Death in the Clouds (Hercule Poirot 12)

‘What is the matter with you, you fool? Can’t you ask a girl to have a cup of tea without stammering and blushing and making an utter ass of yourself? What will the girl think of you?’

Gale’s confusion served to accentuate Jane’s coolness and self-possession.

‘Thank you very much,’ she said. ‘I would like some tea.’

They found a tea-shop and a disdainful waitress with a gloomy manner took their order with an air of doubt as of one who might say: ‘Don’t blame me if you’re disappointed. They say we serve teas here, but I never heard of it.’

The tea-shop was nearly empty. Its emptiness served to emphasize the intimacy of tea drinking together. Jane peeled off her gloves and looked across the table at her companion. He was attractive—those blue eyes and that smile. And he was nice too.

‘It’s a queer show, this murder business,’ said Gale, plunging hastily into talk. He was still not quite free from an absurd feeling of embarrassment.

‘I know,’ said Jane. ‘I’m rather worried about it—from the point of view of my job, I mean. I don’t know how they’ll take it.’

‘Ye-es. I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘Antoine’s mayn’t like to employ a girl who’s been mixed up in a murder case and had to give evidence, and all that.’

‘People are queer,’ said Norman Gale thoughtfully. ‘Life’s so—so unfair. A thing like this that isn’t your fault at all—’ He frowned angrily. ‘It’s damnable!’

‘Well, it hasn’t happened yet,’ Jane reminded him. ‘No good getting hot and bothered about something that hasn’t happened. After all, I suppose there is some point in it—I might be the person who murdered her! And when you’ve murdered one person they say you usually murder a lot more; and it wouldn’t be very comfortable having your hair done by a person of that kind.’

‘Anyone’s only got to look at you to know you couldn’t murder anybody,’ said Norman, gazing at her earnestly.

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ said Jane. ‘I’d like to murder some of my ladies sometimes—if I could be sure I’d get away with it! There’s one in particular—she’s got a voice like a corncrake and she grumbles at everything. I really think sometimes that murdering her would be a good deed and not a crime at all. So you see I’m quite criminally minded.’

‘Well, you didn’t do this particular murder, anyway,’ said Gale. ‘I can swear to that.’

‘And I can swear you didn’t do it,’ said Jane. ‘But that won’t help you if your patients think you have.’

‘My patients, yes—’ Gale looked rather thoughtful. ‘I suppose you’re right—I hadn’t really thought of that. A dentist who might be a homicidal maniac—no, it’s not a very alluring prospect.’

He added suddenly and impulsively:

‘I say, you don’t mind my being a dentist, do you?’

Jane raised her eyebrows.

‘I? Mind?’

‘What I mean is, there’s always something rather—well, comic about a dentist. Somehow it’s not a romantic profession. Now a doctor everyone takes seriously.’

‘Cheer up,’ said Jane. ‘A dentist is decidedly a cut above a hairdresser’s assistant.’

They laughed, and Gale said, ‘I feel we’re going to be friends. Do you?’

‘Yes, I think I do.’

‘Perhaps you’ll dine with me one night and we might do a show?’

‘Thank you.’

There was a pause, and then Gale said:

‘How did you like Le Pinet?’

‘It was great fun.’

‘Had you ever been there before?’