Giant's Bread

by Christie, writing as Mary Westmacott, Agatha

  Jane’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘That’s a very clever answer. And I fully deserved it. Sorry, Nell. I was a beast. But you were being so queenly and so gracious. I never can stand people being gracious.’

  She got up and began to stroll round the room.

  ‘So this is Vernon’s home,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve never seen it before – only heard him talk about it.’

  She was silent for a minute, then asked abruptly:

  ‘How much have you changed?’

  Nell explained that everything had been left as it was as far as possible. Curtains, covers, carpets, etc., had all been renewed. The old ones were too shabby. And one or two priceless pieces of furniture had been added. Whenever George came across anything that was in keeping with the place he bought it.

  Jane’s eyes were fixed on her while she made this explanation and Nell felt uneasy because she couldn’t read the expression in them.

  George came in before she had finished talking and they went in to lunch.

  The talk was at first of Serbia, of a few mutual friends out there. Then they passed on to Jane’s affairs. George referred delicately to Jane’s voice – the sorrow he had felt – that everyone must feel. Jane passed it off carelessly enough.

  ‘My own fault,’ she said. ‘I would sing a certain kind of music and my voice wasn’t made for it.’

  Sebastian Levinne, she went on to say, had been a wonderful friend. He was willing now to star her in London, but she had wished to learn her trade first.

  ‘Singing in opera is, of course, acting too. But there are all sorts of things to learn – to manage one’s speaking voice, for instance. And then one’s effects are all different – they must be more subtle, less broad.’

  Next autumn, she explained, she was to appear in London in a dramatized version of Tosca.

  Then dismissing her own affairs, she began to talk of Abbots Puissants. She led George on to discuss his plans, his ideas about the estate. He was made to display himself the complete country squire.

  There was, apparently, no mockery in Jane’s eyes or her voice, but nevertheless Nell felt acutely uncomfortable. She wished George would stop talking. It was a little ridiculous the way he spoke as though he and his forefathers before him had lived for centuries at Abbots Puissants.

  After coffee, they went out on the terrace again, and here George was summoned to the telephone and left them with a word of excuse. Nell suggested a tour through the gardens and Jane acquiesced.

  ‘I’d like to see everything,’ she said.

  Nell thought: ‘It’s Vernon’s home she wants to see. That’s why she’s come. But Vernon never meant to her what he meant to me!’

  She had a passionate desire to vindicate herself – to make Jane see – See what? She didn’t quite know herself, but she felt that Jane was judging her – condemning her even.

  She stopped suddenly as they were walking down a long herbaceous border, gay with Michaelmas daisies against the old rose-coloured brick wall behind it.

  ‘Jane. I want to tell you – to explain –’

  She paused, gathering herself together. Jane merely looked at her inquiringly.

  ‘You must think it – very dreadful of me – marrying again so soon.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Jane. ‘It was very sensible.’

  Nell didn’t want that. That wasn’t the point of view at all.

  ‘I adored Vernon – adored him. When he was killed it nearly broke my heart. I mean it. But I knew so well that he himself wouldn’t wish me to grieve. The dead don’t want us to grieve –’

  ‘Don’t they?’

  Nell stared at her.

  ‘Oh, I know you’re voicing the popular idea,’ said Jane. ‘The dead want us to be brave and bear up and carry on as usual. They hate us being unhappy about them. That’s what everybody goes about saying – but I never have seen that they’ve any foundation for that cheering belief. I think they’ve invented it themselves to make things easier for them. The living don’t all want exactly the same thing, so I don’t see why the dead should either. There must be heaps of selfish dead – if they exist at all they must be very much the same as they were in life. They can’t be full of beautiful and unselfish feelings all at once. It always makes me laugh when I see a bereaved widower tucking into his breakfast the day after the funeral and saying solemnly, “Mary wouldn’t wish me to grieve!” How does he know? Mary may be simply weeping and gnashing her teeth (astral teeth, of course) at seeing him going on as usual just as though she had never existed. Heaps of women like a fuss being made over them. Why should they change their characters when they’re dead?’

