But I managed to cope more or less. And they say how much they love my awful detective Sven Hjerson. If they knew how / hated him! But my publisher always says I’m not to say so. Anyway, I suppose the talk about detectives in real life grew out of all that, and I talked a bit about you, and this girl was standing around listening. When you said an unattractive Ophelia it clicked somehow. I thought, “now who does that remind me of?’ And then it came to me: “Of course. The girl at the party that day.’ I rather think she belonged there unless I’m confusing her with some other girl.” Poirot sighed. With Mrs. Oliver one always needed a lot of patience.
“Who were these people with whom you went to have drinks?” “Trefusis, I think, unless it was Treherne.
That sort of name — he’s a tycoon.
Rich. Something in the City, but he’s spent most of his life in South Africa — ” “He has a wife?” “Yes. Very good-looking woman. Much younger than he is. Lots of golden hair.
Second wife. The daughter was the first wife’s daughter. Then there was an uncle of incredible antiquity. Rather deaf. He’s frightfully distinguished — strings of letters after his name. An admiral or an airmarshal or something. He’s an astronomer too, I think. Anyway, he’s got a kind of big telescope sticking out of the roof.
Though I suppose that might be just a hobby. There was a foreign girl there, too, who sort of trots about after the old boy.
Goes up to London with him, I believe, and sees he doesn’t get run over. Rather pretty, she was.” Poirot sorted out the information Mrs. Oliver had supplied him with, feeling rather like a human computer.
“There lives then in the house Mr. and Mrs. Trefusis — ” “It’s not Trefusis — I remember now — It’s Restarick.” “That is not at all the same type of name.” “Yes it is. It’s a Cornish name, isn’t it?” “There lives there then, Mr. and Mrs.
Restarick, the distinguished elderly uncle.
Is his name Restarick too?” “It’s Sir Roderick something.” “And there is the au pair girl, or whatever she is, and a daughter — any more children?” “I don’t think so–but I don’t really know. The daughter doesn’t live at home, by the way. She was only down for the weekend. Doesn’t get on with the stepmother, I expect. She’s got a job in London, and she’s picked up with a boy friend they don’t much like, so I understand.”
“You seem to know quite a lot about the family.” “Oh well, one picks things up. The Lorrimers are great talkers. Always chattering about someone or other. One hears a lot of gossip about the people all around. Sometimes, though, one gets them mixed up. I probably have. I wish I could remember that girl’s Christian name. Something connected with a song.
Thora? Speak to me, Thora. Thora, Thora. Something like that, or Myra?
Myra, oh Myra my love is all/or thee. Something like that. I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls. Norma? Or do I mean Maritana?
Norma—Norma Restarick. That’s right, I’m sure.” She added inconsequently, “She’s a third girl.” “I thought you said you thought she was an only child.” “So she is — or I think so.” “Then what do you mean by saying she is the third girl.” “Good gracious, don’t you know what a third girl is? Don’t you read The Times.” “I read the births, deaths, and marriages.
And such articles as I find of interest.” “No, I mean the front advertisement page. Only it isn’t in the front now. So I’m thinking of taking some other paper.
But I’ll show you.” She went to a side table and snatched up The Times, turned the pages over and brought it to him. “Here you are — look.
‘third girl for comfortable second floor flat, own room, central heating, Earl’s Court71 Third girl wanted to share flat. ^gns. week own room.9 ^th girl wanted. Regents Park. Own room.’ It’s the way girls like living now. Better than P.G.s or a hostel.
The main girl takes a furnished flat, and then shares out the rent. Second girl is usually a friend. Then they find a third girl by advertising if they don’t know one. And, as you see, very often they manage to squeeze in a fourth girl. First girl takes the best room, second girl pays rather less, third girl less still and is stuck in a cat-hole. They fix it among themselves which one has the flat to herself which night a week — or something like that.