A Daughter's a Daughter

by Agatha Christie, writing as Mary Westmacott

  She replaced the receiver and exclaimed:

  ‘That telephone! I shall go off my head …’

  ‘You adore it, Mother. And you adore gadding about, you know you do.’ Sarah turned to Dame Laura and demanded, ‘Don’t you think Mother is looking awfully smart with that new hair-do? Years younger.’

  Ann said with a slightly artificial laugh:

  ‘Sarah won’t let me sink into graceful middle-age.’

  ‘Now, Mother, you know you like being gay. She’s got far more boy friends than I have, Laura, and she’s seldom home before dawn.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd, Sarah,’ said Ann.

  ‘Who is it tonight, Mother? Johnnie?’

  ‘No, Basil.’

  ‘Oh, sooner you than me. I really think Basil is pretty well the end.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Ann sharply. ‘He’s very amusing. What about you, Sarah? You’re going out, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes, Lawrence is coming for me. I must rush and change.’

  ‘Go on, then. And Sarah – Sarah – don’t leave your things all over the place. Your fur – and your gloves. And pick up that glass. It will get broken.’

  ‘Oh all right, Mother, don’t fuss.’

  ‘Someone has to fuss. You never clear up anything. Really, sometimes I don’t know how I stand it! No – take them with you!’

  As Sarah went out, Ann sighed in an exasperated fashion.

  ‘Really, girls are absolutely maddening. You’ve no idea how trying Sarah is!’

  Laura gave her friend a quick sideways glance.

  There had been a note of real bad temper and irritation in Ann’s voice.

  ‘Don’t you get tired with so much rushing about, Ann?’

  ‘Of course I do – dead tired. Still, one must do something to amuse oneself.’

  ‘You never used to have much difficulty amusing yourself.’

  ‘Sit at home with a good book and have a meal on a tray? One goes through that dull period. But I’ve got my second wind now. By the way, Laura, it was you who first used that expression. Aren’t you glad to see it’s come true?’

  ‘I didn’t exactly mean the social round.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t, darling. You meant take up some worthy object. But we can’t all be public characters like you, tremendously scientific and serious-minded. I like being gay.’

  ‘What does Sarah like? Does she like being gay too? How is the child? Happy?’

  ‘Of course. She has a wonderful time.’

  Ann spoke lightly and carelessly, but Laura Whit-stable frowned. As Sarah had gone out of the room, Laura had been disturbed by a momentary expression of deep weariness on the girl’s face. It was as though for a moment the smiling mask had slipped – underneath it Laura thought she had glimpsed uncertainty and something like pain.

  Was Sarah happy? Ann evidently thought so. And Ann would know.

  ‘Don’t fancy things, woman,’ said Laura Whitstable to herself, sternly.

  But in spite of herself she felt uneasy and disturbed. There was something not quite right in the atmosphere of the flat. Ann, Sarah, even Edith – all of them were conscious of it. All of them, she thought, had something to hide. Edith’s grim look of disapproval, Ann’s restlessness and nervous artificial manner, Sarah’s brittle poise … There was something wrong somewhere.

  The front door-bell rang and Edith, her face grimmer than ever, announced Mr Mowbray.

  Mr Mowbray darted in. There was no other term for it. It was the skimming motion of some gay insect. Dame Laura thought that he would play Osric well. He was young and affected in manner.

  ‘Ann!’ he exclaimed. ‘So you’re wearing it! My dear, it’s the greatest success.’

  He held off, his head on one side, studying Ann’s dress, while Ann introduced him to Dame Laura.

  He advanced upon her exclaiming with excitement:

  ‘A cameo brooch. How absolutely adorable! I adore cameos. I’ve got a thing about them!’

  ‘Basil has a thing about all Victorian jewellery,’ said Ann.

  ‘My dear, they had imagination. Those heavenly heavenly lockets. Two people’s hair all worked into a curl and a weeping willow or an urn. They can’t do that hair work nowadays. It’s a lost art. And wax flowers – I’m crazy about wax flowers – and little papier mâché tables. Ann, you must let me take you to see a really divine table. Fitted up inside with the original tea caddies. Wickedly wickedly expensive, but it’s worth it.’

