Hercule Poirot’s Christmas
David did not answer for a minute. He was standing looking at a chair, a low chair with faded satin upholstery. He said abruptly:
‘That’s her chair…the chair she always sat in…just the same—it’s just the same. Only faded, of course.’
A little frown creased Hilda’s forehead. She said:
‘I see. Do let’s come out of here, David. It’s frightfully cold.’
David took no notice. Looking round, he said:
‘She sat in here mostly. I remember sitting on that stool there while she read to me. Jack the Giant Killer—that was it—Jack the Giant Killer. I must have been six years old then.’
Hilda put a firm hand through his arm.
‘Come back to the drawing-room, dear. There’s no heating in this room.’
He turned obediently, but she felt a little shiver go through him.
‘Just the same,’ he murmured. ‘Just the same. As though time had stood still.’
Hilda looked worried. She said in a cheerful determined voice:
‘I wonder where the others are? It must be nearly tea-time.’
David disengaged his arm and opened another door.
‘There used to be a piano in here…Oh, yes, here it is! I wonder if it’s in tune.’
He sat down and opened the lid, running his hands lightly over the keys.
‘Yes, it’s evidently kept tuned.’
He began to play. His touch was good, the melody flowed out from under his fingers.
Hilda asked: ‘What is that? I seem to know it, and I can’t quite remember.’
He said: ‘I haven’t played it for years. She used to play it. One of Mendelssohn’s Songs Without Words.’
The sweet, over-sweet, melody filled the room. Hilda said:
‘Play some Mozart, do.’
David shook his head. He began another Mendelssohn.
Then suddenly he brought his hands down upon the keys in a harsh discord. He got up. He was trembling all over. Hilda went to him.
She said: ‘David—David.’
He said: ‘It’s nothing—it’s nothing…’
IV
The bell pealed aggressively. Tressilian rose from his seat in the pantry and went slowly out and along to the door.
The bell pealed again. Tressilian frowned. Through the frosted glass of the door he saw the silhouette of a man wearing a slouch hat.
Tressilian passed a hand over his forehead. Something worried him. It was as though everything was happening twice.
Surely this had happened before. Surely—
He drew back the latch and opened the door.
Then the spell broke. The man standing there said:
‘Is this where Mr Simeon Lee lives?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’d like to see him, please.’
A faint echo of memory awoke in Tressilian. It was an intonation of voice that he remembered from the old days when Mr Lee was first in England.
Tressilian shook his head dubiously.
‘Mr Lee is an invalid, sir. He doesn’t see many people now. If you—’
The stranger interrupted.
He drew out an envelope and handed it to the butler.
‘Please give this to Mr Lee.’
‘Yes, sir.’
V
Simeon Lee took the envelope. He drew out the single sheet of paper it held. He looked surprised. His eyebrows rose, but he smiled.
‘By all that’s wonderful!’ he said.
Then to the butler: ‘Show Mr Farr up here, Tressilian.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Simeon said: ‘I was just thinking of old Ebenezer Farr. He was my partner out there in Kimberley. Now here’s his son come along!’
Tressilian reappeared. He announced: ‘Mr Farr.’
Stephen Farr came in with a trace of nervousness. He disguised it by putting on a little extra swagger. He said—and just for the moment his South African accent was more marked than usual: ‘Mr Lee?’
‘I’m glad to see you. So you’re Eb’s boy?’
Stephen Farr grinned rather sheepishly.
He said: ‘My first visit to the old country. Father always told me to look you up if I did come.’
‘Quite right.’ The old man looked round. ‘This is my granddaughter, Pilar Estravados.’
‘How do you do?’ said Pilar demurely.
Stephen Farr thought with a touch of admiration:
‘Cool little devil. She was surprised to see me, but it only showed for a flash.’
He said, rather heavily: ‘I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Estravados.’
‘Thank you,’ said Pilar.
Simeon Lee said: ‘Sit down and tell me all about yourself. Are you in England for long?’
‘Oh, I shan’t hurry myself now I’ve really got here!’
He laughed, throwing his head back.
Simeon Lee said: ‘Quite right. You must stay here with us for a while.’
‘Oh, look here, sir. I can’t butt in like that. It’s only two days to Christmas.’
‘You must spend Christmas with us—unless you’ve got other plans?’
‘Well, no, I haven’t, but I don’t like—’
Simeon said: ‘That’s settled.’ He turned his head. ‘Pilar?’
‘Yes, Grandfather.’
‘Go and tell Lydia we shall have another guest. Ask her to come up here.’
Pilar left the room. Stephen’s eyes followed her. Simeon noted the fact with amusement.
He said: ‘You’ve come straight here from South Africa?’
‘Pretty well.’
They began to talk of that country.
Lydia entered a few minutes later.
Simeon said: ‘This is Stephen Farr, son of my old friend and partner, Ebenezer Farr. He’s going to be with us for Christmas if you can find room for him.’
Lydia smiled.
‘Of course.’ Her eyes took in the stranger’s appearance. His bronzed face and blue eyes and the easy backward tilt of his head.
‘My daughter-in-law,’ said Simeon.
Stephen said: ‘I feel rather embarrassed—butting in on a family party like this.’
‘You’re one of the family, my boy,’ said Simeon. ‘Think of yourself as that.’
‘You’re too kind, sir.’
Pilar re-entered the room. She sat down quietly by the fire and picked up the hand screen. She used it as a fan, slowly tilting her wrist to and fro. Her eyes were demure and downcast.
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