For the time being, he put the household at Crosshedges out of his mind.
He came, as Norma had come, to London, and proceeded to the consideration of three girls who shared a flat.
Claudia Reece-Holland, Frances Cary, Norma Restarick. Claudia ReeceHolland, daughter of a well-known Member of Parliament, well off, capable, well trained, good-looking, a first-class secretary.
Frances Cary, a country solicitor’s daughter, artistic, had been to drama school for a short time, then to the Slade, chucked that also, occasionally worked for the Arts Council, now employed by an art gallery.
Earned a good salary, was artistic and had bohemian associations. She knew the young man, David Baker, though not apparently more than casually. Perhaps she was in love with him? He was the kind of young man, Poirot thought, disliked generally by parents, members of the Establishment and also the police. Where the attraction lay for well-born girls Poirot failed to see. But one had to acknowledge it as a fact. What did he himself think of David?
A good-looking boy with the impudent and slightly amused air whom he had first seen in the upper stories of Crosshedges, doing an errand for Norma (or reconnoitring on his own, who could say?). He had seen him again when he gave him a lift in his car. A young man of personality, giving indeed an impression of ability in what he chose to do. And yet there was clearly an unsatisfactory side to him. Poirot picked up one of the papers on the table by his side and studied it. A bad record though not positively criminal. Small frauds on garages, hooliganism, smashing up things, on probation twice. All those things were the fashion of the day. They did not come under Poirot’s category of evil. He had been a promising painter, but had chucked it.
He was the king that did no steady work.
He was vain, proud, a peacock in love with his own appearance. Was he anything more than that? Poirot wondered.
He stretched out an arm and picked up a sheet of paper on which was scribbed down the rough heads of the conversation held between Norma and David in the cafe –that is, as well as Mrs. Oliver could remember them. And how well was that, Poirot thought? He shook his head doubtfully.
One never knew quite at what point Mrs. Oliver’s imagination would take over!
Did the boy care for Norma, really want to marry her? There was no doubt about her feelings for him. He had suggested marrying her. Had Norma got money of her own? She was the daughter of a rich man, but that was not the same thing. Poirot made an exclamation of vexation. He had forgotten to enquire the terms of the late Mrs. Restarick’s will. He flipped through the sheets of notes. No, Mr. Goby had not neglected this obvious need. Mrs. Restarick apparently had been well provided for by her husband during her lifetime. She had had, apparently, a small income of her own amounting perhaps to a thousand a year.
She had left everything she possessed to her daughter. It would hardly amount, Poirot thought, to a motive for marriage.
Probably, as his only child, she would inherit a lot of money at her father’s death but that was not at all the same thing. Her father might leave her very little indeed if he disliked the man she had married.
He would say then, that David did care for her, since he was willing to marry her.
And yet — Poirot shook his head. It was about the fifth time he had shaken it. All these things did not tie up, they did not make a satisfactory pattern. He remembered Restarick’s desk, and the cheque he had been writing — apparently to buy off the young man — and the young man, apparently, was quite willing to be bought off! So that again did not tally. The cheque had certainly been made out to David Baker and it was for a very large — really a preposterous — sum. It was a sum that might have tempted any impecunious young man of bad character. And yet he had suggested marriage to her only a day before. That, of course, might have been just a move in the game — a move to raise the price he was asking. Poirot remembered Restarick sitting there, his lips hard. He must care a great deal for his daughter to be willing to pay so high a sum, and he must have been afraid too that the girl herself was quite determined to marry him.