  Laura Whitstable said:

  ‘I must be going. Don’t let me keep you.’

  ‘Stay and talk to Sarah,’ said Ann. ‘You’ve hardly seen her. And Lawrence Steene won’t be calling for her yet awhile.’

  ‘Steene? Lawrence Steene?’ Dame Laura asked sharply.

  ‘Yes, Sir Harry Steene’s son. Most attractive.’

  ‘Oh, do you think so, darling?’ said Basil. ‘He always seems to me rather melodramatic – a little like a bad film. But women all seem to go quite crazy about him.’

  ‘He’s disgustingly rich,’ said Ann.

  ‘Yes, there’s that. Most rich people are so deadly unattractive. It hardly seems fair that anyone should have money and attraction.’

  ‘Well, I suppose we’d better go,’ said Ann. ‘I’ll ring you up, Laura, and we’ll arrange for a lovely long talk sometime.’

  She kissed Laura in a faintly artificial manner and she and Basil Mowbray went out.

  In the hall Dame Laura heard Basil say: ‘What a wonderful Period Piece she is – so divinely grim. Why have I never met her before?’

  Sarah rushed in a few minutes later.

  ‘Haven’t I been quick? I hurried and hardly did anything to my face.’

  ‘That’s a pretty frock, Sarah.’

  Sarah whirled round. She was wearing a pale eau-denil satin that clung to the lovely lines of her figure.

  ‘Like it? It was wickedly expensive. Where’s Mother? Gone off with Basil? He’s pretty terrible, isn’t he, but he’s very amusing and spiteful and he makes a sort of special cult of older women.’

  ‘He probably finds it pays,’ said Dame Laura grimly.

  ‘What an old cynic you are – and horribly right, too! But after all, Mother must have some fun. She’s enjoying herself madly, poor pet. And she really is awfully attractive, don’t you think so? Oh dear, it must be terrible to grow old!’

  ‘It’s quite comfortable, I can assure you,’ said Dame Laura.

  ‘It’s all very well for you – but we can’t all be Personages! What have you been doing all these years since we’ve seen you?’

  ‘Generally throwing my weight about. Interfering with other people’s lives and telling them how easy and pleasant and well and happy they will be if they do exactly as I tell them. In fact, making a nuisance of myself in an overbearing way.’

  Sarah laughed affectionately.

  ‘Will you tell me just how to manage my life?’

  ‘Do you need telling?’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure that I’m being very clever about it.’

  ‘Anything the matter?’

  ‘Not really … I have a lovely time and all that. I suppose really I ought to do something.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’

  Sarah said vaguely:

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Take something up. Train for something. Archaeology or shorthand and typing, or massage, or architecture.’

  ‘What a wide range! No special bent?’

  ‘No – no, I don’t think so … This flower job is all right, but I’m a bit sick of it. I don’t know what I want really …’

  Sarah wandered aimlessly about the room.

  ‘Not thinking of getting married?’

  ‘Oh, marriage!’ Sarah made an expressive grimace. ‘Marriages always seem to go wrong.’

  ‘Not invariably.’

  Sarah said: ‘Well, most of my friends seem to have come apart. It’s all right for a year or two and then it goes wrong. Of course if you marry someone with pots of money
, I suppose it’s all right.’

  ‘So that’s your view?’

  ‘Well, it’s really the only sensible one. Love’s all right in a way, but after all,’ Sarah went on glibly, ‘it’s only based on sexual attraction, and that can’t last.’

  ‘You seem as well informed as a text-book,’ said Dame Laura dryly.

  ‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it?’

  ‘Perfectly true,’ Laura replied promptly.

  Sarah looked faintly disappointed.

  ‘Therefore the only sensible thing is to marry someone – really well off.’

  A faint smile twisted Laura Whitstable’s lips.

  ‘That mightn’t last either,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I suppose money is a bit uncertain these days.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that,’ said Dame Laura. ‘I meant that the pleasure of having money to spend is like sexual attraction. One gets used to it. It wears off like everything else.’

