II

When Pilar left the drawing room she walked slowly along the hall. Stephen Farr was coming inthrough the garden door. He said:

“Well? Is the family conclave¹ over? Has the will been read?”

Pilar said, her breath coming fast:

“I have got nothing—nothing at all! It was a will made many years ago. My grandfather leftmoney to my mother, but because she is dead it does not go to me but goes back to them.”

Stephen said:

“That seems rather hard lines.”

Pilar said:

“If that old man had lived, he would have made another will. He would have left money tome—a lot of money! Perhaps in time he would have left me all the money!”

Stephen said, smiling:

“That wouldn’t have been very fair either, would it?”

“Why not? He would have liked me best, that is all.”

Stephen said:

“What a greedy child you are. A real little golddigger.”

Pilar said soberly:

“The world is very cruel to women. They must do what they can for themselves—while theyare young. When they are old and ugly no one will help them.”

Stephen said slowly:

“That’s more true than I like to think. But it isn’t quite true. Alfred Lee, for instance, wasgenuinely fond of his father in spite of the old man being thoroughly² trying and exacting³.”

Pilar’s chin went up.

“Alfred,” she said, “is rather a fool.”

Stephen laughed.

Then he said:

“Well, don’t worry, lovely Pilar. The Lees are bound to look after you, you know.”

Pilar said disconsolately⁴:

“It will not be very amusing, that.”

Stephen said slowly:

“No, I’m afraid it won’t. I can’t see you living here, Pilar. Would you like to come to SouthAfrica?”

Pilar nodded.

Stephen said:

“There’s sun there, and space. There’s hard work too. Are you good at work, Pilar?”

Pilar said doubtfully:

“I do not know.”

He said:

“You’d rather sit on a balcony and eat sweets all day long? And grow enormously fat andhave three double chins?”

Pilar laughed and Stephen said:

“That’s better. I’ve made you laugh.”

Pilar said:

“I thought I should laugh this Christmas! In books I have read that an English Christmas isvery gay, that one eats burning raisins⁵ and there is a plum pudding all in flames, and somethingthat is called a Yule log.”

Stephen said:

“Ah, but you must have a Christmas uncomplicated by murder. Come in here a minute. Lydiatook me in here yesterday. It’s her storeroom.”

He led her into a small room little bigger than a cupboard.

“Look, Pilar, boxes and boxes of crackers⁶, and preserved fruits and oranges and dates andnuts. And here—”

“Oh!” Pilar clasped her hands. “They are pretty, these gold and silver balls.”

“Those were to hang on a tree, with presents for the servants. And here are little snowmen allglittering with frost to put on the dinner table. And here are balloons of every colour all ready toblow up!”

“Oh!” Pilar’s eyes shone. “Oh! can we blow one up? Lydia would not mind. I do loveballoons.”

Stephen said: “Baby! Here, which will you have?”

Pilar said: “I will have a red one.”

They selected their balloons and blew, their cheeks distended⁷. Pilar stopped blowing to laugh,and her balloon went down again.

She said:

“You look so funny—blowing—with your cheeks puffed⁹ out.”

Her laugh rang out. Then she fell to, blowing industriously¹⁰. They tied up their balloonscarefully and began to play with them, patting them upwards¹¹, sending them to and fro.

Pilar said:

“Out in the hall there would be more room.”

They were sending the balloons to each other, and laughing, when Poirot came along the hall.

He regarded them indulgently.

“So you play les jeux d’enfants? It is pretty, that!”

Pilar said breathlessly:

“Mine is the red one. It is bigger than his. Much bigger. If we took it outside it would go rightup in the sky.”

“Let’s send them up and wish,” said Stephen.

“Oh, yes, that is a good idea.”

Pilar ran to the garden door, Stephen followed. Poirot came behind, still looking indulgent.

“I will wish for a great deal of money,” announced Pilar.

She stood on tiptoe, holding the string of the balloon. It tugged¹² gently as a puff⁸ of wind came.

Pilar let go and it floated along, taken by the breeze.

Stephen laughed.

“You mustn’t tell your wish.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t come true. Now, I’m going to wish.”

He released his balloon. But he was not so lucky. It floated sideways, caught on a holly¹³ bushand expired with a bang.

Pilar ran to it.

She announced tragically¹⁴:

“It is gone. .?.?.”

Then, as she stirred the little limp wisp of rubber with her toe, she said:

“So that was what I picked up in Grandfather’s room. He, too, had had a balloon, only hiswas a pink one.”

Poirot gave a sharp exclamation¹⁵. Pilar turned inquiringly.

Poirot said:

“It is nothing. I stabbed—no stubbed—the toe.”

He wheeled round and looked at the house.

He said:

“So many windows! A house, mademoiselle, has its eyes — and its ears. It is indeedregrettable that the English are so fond of open windows.”

Lydia came out on the terrace. She said:

“Lunch is just ready. Pilar, my dear, everything has been settled quite satisfactorily. Alfredwill explain the exact details to you after lunch. Shall we come in?”

They went into the house. Poirot came last. He was looking grave.

 

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