While the Light Lasts by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page B

day?’
    â€˜No. I saw your handwriting in the book–Mr and Mrs Cyril Brown.’
    Vivien flushed darkly.
    â€˜Since then,’ continued Clare quietly, ‘I have made inquiries. I find that you were not at Bournemouth that weekend. Your mother never sent for you. Exactly the same thing happened about six weeks previously.’
    Vivien sank down again on the sofa. She burst into furious crying, the crying of a frightened child.
    â€˜What are you going to do?’ she gasped. ‘Are you going to tell Gerald?’
    â€˜I don’t know yet,’ said Clare.
    She felt calm, omnipotent.
    Vivien sat up, pushing the red curls back from her forehead.
    â€˜Would you like to hear all about it?’
    â€˜It would be as well, I think.’
    Vivien poured out the whole story. There was no reticence in her. Cyril ‘Brown’ was Cyril Haviland, a young engineer to whom she had previously been engaged. His health failed, and he lost his job, whereupon he made no bones about jilting the penniless Vivien and marrying a rich widow many years older than himself. Soon afterwards Vivien married Gerald Lee.
    She had met Cyril again by chance. That was the first of many meetings. Cyril, backed by his wife’s money, was prospering in his career, and becoming a well-known figure. It was a sordid story, a story of backstairs meeting, of ceaseless lying and intrigue.
    â€˜I love him so,’ Vivien repeated again and again, with a sudden moan, and each time the words made Clare feel physically sick.
    At last the stammering recital came to an end. Vivien muttered a shamefaced: ‘Well?’
    â€˜What am I going to do?’ asked Clare. ‘I can’t tell you. I must have time to think.’
    â€˜You won’t give me away to Gerald?’
    â€˜It may be my duty to do so.’
    â€˜No, no.’ Vivien’s voice rose to a hysterical shriek. ‘He’ll divorce me. He won’t listen to a word. He’ll find out from that hotel, and Cyril will be dragged into it. And then his wife will divorce him. Everything will go–his career, his health–he’ll be penniless again. He’d never forgive me–never.’
    â€˜If you’ll excuse my saying so,’ said Clare, ‘I don’t think much of this Cyril of yours.’
    Vivien paid no attention.
    â€˜I tell you he’ll hate me–hate me. I can’t bear it. Don’t tell Gerald. I’ll do anything you like, but don’t tell Gerald.’
    â€˜I must have time to decide,’ said Clare gravely. ‘I can’t promise anything off-hand. In the meantime, you and Cyril mustn’t meet again.’
    â€˜No, no, we won’t. I swear it.’
    â€˜When I know what’s the right thing to do,’ said Clare, ‘I’ll let you know.’
    She got up. Vivien went out of the house in a furtive, slinking way, glancing back over her shoulder.
    Clare wrinkled her nose in disgust. A beastly affair. Would Vivien keep her promise not to see Cyril? Probably not. She was weak–rotten all through.
    That afternoon Clare went for a long walk. There was a path which led along the downs. On the left the green hills sloped gently down to the sea far below, while the path wound steadily upward. This walk was known locally as the Edge. Though safe enough if you kept to the path, it was dangerous to wander from it. Those insidious gentle slopes were dangerous. Clare had lost a dog there once. The animal had gone racing over the smooth grass, gaining momentum, had been unable to stop and had gone over the edge of the cliff to be dashed to pieces on the sharp rocks below.
    The afternoon was clear and beautiful. From far below there came the ripple of the sea, a soothing murmur. Clare sat down on the short green turf and stared out over the blue water. She must face this thing clearly. What did she mean to do?
    She thought of Vivien with a kind of disgust. How the girl had crumpled