Sad Cypress (Hercule Poirot 22)

After a few routine questions had been asked and answered, Dr. Lord leant back in his chair and smiled at his patient.

“Well,” he said. “You’re going on splendidly.”

Laura Welman said: “So I shall be up and walking round the house in a few weeks’ time?”

“Not quite so quickly as that.”

“No, indeed. You humbug! What’s the good of living stretched out like this, and cared for like a baby?”

Dr. Lord said:

“What’s the good of life, anyway? That’s the real question. Ever read about that nice mediaeval invention, the Little Ease? You couldn’t stand, sit or lie in it. You’d think anyone condemned to that would die in a few weeks. Not at all. One man lived for sixteen years in an iron cage, was released and lived to a hearty old age.”

Laura Welman said:

“What’s the point of this story?”

Peter Lord said:

“The point is that one’s got an instinct to live. One doesn’t live because one’s reason assents to living. People who, as we say, ‘would be better dead,’ don’t want to die! People who apparently have got everything to live for just let themselves fade out of life because they haven’t got the energy to fight.”

“Go on.”

“There’s nothing more. You’re one of the people who really want to live, whatever you say about it! And if your body wants to live, it’s no good your brain dishing out the other stuff.”

Mrs. Welman said with an abrupt change of subject:

“How do you like it down here?”

Peter Lord said, smiling:

“It suits me fine.”

“Isn’t it a bit irksome for a young man like you? Don’t you want to specialize? Don’t you find a country GP practice rather boring?”

Lord shook his sandy head.

“No, I like my job. I like people, you know, and I like ordinary everyday diseases. I don’t really want to pin down the rare bacillus of an obscure disease. I like measles and chicken pox and all the rest of it. I like seeing how different bodies react to them. I like seeing if I can’t improve on recognized treatment. The trouble with me is I’ve got absolutely no ambition. I shall stay here till I grow side-whiskers and people begin saying, ‘Of course, we’ve always had Dr. Lord, and he’s a nice old man: but he is very old-fashioned in his methods and perhaps we’d better call in young so-and-so, who’s so very up to date….’”

“H’m,” said Mrs. Welman. “You seem to have got it all taped out!”

Peter Lord got up.

“Well,” he said. “I must be off.”

Mrs. Welman said:

“My niece will want to speak to you, I expect. By the way, what do you think of her? You haven’t seen her before.”

Dr. Lord went suddenly scarlet. His very eyebrows blushed. He said:

“I—oh! she’s very good-looking, isn’t she? And—eh—clever and all that, I should think.”

Mrs. Welman was diverted. She thought to herself:

“How very young he is, really….”

Aloud she said: