Смерть на Ниле / Death on the Nile

’

Again flushing, Simon said:

‘I suppose Jackie told you that I’d only married Linnet for her money? Well, that’s a damned lie! I wouldn’t marry any woman for money! What Jackie doesn’t understand is that it’s difficult for a fellow when – when – a woman cares for him as she cared for me.’

‘Ah?’

Poirot looked up sharply.

Simon blundered on.

‘It – it – sounds a caddish thing to say, but Jackie was too fond of me!’

‘Une qui aime et un qui se laisse aimer,’ murmured Poirot.

‘Eh? What’s that you say? You see, a man doesn’t want to feel that a woman cares more for him than he does for her.

’ His voice grew warm as he went on. ‘He doesn’t want to feel owned, body and soul. It’s that damned possessive attitude! This man is mine – he belongs to me! That’s the sort of thing I can’t stick – no man could stick! He wants to get away – to get free. He wants to own his woman – he doesn’t want her to own him.’

He broke off, and with fingers that trembled slightly he lit a cigarette.

Poirot said:

‘And it is like that that you felt with Mademoiselle Jacqueline?’

‘Eh?’ Simon stared and then admitted: ‘Er – yes – well, yes, as a matter of fact I did.

She doesn’t realize that, of course. And it’s not the sort of thing I could ever tell her. But I was feeling restless – and then I met Linnet, and she just swept me off my feet! I’d never seen anything so lovely. It was all so amazing. Everyone kowtowing to her – and then her singling out a poor chump like me.’

His tone held boyish awe and astonishment.

‘I see,’ said Poirot. He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes – I see.’

‘Why can’t Jackie take it like a man?’ demanded Simon resentfully.

A very faint smile twitched Poirot’s upper lip.

‘Well, you see, Monsieur Doyle, to begin with she is not a man.’

‘No, no – but I meant take it like a good sport! After all, you’ve got to take your medicine when it comes to you. The fault’s mine, I admit. But there it is! If you no longer care for a girl, it’s simply madness to marry her.

And now that I see what Jackie’s really like and the lengths she is likely to go to, I feel I’ve had rather a lucky escape.’

‘The lengths she is likely to go to,’ Poirot repeated thoughtfully. ‘Have you an idea, Monsieur Doyle, what those lengths are?’

Simon looked at him rather startled.

‘No – at least, what do you mean?’

‘You know she carries a pistol about with her?’

Simon frowned, then shook his head.

‘I don’t believe she’ll use that – now.