Смерть на Ниле / Death on the Nile

Mrs Allerton was a good-looking, white-haired woman of fifty. By imparting an expression of pinched severity to her mouth every time she looked at her son, she sought to disguise the fact of her intense affection for him. Even total strangers were seldom deceived by this device and Tim himself saw through it perfectly.

He said:

‘Do you really like Majorca, Mother?’

‘Well-,’ Mrs Allerton considered, ‘it’s cheap.’

‘And cold,’ said Tim with a slight shiver.

He was a tall, thin young man, with dark hair and a rather narrow chest.

His mouth had a very sweet expression, his eyes were sad and his chin was indecisive. He had long delicate hands.

Threatened by consumption some years ago, he had never displayed a really robust physique. He was popularly supposed ‘to write’, but it was understood among his friends that enquiries as to literary output were not encouraged.

‘What are you thinking of, Tim?’

Mrs Allerton was alert. Her bright dark-brown eyes looked suspicious.

Tim Allerton grinned at her:

‘I was thinking of Egypt.’

‘Egypt?’ Mrs Allerton sounded doubtful.

‘Real warmth, darling. Lazy golden sands. The Nile. I’d like to go up the Nile, wouldn’t you?’

‘Oh, I’d like it.’ Her tone was dry. ‘But Egypt’s expensive, my dear. Not for those who have to count the pennies.’

Tim laughed. He rose, stretched himself. Suddenly he looked alive and eager. There was an excited note in his voice.

‘The expense will be my affair.

Yes, darling. A little flutter on the Stock Exchange. With thoroughly satisfactory results. I heard this morning.’

‘This morning?’ said Mrs Allerton sharply. ‘You only had one letter and that-’

She stopped and bit her lip.

Tim looked momentarily undecided whether to be amused or annoyed. Amusement gained the day.

‘And that was from Joanna,’ he finished coolly. ‘Quite right, Mother. What a queen of detectives you’d make! The famous Hercule Poirot would have to look to his laurels if you were about.

’

Mrs Allerton looked rather cross.

‘I just happened to see the handwriting-’

‘And knew it wasn’t that of a stockbroker? Quite right. As a matter of fact it was yesterday I heard from them. Poor Joanna’s handwriting is rather noticeable – sprawls about all over the envelope like an inebriated spider.’

‘What does Joanna say? Any news?’

Mrs Allerton strove to make her voice sound casual and ordinary.