‘Well, I suppose it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t so bad last year. And please believe, M. Poirot, that it wasn’t anything she did. She’s always been charming to me—quite charming. That’s why I’ve felt ashamed sometimes. It wasn’t her fault that little things she said and did seemed to rub me up the wrong way. Really, nobody could be nicer than she was.’
‘But nevertheless things were changed this season? There was a different atmosphere.’
‘Oh, entirely. Really. I don’t know what it was. Everything seemed to go wrong—not with the work—I mean with us—our tempers and our nerves. All on edge. Almost the sort of feeling you get when there is a thunderstorm coming.’
‘And you put that down to Mrs Leidner’s influence?’
‘Well, it was never like that before she came,’ said Miss Johnson dryly. ‘Oh! I’m a cross-grained, complaining old dog. Conservative—liking things always the same. You really mustn’t take any notice of me, M. Poirot.’
‘How would you describe to me Mrs Leidner’s character and temperament?’
Miss Johnson hesitated for a moment. Then she said slowly: ‘Well, of course, she was temperamental. A lot of ups and downs. Nice to people one day and perhaps wouldn’t speak to them the next. She was very kind, I think. And very thoughtful for others. All the same you could see she had been thoroughly spoilt all her life. She took Dr Leidner’s waiting on her hand and foot as perfectly natural. And I don’t think she ever really appreciated what a very remarkable—what a really great—man she had married. That used to annoy me sometimes. And of course she was terribly highly strung and nervous. The things she used to imagine and the states she used to get into! I was thankful when Dr Leidner brought Nurse Leatheran here. It was too much for him having to cope both with his work and with his wife’s fears.’
‘What is your own opinion of these anonymous letters she received?’
I had to do it. I leaned forward in my chair till I could just catch sight of Miss Johnson’s profile turned to Poirot in answer to his question.
She was looking perfectly cool and collected.
‘I think someone in America had a spite against her and was trying to frighten or annoy her.’
‘Pas plus sérieux que ça?’
‘That’s my opinion. She was a very handsome woman, you know, and might easily have had enemies. I think, those letters were written by some spiteful woman. Mrs Leidner being of a nervous temperament took them seriously.’
‘She certainly did that,’ said Poirot. ‘But remember—the last of them arrived by hand.’
‘Well, I suppose that could have been managed if anyone had given their minds to it. Women will take a lot of trouble to gratify their spite, M. Poirot.’
They will indeed, I thought to myself!
‘Perhaps you are right, mademoiselle. As you say, Mrs Leidner was handsome. By the way, you know Miss Reilly, the doctor’s daughter?’
‘Sheila Reilly? Yes, of course.’
Poirot adopted a very confidential, gossipy tone.
‘I have heard a rumour (naturally I do not like to ask the doctor) that there was a tendresse between her and one of the members of Dr Leidner’s staff. Is that so, do you know?’
Miss Johnson appeared rather amused.
‘Oh, young Coleman and David Emmott were both inclined to dance attendance. I believe there was some rivalry as to who was to be her partner in some event at the club. Both the boys went in on Saturday evenings to the club as a general rule. But I don’t know that there was anything in it on her side. She’s the only young creature in the place, you know, and so she’s by way of being the belle of it. She’s got the Air Force dancing attendance on her as well.’
‘So you think there is nothing in it?’
‘Well—I don’t know.’ Miss Johnson became thoughtful. ‘It is true that she comes out this way fairly often. Up to the dig and all that. In fact, Mrs Leidner was chaffing David Emmott about it the other day—saying the girl was running after him. Which was rather a catty thing to say, I thought, and I don’t think he liked it…Yes, she was here a good deal. I saw her riding towards the dig on that awful afternoon.’ She nodded her head towards the open window. ‘But neither David Emmott nor Coleman were on duty that afternoon. Richard Carey was in charge. Yes, perhaps she is attracted to one of the boys—but she’s such a modern unsentimental young woman that one doesn’t know quite how seriously to take her. I’m sure I don’t know which of them it is. Bill’s a nice boy, and not nearly such a fool as he pretends to be. David Emmott is a dear—and there’s a lot to him. He is the deep, quiet kind.’