Death on the Nile (Hercule Poirot 17)

Threatened by consumption some years ago, he had never displayed a really robust physique. He was popularly supposed “to write,” but it was understood among his friends that inquiries as to literary output were not encouraged.

“What are you thinking of, Tim?”

Mrs. Allerton was alert. Her bright, dark-brown eyes looked suspicious.

Tim Allerton grinned at her:

“I was thinking of Egypt.”

“Egypt?” Mrs. Allerton sounded doubtful.

“Real warmth, darling. Lazy golden sands. The Nile. I’d like to go up the Nile, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, I’d like it.” Her tone was dry. “But Egypt’s expensive, my dear. Not for

those who have to count the pennies.”

Tim laughed. He rose, stretched himself. Suddenly he looked alive and eager. There was an excited note in his voice.

“The expense will be my affair. Yes, darling. A little flutter on the Stock Exchange. With thoroughly satisfactory results. I heard this morning.”

“This morning?” said Mrs. Allerton sharply. “You only had one letter and that—”

She stopped and bit her lip.

Tim looked momentarily undecided whether to be amused or annoyed. Amusement gained the day.

“And that was from Joanna,” he finished coolly. “Quite right, Mother. What a queen of detectives you’d make! The famous Hercule Poirot would have to look to his laurels if you were about.”

Mrs. Allerton looked rather cross.

“I just happened to see the handwriting—”

“And knew it wasn’t that of a stockbroker? Quite right. As a matter of fact it was yesterday I heard from them. Poor Joanna’s handwriting is rather noticeable—sprawls about all over the envelope like an inebriated spider.”

“What does Joanna say? Any news?”

Mrs. Allerton strove to make her voice sound casual and ordinary. The friendship between her son and his second cousin, Joanna Southwood, always irritated her. Not, as she put it to herself, that there was “anything in it.” She was quite sure there wasn’t. Tim had never manifested a sentimental interest in Joanna, nor she in him. Their mutual attraction seemed to be founded on gossip and the possession of a large number of friends and acquaintances in common. They both liked people and discussing people. Joanna had an amusing if caustic tongue.

It was not because Mrs. Allerton feared that Tim might fall in love with Joanna that she found herself always becoming a little stiff in manner if Joanna were present or when letters from her arrived.

It was some other feeling hard to define—perhaps an unacknowledged jealousy in the unfeigned pleasure Tim always seemed to take in Joanna’s society. He and his mother were such perfect companions that the sight of him absorbed and interested in another woman always startled Mrs. Allerton slightly. She fancied, too, that her own presence on these occasions set some barrier between the two members of the younger generation. Often she had come upon them eagerly absorbed in some conversation and, at sight of her, their talk had wavered, had seemed to include her rather too purposefully and as if duty bound. Quite definitely, Mrs. Allerton did not like Joanna Southwood. She thought her insincere, affected, and essentially superficial. She found it very hard to prevent herself saying so in unmeasured tones.

In answer to her question, Tim pulled the letter out of his pocket and glanced through it. It was quite a long letter, his mother noted.

“Nothing much,” he said. “The Devenishes are getting a divorce. Old Monty’s been had up for being drunk in charge of a car. Windlesham’s gone to Canada. Seems he was pretty badly hit when Linnet Ridgeway turned him down. She’s definitely going to marry this land agent person.”

“How extraordinary! Is he very dreadful?”

“No, no, not at all. He’s one of the Devonshire Doyles. No money, of course—and he was actually engaged to one of Linnet’s best friends. Pretty thick, that.”

“I don’t think it’s at all nice,” said Mrs. Allerton, flushing.

Tim flashed her a quick affectionate glance.

“I know, darling. You don’t approve of snaffling other people’s husbands and all that sort of thing.”

“In my day we had our standards,” said Mrs. Allerton. “And a very good thing too! Nowadays young people seem to think they can just go about doing anything they choose.”