  ‘It wouldn’t with me,’ said Sarah positively. ‘Really lovely clothes … and furs – and jewellery – and a yacht –’

  ‘What a child you are still, Sarah.’

  ‘Oh, but I’m not, Laura. I feel very old and disillusioned sometimes.’

  ‘Do you?’ Dame Laura could not help smiling a little at Sarah’s young and beautiful earnest face.

  ‘I think really I ought to get out of here somehow,’ said Sarah unexpectedly. ‘Take a job or get married, or something. I get on Mother’s nerves frightfully. I try to be nice, but it doesn’t seem to work. Of course, I am difficult, I suppose. Life is odd, isn’t it, Laura? One moment everything is such fun and you’re enjoying yourself, and then it all seems to go wrong, and you don’t know where you are and what you want to do. And there isn’t anyone you can talk to. And sometimes I get a funny feeling of being scared. I don’t know why or what of … But just – scared. Perhaps I ought to be analysed or something.’

  The front door-bell sounded. Sarah jumped up.

  ‘That’s Lawrence, I expect!’

  ‘Lawrence Steene?’ Laura asked sharply.

  ‘Yes. Do you know him?’

  ‘I’ve heard about him,’ said Laura. Her tone was rather grim.

  Sarah laughed.

  ‘No good, I’ll be bound,’ she said, as Edith opened the door and announced: ‘Mr Steene.’

  Lawrence Steene was tall and dark. He was about forty and looked it. He had rather curious eyes, almost veiled by the lids, and a languorous animal-like grace of movement. He was the sort of man of whom women are immediately conscious.

  ‘Hullo, Lawrence,’ said Sarah. ‘This is Lawrence Steene. My godmother, Dame Laura Whitstable.’

  Lawrence Steene came across and took Dame Laura’s hand. He bowed over it in a manner that was slightly theatrical and might almost have been impertinent.

  ‘This is indeed an honour,’ he said.

  ‘You see, darling?’ said Sarah. ‘You really are Royalty! It must be great fun to be a Dame. Do you think I shall ever be one?’

  ‘I should think it most unlikely,’ said Lawrence.

  ‘Oh, why?’

  ‘Your talents lie in other directions.’

  He turned to Dame Laura.

  ‘I was reading an article of yours only yesterday. In the Commentator.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Dame Laura. ‘On the stability of marriage.’

  Lawrence murmured:

  ‘You seemed to take it for granted that stability in marriage was to be desired. But to my mind it is the impermanence of marriage nowadays which constitutes its greatest charm.’

  ‘Lawrence has been married a good deal,’ put in Sarah mischievously.

  ‘Only three times, Sarah.’

  ‘Dear me,’ said Dame Laura. ‘Not another case of brides in the bath, I hope?’

  ‘He sheds them in the divorce court,’ said Sarah. ‘Much simpler than death.’

  ‘But regrettably more expensive,’ said Lawrence.

  ‘I believe I knew your second wife when she was a girl,’ said Laura. ‘Moira Denham, am I right?’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’

  ‘A very charming girl.’

  ‘I do agree with you. She was quite delightful. So unsophisticated.’

  ‘A quality for which one sometimes pays heavily,’ said Laura Whitstable.

  She got up.

  ‘I must go.’

  ‘We can drop you,’ said Sarah.

  ‘No, thanks. I feel like a brisk walk. Good night, my dear.’

  The door shut briskly behind her.

  ‘The disapproval,’ said Lawrence, ‘was marked. I’m a bad influence in your life, Sarah. The dragon Edith positively breathes fire from her nostrils whenever she lets me in.’

  ‘Hush,’ said Sarah. ‘She’ll hear you.’

  ‘That’s the worst of flats. No privacy …’

  He had moved very close to her. Sarah moved away a little, saying flippantly:

  ‘No, nothing’s private in a flat, not even the plumbing.’

  ‘Where’s your mother this evening?’

  ‘She’s out to dinner.’

  ‘Your mother is one of the wisest women I know.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘She never interferes, does she?’

  ‘No – oh no …’

  ‘As I said – a wise woman … Well, let’s go.’ He stood back a minute looking at her. ‘You look your best tonight, Sarah. That’s as it should be.’

