“I dare say she could tell herself that she meant it all for the best, that Celia’s origin is something that you ought t() know if there is a risk for you to take, but–” “All right,” said Desmond, “but–I know I’m being Unkind.
After all, she adopted me and brought me up and all the rest of it, and I dare say if there’s enough money I can settle some of it on her. Celia and I will have the rest and we’re going to be happy together. After all, there are things that’ll make us feel sad from time to time, but we shan’t worry any more, shall we, Celia?” “No,” said Celia, “we’ll never worry again. I think they were rather splendid people, my mother and father. Mother tried to look after her sister all her life, but I suppose if was a bit too hopeless. You can’t stop people from being like they are.” “Ah, dear children,” said Zeiie. “Forgive me for calling you children, because you are not. You are a grown man and Vyoman.
I know that. I am so pleased to have seen you again and to know I have not done any harm in what I did.” “You haven’t done any harm at all and it’s lovely seeing you, dear Zeiie.” Celia went to her and hugged her. “I’ve always been terribly fond of you,” she said.
“And I was very fond of you, too, when I knew you,” said Desmond. “When I lived next door. You had lovely games you played with us.” The two young people turned.
“Thank you, Mrs. Oliver,” said Desmond. “You’ve been very kind and you’ve put in a lot of work. I can see that.
Thank you, Monsieur Poirot.” “Yes, thank you,” said Celia. “I’m very grateful.” They walked away and the others looked after them.
“Well,” said Zeiie, “I must leave now.” She said to Poirot, “What about you? Will you have to tell anyone about this?” “There is one person I might tell in confidence. A retired police force officer. He is no longer actively in the Service now. He is completely retired. I think he would not feel it is his duty to interfere with what time has now wiped out. If he was still in active service, it might be different.” “It’s a terrible story,” said Mrs. Oliver, “terrible. And all those people I talked to–yes, I can see now, they all remembered something. Something that was useful in showing us what the truth was, although it was difficult to put together.
Except for Monsieur Poirot, who can always put things together out of the most extraordinary things. Like wigs and twins.” Poirot walked across to where Zeiie was standing looking out over the view.
“You do not blame me,” he said, “for coming to you, persuading you to do what you have done?” “No. I am glad. You have been right. They are very charming, those two, and they are well suited, I think. They will be happy. We are standing here where two lovers once lived.
Where two lovers died, and I don’t blame him for what he did. It may have been wrong, I suppose it was wrong, but I can’t blame him. I think it was a brave act even if it was a wrong one.” “You loved him too, did you not?” said Hercule Poirot.
“Yes. Always. As soon as I came to the house. I loved him dearly. I don’t think he knew it. There was never anything, what you call, between us. He trusted me and was fond of me.
I loved them both. Both he and Margaret.” “There is something I would like to ask you. He loved Dolly as well as Molly, didn’t he?” “Right up to the end. He loved them both. And that’s why he was willing to save Dolly. Why Molly wanted him to.
Which did he love the best of those sisters ? I wonder. That is a thing I shall perhaps never know,” said Zeiie. “I never did–perhaps I never shall.” Poirot looked at her for a moment, then turned away. He rejoined Mrs. Oliver.
“We will drive back to London. We must return to everyday life, forget tragedies and love affairs.” “Elephants can remember,” said Mrs. Oliver, “but we are human beings, and mercifully human beings can forget.”