Смерть на Ниле / Death on the Nile

’

Jacqueline sat up suddenly in her chair. Words poured from her rapidly in a soft hissing stream.

‘You’re afraid of a scene, aren’t you? That’s because you’re so English – so reticent! You want me to behave “decently”, don’t you? But I don’t care whether I behave decently or not! You’d better get out of here quickly – because I’m going to talk – a lot.’

Jim Fanthorp carefully shut his book, yawned, glanced at his watch, got up and strolled out. It was a very British and utterly unconvincing performance.

Jacqueline swung round in her chair and glared at Simon.

‘You damned fool,’ she said thickly, ‘do you think you can treat me as you have done and get away with it?’

Simon Doyle opened his lips, then shut them again. He sat quite still as though he were hoping that her outburst would exhaust itself if he said nothing to provoke her further.

Jacqueline’s voice came thick and blurred. It fascinated Cornelia, totally unused to naked emotions of any kind.

‘I told you,’ said Jacqueline, ‘that I’d kill you sooner than see you go to another woman… You don’t think I meant that? You’re wrong. I’ve only been – waiting! You’re my man! Do you hear? You belong to me…’

Still half did not speak. Jacqueline’s hand fumbled a moment or two on her lap. She leant forward.

‘I told you I’d kill you and I meant it…’ Her hand came up suddenly with something in it that flashed and gleamed. ‘I’ll shoot you like a dog – like the dirty dog you are…’

Now at last Simon acted.

He sprang to his feet, but at the same moment she pulled the trigger…

Simon half twisted – fell across a chair… Cornelia screamed and rushed to the door. Jim Fanthorp was on the deck leaning over the rail. She called to him.

‘Mr Fanthorp… Mr Fanthorp…’

He ran to her; she clutched at him incoherently…

‘She’s shot him – Oh! She’s shot him…’

Simon Doyle still lay as he had fallen half into and across a chair… Jacqueline stood as though paralysed.

She was trembling violently, and her eyes, dilated and frightened, were staring at the crimson stain slowly soaking through Simon’s trouser leg just below the knee where he held a handkerchief close against the wound.

She stammered out:

‘I didn’t mean… Oh, my God, I didn’t really mean…’

The pistol dropped from her nervous fingers with a clatter on the floor. She kicked it away with her foot. It slid under one of the settees.