As if it mattered.t Men are stupid! He’s got to get used to to–living comfortably. The mere idea ofa dahabiyah upset him–the the needless expense.
I’ve got to educate him–gradually.” She looked up, bit her lip vexedly, as though feeling that she had been led into discussing her difficulties rather too unguardedly.
She got up.
“I must change. I’m sorry, M. Poirot, I’m afraid I’ve been talking a lot of foolish nonsense.”
CHAPTER 7
Mrs. Allerton, looking quiet and distinguished in her simple black lace evening gown, descended two decks to the dining-room. At the door of it her son caught her up.
“Sorry, darling. I thought I was going to be late.” “I wonder where we sit.” The saloon was dotted with little tables. Mrs. Allerton paused till the steward, who was busy seating a party of people, could attend to them.
“By the way,” she added. “I asked little Hercule Poirot to sit at our table.” “Mother, you didn’t!” Tim sounded really taken aback and annoyed. His mother stared at him in surprise. Tim was usually so easy going.
“My dear, do you mind?”
“Yes, I do. He’s an unmitigated little bounder!”
“Oh, no, Tim! I don’t agree with you.”
“Anyway, what do we want to get mixed up with an outsider for? Cooped up like this on a small boat that sort of thing is always a bore. He’ll be with us morning, noon and night.”
“I’m sorry, dear.” Mrs. Allerton looked distressed. “I thought really it would amuse you. After all, he must have had a varied experience. And you love detective stories.”
Tim grunted:
“I wish you wouldn’t have these bright ideas, Mother. We can’t get out of it now, I suppose?”
“Really, Tim, I don’t see how we can.”
“Oh, well, we hall have to put up with it, I suppose.”
The steward came to them at this minute and led them to a table. Mrs.
Allerton’s face wore rather a puzzled expression as she followed him. Tim was usually so easy going and good-tempered. This outburst was quite unlike him. It wasn’t as though he had the ordinary Britisher’s dislike, and mistrust of, foreigners.
Tim was very cosmopolitan. Oh, well–she sighed. Men were incomprehensible!
Even one’s nearest and dearest had unsuspected reactions and feelings.
As they took their places, Hercule Poirot came quickly and silently into the dining-saloon. He paused with his hand on the back of the third chair.
“You really permit, Madame, that I avail myself of your kind suggestion?” “Of course Sit down, M. Poirot.” “You are most amiable.”
She was uneasily conscious that as he seated himself he shot a swift glance at Tim and that Tim had not quite succeeded in masking a somewhat sullen expression.
Mrs. Allerton set herself to produce a pleasant atmosphere. As they drank their soup, she picked up the passenger list which had been placed beside her plate.
“Let’s try and identify everybody,” she said cheerfully. “I always think that’s rather fun.”
She began reading.
“Mrs. Allerton, Mr. T. Allerton. That’s easy enough! Miss de Bellefort.
They’ve put her at the same table as the Otterbournes, I see. I wonder what she and Rosalie will make of each other. Who comes next? Dr. Bessner. Dr. Bessner?
Who can identify Dr. Bessner?”
She bent her glance on a table at which four men sat together.
“I think he must be the fat one with the closely-shaved head and the moustache. A German, I should imagine. He seems to be enjoying his soup very Certain succulent noises floated across to them.
Mrs. Allerton continued:
“Miss Bowers? Can we make a guess at Miss Bowers? There are three or four women–no, we’ll leave her for the present. Mr. and Mrs. Doyle. Yes, indeed, the lions of this trip. She really is very beautiful and what a perfectly lovely frock she is wearing.”
Tim turned round in his chair. Linnet and her husband and Andrew Pennington had been given a table in the corner. Linnet was wearing a white dress and pearls.
“It looks frightfully simple to me,” said Tim. “Just a length of stuff with a kind of cord round the middle.”
“Yes, darling,” said his mother. “A very nice manly description of an eighty-guinea model.”