The Man in the Brown Suit by Agatha Christie (dar e dil novel online reading .txt) 📕

men from the point of view of an outsider. And when he had said “my friend” he had meant, not Eardsley, but Lucas. It was Lucas, the quiet fellow, who had loved Nadina so deeply.

“How did it come about?” I asked.

“We were both reckless⁠—anxious to get killed. One night we exchanged identification discs⁠—for luck! Lucas was killed the next day⁠—blown to pieces.”

I shuddered.

“But why didn’t you tell me now? This morning? You couldn’t have doubted my caring for you by this time?”

“Anne, I didn’t want to spoil it all. I wanted to take you back to the island. What’s the good of money? It can’t buy happiness. We’d have been happy on the island. I tell you I’m afraid of that other life⁠—it nearly rotted me through once.”

“Did Sir Eustace know who you really were?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And Carton?”

“No. He saw us both with Nadina at Kimberley one night, but he didn’t know which was which. He accepted my statement that I was Lucas, and Nadina was deceived by his cable. She was never afraid of Lucas. He was a quiet chap⁠—very deep. But I always had the devil’s own temper. She’d have been scared out of her life if she’d known that I’d come to life again.”

“Harry, if Colonel Race hadn’t told me, what did you mean to do?”

“Say nothing. Go on as Lucas.”

“And your father’s millions?”

“Race was welcome to them. Anyway, he would make a better use of them than I ever shall. Anne, what are you thinking about? You’re frowning so.”

“I’m thinking,” I said slowly, “that I almost wish Colonel Race hadn’t made you tell me.”

“No. He was right. I owed you the truth.”

He paused, then said suddenly:

“You know, Anne, I’m jealous of Race. He loves you too⁠—and he’s a bigger man than I am or ever shall be.”

I turned to him, laughing.

“Harry, you idiot. It’s you I want⁠—and that’s all that matters.”

As soon as possible we started for Cape Town. There Suzanne was waiting to greet me, and we disembowelled the big giraffe together. When the revolution was finally quelled, Colonel Race came down to Cape Town and at his suggestion the big villa at Muizenberg that had belonged to Sir Lawrence Eardsley was reopened and we all took up our abode in it.

There we made our plans. I was to return to England with Suzanne and to be married from her house in London. And the trousseau was to be bought in Paris! Suzanne enjoyed planning all these details enormously. So did I. And yet the future seemed curiously unreal. And sometimes, without knowing why, I felt absolutely stifled⁠—as though I couldn’t breathe.

It was the night before we were to sail. I couldn’t sleep. I was miserable, and I didn’t know why. I hated leaving Africa. When I came back to it, would it be the same thing? Would it ever be the same thing again?

And then I was startled by an authoritative rap on the shutter. I sprang up. Harry was on the stoep outside.

“Put some clothes on, Anne, and come out. I want to speak to you.”

I huddled on a few garments, and stepped out into the cool night air⁠—still and scented, with its velvety feel. Harry beckoned me out of earshot of the house. His face looked pale and determined and his eyes were blazing.

“Anne, do you remember saying to me once that women enjoyed doing the things they disliked for the sake of someone they liked?”

“Yes,” I said, wondering what was coming.

He caught me in his arms.

“Anne, come away with me⁠—now⁠—tonight. Back to Rhodesia⁠—back to the island. I can’t stand all this tomfoolery. I can’t wait for you any longer.”

I disengaged myself a minute.

“And what about my French frocks?” I lamented mockingly.

To this day Harry never knows when I’m in earnest and when I’m only teasing him.

“Damn your French frocks. Do you think I want to put frocks on you? I’m a damned sight more likely to want to tear them off you. I’m not going to let you go, do you hear? You’re my woman. If I let you go away, I may lose you. I’m never sure of you. You’re coming with me now⁠—tonight⁠—and damn everybody.”

He held me to him, kissing me until I could hardly breathe.

“I can’t do without you any longer, Anne. I can’t indeed. I hate all this money. Let Race have it. Come on. Let’s go.”

“My toothbrush?” I demurred.

“You can buy one. I know I’m a lunatic, but for God’s sake, come!”

He stalked off at a furious pace. I followed him as meekly as the Barotsi woman I had observed at the falls. Only I wasn’t carrying a frying pan on my head. He walked so fast that it was very difficult to keep up with him.

“Harry,” I said at last, in a meek voice, “are we going to walk all the way to Rhodesia?”

He turned suddenly and with a great shout of laughter gathered me up in his arms.

“I’m mad, sweetheart, I know it. But I do love you so.”

“We’re a couple of lunatics. And, oh, Harry, you never asked me, but I’m not making a sacrifice at all! I wanted to come!”

XXXVI

That was two years ago. We still live on the island. Before me, on the rough wooden table, is the letter that Suzanne wrote me.

Dear Babes in the Wood⁠—Dear Lunatics in Love,

I’m not surprised⁠—not at all. All the time we’ve been talking Paris and frocks I felt that it wasn’t a bit real⁠—that you’d vanish into the blue some day to be married over the tongs in the good old gipsy fashion. But you are a couple of lunatics! This idea of renouncing a vast fortune is absurd. Colonel Race wanted to argue the matter, but I have persuaded him to leave the argument to time. He can administer the estate for Harry⁠—and none better. Because, after all, honeymoons don’t last forever⁠—you’re not here, Anne, so I can safely say that without having you