  Nell was silent. She couldn’t for the moment collect her thoughts.

  ‘Not that I mean Vernon was like that,’ went on Jane. ‘He may really have wished you not to grieve. You’d know best about that, because you knew him better than anyone else.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nell eagerly. ‘That’s just it. I know he would want me to be happy. And he wanted me to have Abbots Puissants. I know he’d love to think of my being here.’

  ‘He wanted to live here with you. That’s not quite the same thing.’

  ‘No, but it isn’t as though I were living here with George like – like it would have been with him. Oh, Jane, I want to make you understand. George is a dear, but he isn’t – he can never be – what – what Vernon was to me.’

  There was a long pause and then Jane said: ‘You’re lucky, Nell.’

  ‘If you think I really love all this luxury! Why, for Vernon I’d give it up in a minute!’

  ‘I wonder.’

  ‘Jane! You –’

  ‘You think you would – but – I wonder.’

  ‘I did before.’

  ‘No – you only gave up the prospect of it. That’s different. It hadn’t eaten into you like it has now.’

  ‘Jane!’

  Nell’s eyes filled with tears. She turned away.

  ‘My dear – I’m being a beast. There’s no harm in what you’ve done. I dare say you’re right – about Vernon wishing it. You need kindness and protection – but all the same soft living does eat into one. You’ll know what I mean some day. By the way, I didn’t mean what you thought when I said just now that you were lucky. By lucky, I meant that you’d had the best of both worlds. If you’d married your George when you originally intended, you’d have gone through life with a secret regret, a longing for Vernon, a feeling that you’d been cheated out of life through your own cowardice. And if Vernon had lived you might have grown away from each other, quarrelled, come to hate each other. But as it is, you’ve had Vernon, made your sacrifice – you’ve got him where nothing can ever touch him. Love will be a thing of beauty to you for ever. And you’ve got all the other things as well. This!’

  She swept her arm round in a sudden embracing gesture.

  Nell had hardly paid any attention to the end part of the speech. Her eyes had grown soft and melting.

  ‘I know. Everything turns out for the best. They tell you so when you’re a child and later you find it out for yourself. God does know best.’

  ‘What do you know about God, Nell Chetwynd?’

  There was savagery in the question that brought Nell’s eyes to Jane in astonishment. She looked menacing – fiercely accusing. The gentleness of a minute ago was gone.

  ‘The will of God! Would you be able to say that if God’s will didn’t happen to coincide with Nell Chetwynd’s comfort, I wonder? You don’t know anything about God or you couldn’t have spoken like that, gently patting God on the back for making life comfortable and easy for you. Do you know a text that used to frighten me in the Bible? This night shall thy soul be required of thee. When God requires your soul of you, be sure you’ve got a soul to give Him!’

  She paused and then said quietly:

  ‘I’ll go now. I shouldn’t have come. But I wanted to see Vernon’s home. I apologize for what I’ve said. But you’re so damned smug, Nell. You don’t know it, bu
t you are. Smug – that’s the word. Life to you means yourself and yourself only. What about Vernon? Was it best for him? Do you think he wanted to die right at the beginning of everything he cared for?’

  Nell flung her head back defiantly.

  ‘I made him happy.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of his happiness. I was thinking of his music. You and Abbots Puissants – what do you matter? Vernon had genius – that’s the wrong way of putting it – he belonged to his genius. And genius is the hardest master there is – everything has got to be sacrificed to it – your trumpery happiness even would have had to go if it stood in the way. Genius has got to be served. Music wanted Vernon – and he’s dead. That’s the crying shame, the thing that matters, the thing you never even consider. I know why – because you were afraid of it, Nell. It doesn’t make for peace and happiness and security. But I tell you, it’s got to be served…’

  Suddenly her face relaxed, the old mocking light that Nell hated came back to her eyes. She said:

  ‘Don’t worry, Nell. You’re much the strongest of us all. Protective colouring! Sebastian told me so long ago, and he was right. You’ll endure when we’ve all perished. Goodbye – I’m sorry I’ve been a devil, but I’m made that way.’

