Читать «Crooked House / Скрюченный домишко. Книга для чтения на английском языке» онлайн - страница 22
Агата Кристи
‘Is she any good?’ I asked. ‘I know her name, and I believe I’ve seen her in various shows, but I can’t remember when and where.’
‘She’s one of those Near Successes,’ said Taverner. ‘She’s starred once or twice in the West End, she’s made quite a name for herself in repertory—she plays a lot for the little highbrow theatres and the Sunday clubs. The truth is, I think, she’s been handicapped by not having to earn her living at it. She’s been able to pick and choose, and to go where she likes and occasionally to put up the money and finance a show where she’s fancied a certain part—usually the last part in the world to suit her. Result is, she’s receded a bit into the amateur class rather than the professional. She’s good, mind you, especially in comedy—but managers don’t like her much—they say she’s too independent, and she’s a troublemaker—foments rows and enjoys a bit of mischief-making. I don’t know how much of it is true—but she’s not too popular amongst her fellow artists.’
Sophia came out of the drawing-room and said: ‘My mother is in here, Chief Inspector.’
I followed Taverner into the big drawing-room. For a moment I hardly recognized the woman who sat on the brocaded settee.
The Titian hair was piled high on her head in an Edwardian coiffure, and she was dressed in a well-cut dark-grey coat and skirt with a delicately pleated pale mauve shirt fastened at the neck by a small cameo brooch. For the first time I was aware of the charm of her delightfully tip-tilted nose. I was faintly reminded of Athene Seyler—and it seemed quite impossible to believe that this was the tempestuous creature in the peach
‘Inspector Taverner?’ she said
Her voice was low and emotionless, the voice of a person determined at all costs to display self-control. She went on:
‘Please tell me if I can help you in any way.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Leonides. Where were you at the time of the tragedy?’
‘I suppose I must have been driving down from London. I’d lunched that day at the Ivy with a friend. Then we’d gone to a dress show. We had a drink with some other friends at the Berkeley. Then I started home. When I got here everything was in commotion. It seemed my father-in-law had had a sudden seizure. He was—dead.’ Her voice trembled just a little.
‘You were fond of your father-in-law?’
‘I was devoted—’
Her voice rose. Sophia adjusted, very slightly, the angle of the Degas picture. Magda’s voice dropped to its former subdued tone.
‘I was very fond of him,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘We all were. He was—very good to us.’
‘Did you get on well with Mrs Leonides?’
We didn’t see very much of Brenda.’
Why was that?’
Well, we hadn’t much in common. Poor dear Brenda. Life must have been hard for her sometimes.’
Again Sophia fiddled with the Degas.
‘Indeed? In what way?’
