Hercule Poirot’s Christmas. Agatha Christie

down and became a pillar of society.’

      He cackled with sudden laughter.

      His daughter-in-law sat silently smiling with polite attention.

      Alfred said:

      ‘What’s this, Father, about two extra being expected for Christmas?’

      ‘Ah, that! Yes, I must tell you about that. It’s going to be a grand Christmas for me this year—a grand Christmas. Let me see, George is coming and Magdalene—’

      Lydia said:

      ‘Yes, they are arriving tomorrow by the five-twenty.’

      Old Simeon said:

      ‘Poor stick, George! Nothing but a gasbag! Still, he is my son.’

      Alfred said:

      ‘His constituents like him.’

      Simeon cackled again.

      ‘They probably think he’s honest. Honest! There never was a Lee who was honest yet.’

      ‘Oh, come now, Father.’

      ‘I except you, my boy. I except you.’

      ‘And David?’ asked Lydia.

      ‘David now. I’m curious to see the boy after all these years. He was a namby-pamby youngster. Wonder what his wife is like? At any rate he hasn’t married a girl twenty years younger than himself, like that fool George!’

      ‘Hilda wrote a very nice letter,’ said Lydia. ‘I’ve just had a wire from her confirming it and saying they are definitely arriving tomorrow.’

      Her father-in-law looked at her, a keen, penetrating glance.

      He laughed.

      ‘I never get any change out of Lydia,’ he said. ‘I’ll say this for you, Lydia, you’re a well-bred woman. Breeding tells. I know that well enough. A funny thing, though, heredity. There’s only one of you that’s taken after me—only one out of all the litter.’

      His eyes danced.

      ‘Now guess who’s coming for Christmas. I’ll give you three guesses and I’ll bet you a fiver you won’t get the answer.’

      He looked from one face to the other. Alfred said frowning:

      ‘Horbury said you expected a young lady.’

      ‘That intrigued you—yes, I dare say it did. Pilar will be arriving any minute now. I gave orders for the car to go and meet her.’

      Alfred said sharply:

      ‘Pilar?’

      Simeon said:

      ‘Pilar Estravados. Jennifer’s girl. My granddaughter. I wonder what she’ll be like.’

      Alfred cried out:

      ‘Good heavens, Father, you never told me…’

      The old man was grinning.

      ‘No, I thought I’d keep it a secret! Got Charlton to write out and fix things.’

      Alfred repeated, his tone hurt and reproachful:

      ‘You never told me…’

      His father said, still grinning wickedly:

      ‘It would have spoilt the surprise! Wonder what it will be like to have young blood under this roof again? I never saw Estravados. Wonder which the girl takes after—her mother or her father?’

      ‘Do you really think it’s wise, Father,’ began Alfred. ‘Taking everything into consideration—’

      The old man interrupted him.

      ‘Safety—safety—you play for safety too much, Alfred! Always have! That hasn’t been my way! Do what you want and be damned to it! That’s what I say! The girl’s my granddaughter—the only grandchild in the family! I don’t care what her father was or what he did! She’s my flesh and blood! And she’s coming to live here in my house.’

      Lydia said sharply: ‘She’s coming to live here?’

      He darted a quick look at her. ‘Do you object?’

      She shook her head. She said smiling:

      ‘I couldn’t very well object to your asking someone to your own house, could I? No, I was wondering about—her.’

      ‘About her—what d’you mean?’

      ‘Whether she would be happy here.’

      Old Simeon flung up his head.

      ‘She’s not got a penny in the world. She ought to be thankful!’

      Lydia shrugged her shoulders.

      Simeon turned to Alfred:

      ‘You see? It’s going to be a grand Christmas! All my children round me. All my children! There, Alfred, there’s your clue. Now guess who the other visitor is.’

      Alfred stared at him.

      ‘All my children! Guess, boy! Harry, of course! Your brother Harry!’

      Alfred had gone very pale. He stammered:

      ‘Harry—not Harry—’

      ‘Harry himself!’

      ‘But we thought he was dead!’

      ‘Not he!’

      ‘You—you are having him back here? After everything?’

      ‘The prodigal son, eh? You’re right. The fatted calf! We must kill the fatted calf, Alfred. We must give him a grand welcome.’

      Alfred said:

      ‘He treated you—all of us—disgracefully. He—’

      ‘No need to recite his crimes! It’s a long list. But Christmas, you’ll remember, is the season of forgiveness! We’ll welcome the prodigal home.’

      Alfred rose. He murmured:

      ‘This has been—rather a shock. I never dreamt that Harry would ever come inside these walls again.’

      Simeon leaned forward.

      ‘You never liked Harry, did you?’ he said softly.

      ‘After the way he behaved to you—’

      Simeon cackled. He said:

      ‘Ah, but bygones must be bygones. That’s the spirit for Christmas, isn’t it, Lydia?’

      Lydia, too, had gone pale. She said dryly:

      ‘I see that you have thought a good deal about Christmas this year.’

      ‘I want my family round me. Peace and goodwill. I’m an old man. Are you going, my dear?’

      Alfred had hurried out. Lydia paused a moment before following him.

      Simeon nodded his head after the retreating figure.

      ‘It’s upset him. He and Harry never got on. Harry used to jeer at Alfred. Called him old Slow and Sure.’

      Lydia’s lips parted. She was about to speak, then, as she saw the old man’s eager expression, she checked herself. Her self-control, she saw, disappointed him. The perception of that fact enabled her to say:

      ‘The hare and the tortoise. Ah, well, the tortoise wins the race.’

      ‘Not always,’ said Simeon. ‘Not always, my dear Lydia.’

      She said, still smiling:

      ‘Excuse me, I must go after Alfred. Sudden excitements always upset him.’