“And so the engagement was finally broken off. What happened to the girl?” “She came home. Had another loveaffair on the way back, and this time married the man. A widower with one child. A man who had just lost his wife is always a fair target — helpless, poor fellow. She married him and they settled down here in a house the other side of the town — St. Catherine’s — next door to the hospital. It didn’t last, of course — she left him within the year. Went off with some man or other.” “Dear, dear!” Miss Marple shook her head. “What a lucky escape your son had!” “That’s what I always tell him.” “And did he give up tea-planting because his health wouldn’t stand it?” A slight frown appeared on Mrs. Fane’s brow.
“The life wasn’t really congenial to him,” she said, “He came home about six months after the girl did.” “It must have been rather awkward,” ventured Miss Marple. “If the young woman was actually living here. In the same town — ” “Walter was wonderful,” said Walter’s mother. “He behaved exactly as though nothing had happened. I should have thought myself (indeed I said so at the time) that it would be advisable to make a clean break — after all, meetings could only be awkward for both parties. But Walter insisted on going out of his way to be friendly. He used to call at the house in the most informal fashion, and play with the child— Rather curious, by the way, the child’s come back here. She’s grown up now, with a husband. Came into Walter’s office to make her will the other day. Reed, that’s her name now.
Reed.” “Mr. and Mrs. Reed? I know them.
Such a nice unaffected young couple.
Fancy that now — and she is actually the child — ” “The first wife’s child. The first wife died out in India. Poor Major — I’ve forgotten his name — Hallway — something like that — was completely broken up when that minx left him. Why the worst women should always attract the best men is something hard to fathom!” “And the young man who was originally entangled with her? A clerk, I think you said, in your son’s office. What happened to him?” “Did very well for himself. He runs a lot of these Coach Tours. Daffodil Coaches.
Afflicks’ Daffodil Coaches. Painted bright yellow. It’s a vulgar world nowadays.” “Afflick?” said Miss Marple.
“Jackie Afflick. A nasty pushing fellow.
Always determined to get on, I imagine.
Probably why he took up with Helen Kennedy in the first place. Doctor’s daughter and all that — thought it would better his social position.” “And this Helen has never come back again to Dillworth?” “No. Good riddance. Probably gone completely to the bad by now. I was sorry for Dr. Kennedy. Not his fault. His father’s second wife was a fluffy little thing, years younger than he was. Helen inherited her wild blood from her, I expect. I’ve always thought — ” Mrs. Fane broke off.
“Here is Walter.” Her mother’s ear had distinguished certain well-known sounds in the hall. The door opened and Walter Fane came in.
“This is Miss Marple, my son. Ring the bell, son, and we’ll have some fresh tea.” “Don’t bother. Mother. I had a cup.” “Of course we will have fresh tea— and some scones, Beatrice,” she added to the parlourmaid who had appeared to take the teapot.
“Yes, madam.” With a slow, likeable smile Walter Fane said: “My mother spoils me, I’m afraid.” Miss Marple studied him as she made a polite rejoinder.
A gentle quiet-looking person, slightly diffident and apologetic in manner— colourless. A very nondescript personality.
The devoted type of young man whom women ignore and only marry because the man they love does not return their affection. Walter, who is Always There.
Poor Walter, his mother’s darling.
Little Walter Fane who had attacked his older brother with a poker and had tried to kill him.
Miss Marple wondered.
17 RICHARD ERSKINE
ASTELL MANOR had a bleak aspect. It was a white house, set against a background of bleak hills.
A winding drive led up through dense shrubbery.