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

Lydia said vehemently:

‘How I dislike that man! He creeps about the house like a cat! One never hears him going or coming.’

‘I don’t like him very much either. But he knows his job. It’s not so easy to get a good male nurse attendant. And Father likes him, that’s the main thing.’

‘Yes, that’s the main thing, as you say. Alfred, what is this about a young lady? What young lady?’

Her husband shook his head.

‘I can’t imagine. I can’t even think of anyone it might be likely to be.’

They stared at each other. Then Lydia said, with a sudden twist of her expressive mouth:

‘Do you know what I think, Alfred?’

‘What?’

‘I think your father has been bored lately. I think he is planning a little Christmas diversion for himself.’

‘By introducing two strangers into a family gathering?’

‘Oh! I don’t know what the details are—but I do fancy that your father is preparing to—amuse himself.’

‘I hope he will get some pleasure out of it,’ said Alfred gravely. ‘Poor old chap, tied by the leg, an invalid—after the adventurous life he has led.’

Lydia said slowly:

‘After the—adventurous life he has led.’

The pause she made before the adjective gave it some special though obscure significance. Alfred seemed to feel it. He flushed and looked unhappy.

She cried out suddenly:

‘How he ever had a son like you, I can’t imagine! You two are poles apart. And he fascinates you—you simply worship him!’

Alfred said with a trace of vexation:

‘Aren’t you going a little far, Lydia? It’s natural, I should say, for a son to love his father. It would be very unnatural not to do so.’

Lydia said:

‘In that case, most of the members of this family are—unnatural! Oh, don’t let’s argue! I apologize. I’ve hurt your feelings, I know. Believe me, Alfred, I really didn’t mean to do that. I admire you enormously for your—your—fidelity. Loyalty is such a rare virtue in these days. Let us say, shall we, that I am jealous? Women are supposed to be jealous of their mothers-in-law—why not, then, of their fathers-in-law?’

He put a gentle arm round her.

‘Your tongue runs away with you, Lydia. There’s no reason for you to be jealous.’

She gave him a quick remorseful kiss, a delicate caress on the tip of his ear.

‘I know. All the same, Alfred, I don’t believe I should have been in the least jealous of your mother. I wish I’d known her.’

‘She was a poor creature,’ he said.

His wife looked at him interestedly.

‘So that’s how she struck you…as a poor creature…That’s interesting.’

He said dreamily: