what I can to help you lead your own life somewhere else where you can be a good deal happier. Once Ann is my wife, I’m prepared to provide for her entirely. There will be plenty of money over for you. A nice little flat somewhere, that you can share with a girl friend. Furnish it and all that – just exactly as you want it.’

  Her eyes narrowed still more, Sarah said: ‘What a wonderfully generous man you are, Richard.’

  He suspected no sarcasm. Inwardly he was applauding himself. After all, the thing was quite simple. The girl knew perfectly well which side her bread was buttered. The whole thing was going to settle itself quite amicably.

  He smiled at her good-humouredly.

  ‘Well, I don’t like seeing people unhappy. And I realize, which your mother doesn’t, that young people always hanker after going their own way and being independent. You’ll be far happier on your own than living a cat-and-dog life here.’

  ‘So that’s your suggestion, is it?’

  ‘It’s a very good idea. Everyone satisfied.’

  Sarah laughed. Richard turned his head sharply.

  ‘You won’t get rid of me as easily as that,’ said Sarah.

  ‘But –’

  ‘I won’t go, I tell you. I won’t go –’

  Neither of them heard Ann’s latch-key in the front door. She pushed open the door to find them standing glaring at each other. Sarah was shaking all over and repeating hysterically:

  ‘I won’t go – I won’t go – I won’t go –’

  ‘Sarah –’

  They both turned sharply. Sarah ran to her mother.

  ‘Darling, darling, you won’t let him send me away, will you? To live in a flat with a girl friend. I hate girl friends. I don’t want to be on my own. I want to stay with you. Don’t send me away, Mother. Don’t – don’t.’