  ‘Why all this fuss about tonight? Is it a special occasion?’

  ‘It’s a celebration. I’ll tell you what we’re celebrating later.’

  Chapter Two

  1

  It was some hours later when Sarah repeated her question.

  They were sitting in the hazy atmosphere of one of London’s most expensive night-clubs. It was crowded, insufficiently ventilated and, as far as could be seen, had nothing about it to distinguish it from any other night-club; nevertheless it was, just for the time being, the fashion.

  Once or twice Sarah had tried to approach the subject of what they were celebrating, but Steene had successfully parried her attempts. He was an adept in producing the right sense of heightened interest.

  As she smoked and looked round her, Sarah said: ‘Lots of Mother’s stuffy old friends think it’s terrible that I’m allowed to come to this place.’

  ‘And still worse that you’re allowed to come here with me?’

  Sarah laughed.

  ‘Why are you supposed to be so dangerous, Larry? Do you go about seducing innocent young girls?’

  Lawrence shuddered affectedly and said: ‘Nothing so crude.’

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘I’m supposed to participate in what newspapers call nameless orgies.’

  Sarah said frankly: ‘I’ve heard that you do have rather peculiar parties.’

  ‘Some people would call them that. The simple truth is that I’m not conventional. There’s so much to be done with life if you’ve only got the courage to experiment.’

  Sarah kindled eagerly.

  ‘That’s what I think.’

  Steene went on:

  ‘I don’t really care about young girls much. Silly fluffy crude little things. But you’re different, Sarah. You’ve got courage and fire – real fire in you.’ His eyes drifted meaningly over her in a slow caress. ‘You’ve got a beautiful body, too. A body that can enjoy sensation – can taste – can feel … You hardly know your own potentialities yet.’

  With an effort to hide her inner reaction, Sarah said lightly:

  ‘You’ve got a very good line there, Larry. I’m sure it always goes down well.’

  ‘My dear – most girls bore me to distraction. You – don’t. Hence –’ he raised his glass to her – ‘our celebration.’

  ‘Yes – but what are we celebrating? Why all the mystery?’

  He smiled at her.

  ‘No mystery. It’s quite simple. My divorce decree was made absolute today.’

  ‘Oh –’ Sarah lo
oked startled. Steene was watching her.

  ‘Yes, it clears the way. Well – what about it, Sarah?’

  ‘What about what?’ said Sarah.

  Steene spoke with a sudden telling savagery:

  ‘Don’t play the wide-eyed innocent with me, Sarah. You know well enough I – want you. You’ve known it for some time.’

  Sarah avoided his glance. Her heart was beating pleasurably. There was something very exciting about Larry.

  ‘You find most women attractive, don’t you?’ she asked lightly.

  ‘Only a very few nowadays. At the moment – only you.’ He paused and then said quietly and almost casually: ‘You’re going to marry me, Sarah.’

  ‘I don’t want to get married. Anyway, I should think you’d be glad to be free again without tying yourself up immediately.’

  ‘Freedom is an illusion.’

  ‘You’re not a very good advertisement for matrimony. Your last wife was pretty unhappy, wasn’t she?’

  Lawrence said calmly:

  ‘She cried almost incessantly for the last two months we were together.’

  ‘Because, I suppose, she cared for you?’

  ‘So it seemed. She was always an incredibly stupid woman.’

  ‘Why did you marry her?’

  ‘She was so exactly like an early Primitive Madonna. My favourite period of art. But that sort of thing palls on one in the home.’

  ‘You’re a cruel devil, aren’t you, Larry?’ Sarah was half revolted, half fascinated.

  ‘That’s really what you like about me. If I were the type of man to make you a good, steady and faithful husband you wouldn’t think twice about me.’

  ‘Well, you’re frank, at any rate.’

  ‘Do you want to live tamely, Sarah, or dangerously?’

  Sarah did not answer. She pushed a small piece of bread round her side-plate. Then she said: ‘Your second wife – Moira Denham – the one Dame Laura knew – what – what about her?’