Closed Casket. Sophie Hannah

off Harry, your favourite child.’

      ‘I do not have a favourite, Claudia, as well you know.’

      ‘Not in the family, no,’ her daughter murmured.

      ‘Golly, this is a bit of a surprise,’ said Harry, wide-eyed. It was the first comment he had made.

      Poirot, I noticed, was as still as a statue.

      Orville Rolfe took the opportunity to jab me in the ribs—if you could call it a jab, from so amply padded an elbow—and say, ‘This chicken is excellent, Catchpool. Superb. Brigid is to be congratulated. Well? Tuck in, I should.’

      I’m afraid I could not persuade myself to reply.

      ‘Isn’t it rather pointless to leave one’s money to someone who is about to die, when one is not likely to die oneself for a good many years?’ Kimpton asked Lady Playford.

      ‘Randall is right,’ said Scotcher. ‘You all know my predicament. Please, Athie, you have been so … There is really no need …’ A complete sentence appeared to be too much for him. He looked ravaged.

      Sophie picked up the chair that Scotcher had knocked to the floor. Having helped him back into a seated position, she handed him the glass of water. ‘Drink as much as you can,’ she urged. ‘You will feel better.’ Scotcher was barely able to hold the glass; Sophie had to help him steer it towards his mouth.

      I found the whole spectacle curious. Of course Lady Playford’s news would come as a shock, but why should it distress Scotcher to such an extent? Would not a puzzled ‘How silly, when I will not live to inherit and we all know it perfectly well’ have been more appropriate to the occasion?

      Dorro stood up. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. She clutched at her dress. ‘Why do you hate me, Athie? You must know that Harry and I are the only ones who will suffer, and I cannot believe you hate your own son! Is this punishment for my failure to bear a child? Claudia doesn’t need your money—she is about to marry into one of the richest families in the world.’

      Kimpton caught me looking at him. He smiled as if to say, ‘Didn’t know, did you? It’s true: I am quite as rich as Dorro makes me out to be.’

      ‘So it must be me that you seek to harm!’ she went on. ‘Harry and me. Have you not cruelly deprived us already of what was rightfully ours? I know it was your doing and not the wish of Harry’s late father, God rest his soul.’

      ‘What nonsense you invent,’ said Lady Playford. ‘Hate you, indeed—rubbish! As for your reference to my late husband’s will, you have, I am afraid, mistaken your own feelings of disappointment for cruelty on my part.’

      Kimpton said, ‘Dorro, surely if Scotcher dies before Athie, everything will go to you and Harry as before. So why worry?’

      ‘Mr Gathercole, is it true what Randall says?’ Dorro asked.

      I was still reflecting upon the mention of the late Viscount Playford’s will. What was the story, I wondered. Even in the midst of this unusual scene and amid the airing of family grievances, one could hardly say to Dorro, ‘What did you mean about Harry’s father’s will?’

      ‘Yes,’ Michael Gathercole confirmed. ‘If Scotcher were to predecease Lady Playford, it would be exactly as if the terms of the old will still applied.’

      ‘You see, Dorro?’ said Kimpton. ‘No need to worry.’

      ‘I wish to understand why this change was made,’ Dorro insisted, still clutching at her dress. She would rip the skirt in a moment if she kept it up. ‘Why leave everything to a man who will soon be rotting in the earth?’

      ‘Oh, now, that was bitter!’ said Scotcher.

      ‘I feel bitter!’ Turning to Lady Playford, Dorro pleaded, ‘What will Harry and I do? How will we manage? You must put this right at once!’

      ‘I for one am glad to have proof at last,’ said Claudia.

      ‘I quite agree that proof at last is the grail,’ said Kimpton. ‘But proof of what, dearest one?’

      ‘Of how little we matter to Mother.’

      ‘Apart from him.’ Dorro jabbed an accusing finger at Scotcher. ‘And he isn’t even family!’

      At that moment, I happened to glance at Gathercole. What I saw caused me nearly to fall off my chair. His face was a deep, mottled red, and his lips trembled. Evidently he struggled to contain a powerful rage, or it might have been great anguish. Never have I seen a man look more likely to explode. No one else appeared to have noticed.

      ‘I’m an old woman, and you, Joseph, are a young man,’ said Lady Playford. ‘I neither wish nor intend to outlive you. I am accustomed to getting what I want, you see. Hence my decision. It is well known among the best doctors that the psychological has a profound influence upon the physical, and so I have given you something to live for—something that many would kill for.’

      ‘Psychology again!’ grumbled Kimpton. ‘Now an improved mood can cure a pair of shrivelled brown kidneys! We doctors are surplus to requirements.’

      ‘You are disgusting, Randall,’ said Dorro. ‘Whatever will our guests think?’

      ‘Is it “shrivelled” and “brown” that you object to?’ Kimpton asked her. ‘Would you mind explaining why those words are more offensive than “rotting in the earth”?’

      ‘Shut up!’ cried Sophie Bourlet. ‘If you could only hear yourselves! You are monsters, the lot of you!’

      ‘It is human nature that is the monster, not anybody at this table,’ said Lady Playford. ‘Tomorrow you will come with me to my doctor, Joseph. There’s none finer. He can cure you if anyone can. Don’t protest! It’s all arranged.’

      ‘But there can be no cure for me. You know this, dear Athie. I have explained.’

      ‘I shall not believe it until I hear it from my own doctor. Not all medical men are equally intelligent and capable, Joseph. It is a profession that risks attracting those who find sickness and weakness attractive.’

      ‘I know what must be done.’ Dorro clapped her hands together. ‘Joseph must make a will naming Harry and Claudia as the beneficiaries. Mr Gathercole, Mr Rolfe, you will assist with this, won’t you? Can it be done, quickly? I don’t see why it should not be done! You evidently do not wish to steal from this family, Joseph—and I believe it would be theft if you were to allow what is rightfully ours to be left to you without putting in place—’

      ‘That is enough, Dorro,’ Lady Playford said firmly. ‘Joseph, please take no notice. Theft! The very idea! It is no such thing.’

      ‘And what of Harry and me? We will starve! We will have nowhere to live! Where will we go? Have you made no provision for us at all? Oh, do not bother to answer! It gives you pleasure, does it not, to see me squirm and beg!’

      ‘What an extraordinary thing to say,’ Lady Playford observed mildly.

      ‘This is about Nicholas!’ Dorro babbled on, wild-eyed. ‘In your mind, you have turned Joseph into Nicholas—your dead little boy, come back to life! The resemblance is quite apparent: both fair-haired and blue-eyed, both weak and sickly. But Nicholas cannot be brought back from the grave by this new will of yours! Nicholas, I am afraid, is stone-cold dead and will remain so!’

      All movement at the table ceased. A few seconds later, without a word, Lady Playford left the dining room, closing the door quietly behind her.

      ‘All those children you never had, Dorro?’ said Kimpton. ‘Lucky blighters, I should say.’

      ‘Indeed,’ said Claudia. ‘Imagine.’

      ‘Mr Gathercole, Mr Rolfe—go after her, please.’ Dorro gestured frantically towards the door. ‘Make her see sense!’