Towards Zero by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page A

thing.”
    â€œIt sounds,” said Mr. Treves, “as though it would solve my problem perfectly. And I should enjoy renewing my acquaintance with Lady Tressilian.”
    July 28th
    Kay Strange, dressed in shorts, and a canary-coloured woolly, was leaning forward watching the tennis players. It was the semifinal of the St. Loo tournament, men’s singles, and Nevile was playing young Merrick, who was regarded as the coming star in the tennis firmament. His brilliance was undeniable—some of his serves quite unreturnable—but he occasionally struck a wild patch when the older man’s experience and court crafts won the day.
    The score was three all in the final set.
    Slipping on to a seat next to Kay, Ted Latimer observed in a lazy ironic voice:
    â€œDevoted wife watches her husband slash his way to victory!”
    Kay started.
    â€œHow you startled me. I didn’t know you were there.”
    â€œI am always there. You should know that by this time.”
    Ted Latimer was twenty-five and extremely good-looking—even though unsympathetic old colonels were wont to say of him:
    â€œTouch of the Dago!”
    He was dark and beautifully sunburnt and a wonderful dancer.
    His dark eyes could be very eloquent, and he managed his voice with the assurance of an actor. Kay had known him since she was fifteen. They had oiled and sunned themselves at Juan les Pins, had danced together and played tennis together. They had been not only friends but allies.
    Young Merrick was serving from the left-hand court. Nevile’s return was unplayable, a superb shot to the extreme corner.
    â€œNevile’s backhand is good,” said Ted. “It’s better than his forehand. Merrick’s weak on the backhand and Nevile knows it. He’s going to pound at it all he knows how.”
    The game ended. “Four three—Strange leads.”
    He took the next game on his service. Young Merrick was hitting out wildly.
    â€œFive three.”
    â€œGood for Nevile,” said Latimer.
    And then the boy pulled himself together. His play became cautious. He varied the pace of his shots.
    â€œHe’s got a head on him,” said Ted. “And his footwork is first-class. It’s going to be a fight.”
    Slowly the boy pulled up to five all. They went to seven all, and Merrick finally won the match at nine seven.
    Nevile came up to the net, grinning and shaking his head ruefully, to shake hands.
    â€œYouth tells,” said Ted Latimer. “Nineteen against thirty-three. But I can tell you the reason, Kay, why Nevile has never been actual championship class. He’s too good a loser.”
    â€œNonsense.”
    â€œIt isn’t. Nevile, blast him, is always the complete good sportsman. I’ve never seen him lose his temper over losing a match.”
    â€œOf course not,” said Kay. “People don’t.”
    â€œOh yes, they do! We’ve all seen them. Tennis stars who give way to nerves—and who damn’ well snatch every advantage. But old Nevile—he’s always ready to take the count and grin. Let the best man win and all that. God, how I hate the public school spirit! Thank the lord I never went to one.”
    Kay turned her head.
    â€œBeing rather spiteful, aren’t you?”
    â€œPositively feline!”
    â€œI wish you wouldn’t make it so clear you don’t like Nevile.”
    â€œWhy should I like him? He pinched my girl.”
    His eyes lingered on her.
    â€œI wasn’t your girl. Circumstances forbade.”
    â€œQuite so. Not even the proverbial tuppence a year between us.”
    â€œShut up. I fell in love with Nevile and married him—”
    â€œAnd he’s a jolly good fellow—and so say all of us!”
    â€œAre you trying to annoy me?”
    She turned her head as she asked the question. He smiled—and presently she returned his smile.
    â€œHow’s the summer going, Kay?”
    â€œSo, so.