  Nell stood staring after her retreating figure. She clenched her hands and said under her breath:

  ‘I hate you. I’ve always hated you …’

  3

  The day had begun so peacefully – and now it was spoilt. Tears came into Nell’s eyes. Why couldn’t people let her alone? Jane and her horrid sneering. Jane was a beast – an uncanny beast. She knew where things hurt you most.

  Why, even Joe had said that she, Nell, was quite right to marry George! Joe had understood perfectly. Nell felt aggrieved and hurt. Why should Jane be so horrid? And saying things like that about the dead – irreligious things – when everyone knew that the dead liked one to be brave and cheerful.

  The impertinence of Jane to hurl a text at her head. A woman like Jane who had lived with people and done all kinds of immoral things. Nell felt a glow of superior virtue. In spite of everything that was said nowadays, there were two different kinds of women. She belonged to one kind and Jane to the other. Jane was attractive – that kind of woman always was attractive – that was why in the past she had felt afraid of Jane. Jane had some queer power over men – she was bad through and through.

  Thinking these thoughts, Nell paced restlessly up and down. She felt disinclined to go back to the house. In any case, there was nothing particular to do this afternoon. There were some letters that must be written some time but she really couldn’t settle to them at present.

  She had forgotten about her husband’s American friend, and was quite surprised when George joined her with Mr Bleibner in tow. The American was a tall thin man, very precise. He paid her grave compliments on the house. They were now, he explained, going to view the ruins of the Abbey. George suggested she should come with them.

  ‘You go on,’ said Nell. ‘I’ll follow you presently. I must get a hat. The sun is so hot.’

  ‘Shall I get it for you, dear?’

  ‘No, thanks. You and Mr Bleibner go on. You’ll be ages pottering about there, I know.’

  ‘Why, I should say that is very certain to be the case, Mrs Chetwynd. I understand your husband has some idea of restoring the Abbey. That is very interesting.’

  ‘It’s one of our many projects, Mr Bleibner.’

  ‘You are fortunate to own this place. By the way, I hope you’ve no objection, I told my chauffeur (with your husband’s assent, naturally) that he might stroll round the grounds. He is a most intelligent young man of quite a superior class.’

  ‘That’s quite all right. And if he’d like to see the house the butler can take him over it later.’

  ‘Now I call that very kind of you, Mrs Chetwynd. What I feel is that we want beauty appreciated by all classes. The idea that’s going to weld together the League of Nations –’

  Nell felt suddenly that she couldn’t bear to hear Mr Bleibner’s views on the League of Nations. They were sure to be ponderous and lengthy. She excused herself on the plea of the hot sun.

  Some Americans could be very boring. What a mercy George was not like that. Dear George – really he was very nearly perfect. She experienced again that warm happy feeling that had surged over her earlier in the day.

  What an idiot she was to have let herself be upset by Jane. Jane of all people! What did it matter what Jane said or thought? It didn’t, of course – but there was something about Jane – she had the power of – well – upsetting one.

  But that was all over now. The old tide of reassurance and safety welled up again. Abbots Puissants, George, the tender memory of Vernon. Everything was all right.

  She ran down the stairs happily, hat in hand. She paused a minute to adjust it in front of the mirror. She would go now and join them at the Abbey. She would make herself absolutely charming to Mr Bleibner.

  She went down the steps of the terrace and along the garden walk. It was later than she thought. The sun was not far from setting – a beautiful sunset with a crimson sky.

  By the goldfish pond a young man in chauffeur’s livery was standing with his back to her. He turned at her approach and civilly raised a finger to his cap.

  She stood stock still and slowly an unconscious hand crept up to her heart as she stood there staring.

  4

  George Green stared.

  Then he ejaculated to himself, ‘Well, that’s a rum go.’

