Смерть на Ниле / Death on the Nile

Poirot said slowly:

‘The girl in the restaurant mentioned a friend – a friend who she was very positive would not let her down. That friend, I think, was you, Madame.’

Linnet flushed.

‘Yes. I told you we had been friends.’

‘And she trusted you?’

‘Yes.’

She hesitated for a moment, biting her lip impatiently; then, as Poirot did not seem disposed to speak, she broke out:

‘Of course the whole thing was very unfortunate. But these things happen, Monsieur Poirot.’

‘Ah! yes, they happen, Madame.’ He paused. ‘You are of the Church of England, I presume?’

‘Yes.’ Linnet looked slightly bewildered.

‘Then you have heard portions of the Bible read aloud in church. You have heard of King David and of the rich man who had many flocks and herds and the poor man who had one ewe lamb – and of how the rich man took the poor man’s one ewe lamb. That was something that happened, Madame.’

Linnet sat up. Her eyes flashed angrily.

‘I see perfectly what you are driving at, Monsieur Poirot! You think, to put it vulgarly, that I stole my friend’s young man. Looking at the matter sentimentally – which is, I suppose, the way people of your generation cannot help looking at things – that is possibly true. But the real hard truth is different. I don’t deny that Jackie was passionately in love with Simon, but I don’t think you take into account that he may not have been equally devoted to her. He was very fond of her, but I think that even before he met me he was beginning to feel that he had made a mistake. Look at it clearly, Monsieur Poirot. Simon discovers that it is I he loves, not Jackie. What is he to do? Be heroically noble and marry a woman he does not care for – and thereby probably ruin three lives – for it is doubtful whether he could make Jackie happy under those circumstances? If he were actually married to her when he met me I agree that it might be his duty to stick to her – though I’m not really sure of that. If one person is unhappy the other suffers too. But an engagement is not really binding. If a mistake has been made, then surely it is better to face the fact before it is too late. I admit that it was very hard on Jackie, and I’m very sorry about it – but there it is. It was inevitable.’

‘I wonder.’

She stared at him.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It is very sensible, very logical – all that you say! But it does not explain one thing.’

‘What is that?’

‘Your own attitude, Madame. See you, this pursuit of you, you might take it in two ways. It might cause you annoyance – yes, or it might stir your pity – that your friend should have been so deeply hurt as to throw all regard for the conventions aside. But that is not the way you react. No, to you this persecution is intolerable – and why? It can be for one reason only – that you feel a sense of guilt.’

Linnet sprang to her feet.

‘How dare you? Really, Monsieur Poirot, this is going too far.’

‘But I do dare, Madame! I am going to speak to you quite frankly. I suggest to you that, although you may have endeavoured to gloss over the fact to yourself, you did deliberately set about taking your husband from your friend. I suggest that you felt emphasisly attracted to him at once. But I suggest that there was a moment when you hesitated, when you realized that there was a choice – that you could refrain or go on. I suggest that the initiative rested with you – not with Monsieur Doyle. You are beautiful, Madame, you are rich, you are clever, intelligent – and you have charm. You could have exercised that charm or you could have restrained it. You had everything, Madame, that life can offer. Your friend’s life was bound up in one person. You knew that – but though you hesitated, you did not hold your hand. You stretched it out and, like King David, you took the poor man’s one ewe lamb.’

There was a silence. Linnet controlled herself with an effort and said in a cold voice:

‘All this is quite beside the point!’

‘No, it is not beside the point. I am explaining to you just why the unexpected appearances of Mademoiselle de Bellefort have upset you so much. It is because though she may be unwomanly and undignified in what she is doing, you have the inner conviction that she has right on her side.’

‘That’s not true.’

Poirot shrugged his shoulders.

‘You refuse to be honest with yourself.’

‘Not at all.’

Poirot said gently:

‘I should say, Madame, that you have had a happy life, that you have been generous and kindly in your attitude towards others.’

‘I have tried to be,’ said Linnet. The impatient anger died out of her face. She spoke simply – almost forlornly.

‘And that is why the feeling that you have deliberately caused injury to someone upsets you so much, and why you are so reluctant to admit the fact. Pardon me if I have been impertinent, but the psychology, it is the most important factor in a case.’

Linnet said slowly: ‘Even supposing what you say were true – and I don’t admit it, mind – what can be done about it now? One can’t alter the past; one must deal with things as they are.’

Poirot nodded.

‘You have the clear brain. Yes, one cannot go back over the past. One must accept things as they are. And sometimes, Madame, that is all one can do – accept the consequences of one’s past deeds.’

‘You mean,’ said Linnet incredulously, ‘that I can do nothing – nothing?’

‘You must have courage, Madame; that is what it seems like to me.’

Linnet said slowly:

‘Couldn’t you – talk to Jackie – to Miss de Bellefort? Reason with her?’

‘Yes, I could do that. I will do that if you would like me to do so. But do not expect much result. I fancy that Mademoiselle de Bellefort is so much in the grip of a fixed idea that nothing will turn her from it.’

‘But surely we can do something to extricate ourselves?’

‘You could, of course, return to England and establish yourselves in your own house.’

‘Even then, I suppose, Jacqueline is capable of planting herself in the village, so that I should see her every time I went out of the grounds.’

‘True.’

‘Besides,’ said Linnet slowly, ‘I don’t think that Simon would agree to run away.’

‘What is his attitude in this?’

‘He’s furious – simply furious.’

Poirot nodded thoughtfully.

Linnet said appealingly: