PART SIX DECEMBER 27TH II
When Pilar left the drawing room she walked slowly along the hall. Stephen Farr was coming in
through the garden door. He said
Well? Is the family conclave over? Has the will been read
Pilar said, her breath coming fast
I have got nothing—nothing at all! It was a will made many years ago. My grandfather left
money to my mother, but because she is dead it does not go to me but goes back to them.
Stephen said
That seems rather hard lines.
Pilar said
If that old man had lived, he would have made another will. He would have left money to
me—a lot of money! Perhaps in time he would have left me all the money
Stephen said, smiling
That wouldn’t have been very fair either, would it
Why not? He would have liked me best, that is all.
Stephen said
What a greedy child you are. A real little golddigger.
Pilar said soberly
The world is very cruel to women. They must do what they can for themselves—while they
are young. When they are old and ugly no one will help them.
Stephen said slowly
That’s more true than I like to think. But it isn’t quite true. Alfred Lee, for instance, was
genuinely fond of his father in spite of the old man being thoroughly trying and exacting.
Pilar’s chin went up.
Alfred,” she said, “is rather a fool.
Stephen laughed.
Then he said
Well, don’t worry, lovely Pilar. The Lees are bound to look after you, you know.
Pilar said disconsolately
It will not be very amusing, that.
Stephen said slowly
No, I’m afraid it won’t. I can’t see you living here, Pilar. Would you like to come to South
Africa
Pilar nodded.
Stephen said
There’s sun there, and space. There’s hard work too. Are you good at work, Pilar
Pilar said doubtfully
I do not know.
He said
You’d rather sit on a balcony and eat sweets all day long? And grow enormously fat and
have three double chins
Pilar laughed and Stephen said
That’s better. I’ve made you laugh.
Pilar said
I thought I should laugh this Christmas! In books I have read that an English Christmas is
very gay, that one eats burning raisins and there is a plum pudding all in flames, and something
that is called a Yule log.
Stephen said
Ah, but you must have a Christmas uncomplicated by murder. Come in here a minute. Lydia
took me in here yesterday. It’s her storeroom.
He led her into a small room little bigger than a cupboard.
Look, Pilar, boxes and boxes of crackers, and preserved fruits and oranges and dates and
nuts. And here
Oh!” Pilar clasped her hands. “They are pretty, these gold and silver balls.
Those were to hang on a tree, with presents for the servants. And here are little snowmen all
glittering with frost to put on the dinner table. And here are balloons of every colour all ready to
blow up
Oh!” Pilar’s eyes shone. “Oh! can we blow one up? Lydia would not mind. I do love
balloons.
Stephen said: “Baby! Here, which will you have
Pilar said: “I will have a red one.
They selected their balloons and blew, their cheeks distended. Pilar stopped blowing to laugh
and her balloon went down again.
She said
You look so funny—blowing—with your cheeks puffed out.
Her laugh rang out. Then she fell to, blowing industriously. They tied up their balloons
carefully and began to play with them, patting them upwards, sending them to and fro.
Pilar said
Out in the hall there would be more room.
They were sending the balloons to each other, and laughing, when Poirot came along the hall.
He regarded them indulgently.
So you play les jeux d’enfants? It is pretty, that
Pilar said breathlessly
Mine is the red one. It is bigger than his. Much bigger. If we took it outside it would go right
up in the sky.
Let’s send them up and wish,” said Stephen.
Oh, yes, that is a good idea.
Pilar ran to the garden door, Stephen followed. Poirot came behind, still looking indulgent.
I will wish for a great deal of money,” announced Pilar.
She stood on tiptoe, holding the string of the balloon. It tugged gently as a puff of wind came.
Pilar let go and it floated along, taken by the breeze.
Stephen laughed.
You mustn’t tell your wish.
No? Why not
Because it doesn’t come true. Now, I’m going to wish.
He released his balloon. But he was not so lucky. It floated sideways, caught on a holly bush
and expired with a bang.
Pilar ran to it.
She announced tragically
It is gone. . . .
Then, as she stirred the little limp wisp of rubber with her toe, she said
So that was what I picked up in Grandfather’s room. He, too, had had a balloon, only his
was a pink one.
Poirot gave a sharp exclamation. Pilar turned inquiringly.
Poirot said
It is nothing. I stabbed—no stubbed—the toe.
He wheeled round and looked at the house.
He said
So many windows! A house, mademoiselle, has its eyes — and its ears. It is indeed
regrettable that the English are so fond of open windows.
Lydia came out on the terrace. She said
Lunch is just ready. Pilar, my dear, everything has been settled quite satisfactorily. Alfred
will explain the exact details to you after lunch. Shall we come in
They went into the house. Poirot came last. He was looking grave.
