Hercule Poirot's Christmas: A Hercule Poirot Mystery (Hercule Poirot 20)

Lydia smiled. She said:

‘I believe they did. But they’ve rather run to seed since those days.’

Harry said:

‘How’s old Alfred? Just the same blessed old stick-in-the-mud as ever?’

‘I’ve no idea whether you will find him changed or not.’

‘How are the others? Scattered all over England?’

‘No—they’re all here for Christmas, you know.’

Harry’s eyes opened.

‘Regular Christmas family reunion? What’s the matter with the old man? He used not to give a damn for sentiment. Don’t remember his caring much for his family, either. He must have changed!’

‘Perhaps.’ Lydia’s voice was dry.

Pilar was staring, her big eyes wide and interested.

Harry said:

‘How’s old George? Still the same skinflint? How he used to howl if he had to part with a halfpenny of his pocket-money!’

Lydia said:

‘George is in Parliament. He’s member for Westeringham.’

‘What? Popeye in Parliament? Lord, that’s good.’

Harry threw back his head and laughed.

It was rich stentorian laughter—it sounded uncontrolled and brutal in the confined space of the room. Pilar drew in her breath with a gasp. Lydia flinched a little.

Then, at a movement behind him, Harry broke off his laugh and turned sharply. He had not heard anyone coming in, but Alfred was standing there quietly. He was looking at Harry with an odd expression on his face.

Harry stood a minute, then a slow smile crept to his lips. He advanced a step.

‘Why,’ he said, ‘it’s Alfred!’

Alfred nodded.

‘Hallo, Harry,’ he said.

They stood staring at each other. Lydia caught her breath. She thought:

‘How absurd! Like two dogs—looking at each other…’

Pilar’s gaze widened even further. She thought to herself:

‘How silly they look standing there…Why do they not embrace? No, of course the English do not do that. But they might say something. Why do they just look?’

Harry said at last:

‘Well, well. Feels funny to be here again!’

‘I expect so—yes. A good many years since you—got out.’