Closed Casket: The New Hercule Poirot Mystery (Hercule Poirot Mystery 2) Read Online Free PDF

one, do not break my heart by reminding me of my most reprehensible mistake. Gentlemen, I was once, momentarily, foolish enough—having gone to great lengths to persuade this extraordinary woman to become my wife—I was foolish enough to doubt my own wishes and—’
    ‘Nobody is interested in your regrets and recriminations, Randall,’ Claudia said, cutting him off. ‘Apart from me—I never tire of hearing of them. And I warn you, you will need to reproach yourself a good deal more in my presence before I agree to set a wedding date.’
    ‘Dearest one, I shall do nothing but reproach, accuse and vilify myself from now until the day I die!’ Kimpton said earnestly, eyes flaring. The two of them might have forgotten entirely that Poirot and I were there.
    ‘Good. Then I see no immediate need to divest myself of you.’ Claudia smiled suddenly, as if she had only ever been teasing him.
    Kimpton seemed to inflate with confidence once again. He took her hand and kissed it. ‘A wedding date
will
be set, my dearest one—and soon!’
    ‘Will it, indeed?’ Claudia laughed merrily. ‘We shall see about that. In any case, I admire your determination. There is no other man on earth who could win me over
twice
. Or, probably, even once.’
    ‘No other man would be as obsessed or devoted as I, my divine dearest one.’
    ‘That I can believe,’ said Claudia. ‘I did not imagine I could ever be induced to wear this ring again, yet here I am, wearing it.’ She took a moment to examine the large diamond on the third finger of her left hand.
    I thought I heard her sigh then, but the sound was masked by that of the door opening a third time. A young maid stood in the doorway. Her fair hair was arranged in a bun that she patted nervously as she spoke. ‘I’m to prepare the room for drinks,’ she muttered.
    Claudia Playford leaned towards me and Poirot and said in a loud whisper, ‘Make sure to sniff before you drink. Phyllis is as scatter-witted as they come. I can’t imagine why we still have her. She wouldn’t know the difference between port and bathwater.’

CHAPTER 4
An Unexpected Admirer
    A phenomenon I have had cause to notice time and again in both my professional and my social life is that when one meets a large group of people all at once, one somehow knows—as if by otherworldly instinct—which of them one will enjoy speaking to and which are worth avoiding.
    So it was that when I returned, after dressing for dinner, to a drawing room full of many more people, I knew instantly that I should endeavour to end up standing next to the lawyer Poirot had described to me, Michael Gathercole. He was taller than even the average tall man, and stood slightly stooped as if to minimize his height.
    Poirot was quite right: Gathercole did indeed look as if his physical self was a cause of discomfort to him. His arms hung restlessly by his sides, and each time he moved even slightly, it looked as if he was trying rather clumsily and impatiently to shake something off—something unfortunate that had attached itself to him, but that no one else could see.
    He was not handsome in the usual sense of the word. His face made me think of a faithful dog that had been kicked too often by its owner and was certain it would happen again. All the same, he looked by far the cleverest of my new acquaintances.
    The other newcomers to the drawing room were also as Poirot had advertised, more or less. Lady Playford was telling a complicated anecdote to nobody in particular as she entered. She made as imposing an impression as I had expected, with a loud, melodic voice and her hair in a sort of coiled leaning tower. After her came the planet-sized lawyer, Orville Rolfe; then Viscount Harry Playford, a blond-haired young man with a flat, square face and an amiable if distant smile—as if he had felt chipper about something once and had been trying ever since to recollect the cause of his good cheer. His wife Dorro was a tall woman with