  On arrival at their destination, his master had said to him:

  ‘This is one of the oldest and most interesting places in England, Green. I shall be here at least an hour – perhaps longer. I will ask Mr Chetwynd if you may stroll about the grounds.’

  A kind old buffer, Green had thought indulgently, but terribly keen on what was called ‘uplift’. Couldn’t let one alone. And he had that extraordinary American reverence for anything that was hallowed by antiquity.

  Certainly, this was a nice old place, though. He had looked up at it appreciatively. He’d seen pictures of it somewhere, he was sure. He wouldn’t mind having a stroll round as he’d been told to do.

  It was well kept up, he noticed that. Who owned it? Some American chap? These Americans, they had all the money. He wondered who had owned it originally. Whoever it was must have been sick having to let it go.

  He thought wistfully: ‘I wish I’d been born a toff. I’d like to own a place like this.’

  He had wandered some way through the gardens. In the distance he had noticed a heap of ruins and amongst them two figures, one of which he recognized as being that of his employer. Funny old josser – always poking about ruins.

  The sun had been setting – there had been a wonderful lurid sky and against it Abbots Puissants stood out in all its beauty.

  Funny, the way you thought of things as having happened before! Just for a minute Green could have sworn that he had once stood just where he was standing now and seen the house outlined against a red sky. Could swear too, that he had felt just that same keen pang as of something that hurt. But it wanted something else – a woman with red hair like the sunset.

  There had been a step behind him and he had started and turned. For a minute he had felt a vague pang of disappointment. For standing there was a young slender woman and her hair, escaping each side from under her hat, was golden, not red.

  He had touched his cap respectfully.

  A queer sort of lady, he thought. She had stared at him with every bit of colour draining slowly from her face. She looked absolutely terrified.

  Then, with a sudden gasp, she turned and almost ran down the path.

  It was then that he ejaculated:

  ‘Well, that’s a rum go.’

  She must, he decided, be a bit queer in the head.

  He resumed his aimless strolling.

  Chapter Two

  1

  Sebastian Levinne was in his office
going into the details of a ticklish contract, when a telegram was brought to him. He opened it carelessly, for he received forty or fifty telegrams a day. After he had read it, he held it in his hand looking at it.

  Then he crumpled it up, slipped it into his pocket and spoke to Lewis, his right-hand man.

  ‘Get on with this thing as best you can,’ he said curtly. ‘I’m called out of town.’

  He took no heed of the protestations that arose, but left the room. He paused to tell his secretary to see to the cancelling of various appointments and then went home, packed a bag and took a taxi to Waterloo. There he unfolded the telegram and read it.

  Please come at once if you can very urgent Jane Wilts Hotel Wiltsbury.

  It was a proof of his confidence and respect for Jane that he never hesitated. He trusted Jane as he trusted no one else in the world. If Jane said a thing was urgent, it was urgent. He obeyed the summons without wasting a thought of regret on the necessary complications it would cause. For no one else in the world, be it said, would he have done that.

  On arriving at Wiltsbury he drove straight to the hotel and asked for her. She had engaged a private room, and there she met him with outstretched hands.

  ‘Sebastian – my dear – you’ve been marvellously quick.’

  ‘I came at once.’ He slipped off his coat and threw it over the back of a chair. ‘What is it, Jane?’

  ‘It’s Vernon.’

  Sebastian looked puzzled. ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s not dead. I’ve seen him.’

  Sebastian stared at her for a minute, then drew a chair to the table and sat down.

  ‘It’s not like you, Jane, but I think, for once in your life, you must have been mistaken.’

  ‘I wasn’t mistaken. It’s possible, I suppose, for the War Office to have made an error?’

  ‘Errors have been made more than once – but they’ve usually been contradicted fairly soon. It stands to reason that they must be. If Vernon’s alive, what’s he been doing all this time?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘That I can’t say. But I’m as sure about its being Vernon as I am that it’s you here now.’