PART SEVEN DECEMBER 28TH V
Alfred came out on the terrace. Lydia was bending over a stone sink. She straightened up when
she saw him.
He said with a sigh
Well—they’ve all gone.
Lydia said
Yes—what a blessing.
It is, rather.
Alfred said
You’ll be glad to leave here.
She asked
Will you mind very much
No, I shall be glad. There are so many interesting things we can do together. To live on here
would be to be constantly reminded of that nightmare. Thank God it’s all over
Lydia said
Thanks to Hercule Poirot.
Yes. You know, it was really amazing the way everything fell into place when he explained
it.
I know. Like when you finish a jigsaw puzzle and all the queer-shaped bits you swear won’t
fit in anywhere find their places quite naturally.
Alfred said
There’s one little thing that never fitted in. What was George doing after he telephoned
Why wouldn’t he say
Don’t you know? I knew all the time. He was having a look through your papers on your
desk.
Oh! No, Lydia, no one would do a thing like that
George would. He’s frightfully curious about money matters. But of course he couldn’t say
so. He’d have had to be actually in the dock before he’d have owned up to that.
Alfred said
Are you making another garden
Yes.
What is it this time
I think,” said Lydia, “it’s an attempt at the Garden of Eden. A new version—without any
serpent—and Adam and Eve are definitely middle-aged.
Alfred said gently
Dear Lydia, how patient you have been all these years. You have been very good to me.
Lydia said
But, you see, Alfred, I love you. . . .
