Evil Under the Sun Read Online Free

know….”
    She paused, musing. Then she said.
    â€œImagine my childhood. No, you can’t! You’re not English!”
    Poirot asked:
    â€œWas it a very English childhood?”
    â€œOh, incredibly so! The country—a big shabby house—horses, dogs—walks in the rain—wood fires—apples in the orchard—lack of money—old tweeds—evening dresses that went on from year to year—a neglected garden—with Michaelmas daisies coming out like great banners in the autumn….”
    Poirot asked gently:
    â€œAnd you want to go back?”
    Rosamund Darnley shook her head. She said:
    â€œOne can’t go back, can one? That—never. But I’d like to have gone on—a different way.”
    Poirot said:
    â€œI wonder.”
    Rosamund Darnley laughed.
    â€œSo do I, really!”
    Poirot said:
    â€œWhen I was young (and that, Mademoiselle, is indeed a long time ago) there was a game entitled, ‘If not yourself, who would you be?’ One wrote the answer in young ladies’ albums. They had gold edges and were bound in blue leather. The answer? Mademoiselle, is not really very easy to find.”
    Rosamund said:
    â€œNo—I suppose not. It would be a big risk. One wouldn’t like to take on being Mussolini or Princess Elizabeth. As for one’s friends, one knows too much about them. I remember once meeting a charming husband and wife. They were so courteous and delightful to one another and seemed on such good terms after years of marriage that I envied the woman. I’d have changed places with her willingly. Somebody told me afterwards that in private they’d never spoken to each other for eleven years!”
    She laughed.
    â€œThat shows, doesn’t it, that you never know?”
    After a moment or two Poirot said:
    â€œMany people, Mademoiselle, must envy you.”
    Rosamund Darnley said coolly:
    â€œOh, yes. Naturally.”
    She thought about it, her lips curved upward in their ironic smile.
    â€œYes, I’m really the perfect type of the successful woman! I enjoy the artistic satisfaction of the successful creative artist (I really do like designing clothes) and the financial satisfaction of the successful business woman. I’m very well off, I’ve a good figure, a passable face, and a not too malicious tongue.”
    She paused. Her smiled widened.
    â€œOf course—I haven’t got a husband! I’ve failed there, haven’t I, M. Poirot?”
    Poirot said gallantly:
    â€œMademoiselle, if you are not married, it is because none of my sex have been sufficiently eloquent. It is from choice, not necessity, that you remain single.”
    Rosamund Darnley said:
    â€œAnd yet, like all men, I’m sure you believe in your heart that no woman is content unless she is married and has children.”
    Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
    â€œTo marry and have children, that is the common lot of women. Only one woman in a hundred—more, in a thousand, can make for herself a name and a position as you have done.”
    Rosamund grinned at him.
    â€œAnd yet, all the same, I’m nothing but a wretched old maid! That’s what I feel today, at any rate. I’d be happier with twopence a year and a big silent brute of a husband and a brood of brats running after me. That’s true, isn’t it?”
    Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
    â€œSince you say so, then, yes, Mademoiselle.”
    Rosamund laughed, her equilibrium suddenly restored. She took out a cigarette and lit it.
    She said:
    â€œYou certainly know how to deal with women, M. Poirot. I now feel like taking the opposite point of view and arguing withyou in favour of careers for women. Of course I’m damned well-off as I am—and I know it!”
    â€œThen everything in the garden—or shall we say at the seaside? is lovely, Mademoiselle.”
    â€œQuite right.”
    Poirot, in his turn, extracted his cigarette case