{"id":2351,"date":"2026-01-03T22:24:44","date_gmt":"2026-01-03T22:24:44","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/elephants-can-remember-christie-agatha\/"},"modified":"2026-01-03T22:24:44","modified_gmt":"2026-01-03T22:24:44","slug":"elephants-can-remember-christie-agatha","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/elephants-can-remember-christie-agatha\/","title":{"rendered":"Elephants Can Remember – Christie, Agatha"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Book Preview<\/h3>\n
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Chapter 1
A Literary Luncheon<\/b><\/h2>\n<\/div>\n
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Mrs Oliver looked at herself in the glass. She gave a brief, sideways look towards the clock on the mantel-piece, which she had some idea was twenty minutes slow. Then she resumed her study of her coiffure. The trouble with Mrs Oliver was \u2013 and she admitted it freely \u2013 that her styles of hairdressing were always being changed. She had tried almost everything in turn. A severe pompadour at one time, then a wind-swept style where you brushed back your locks to display an intellectual brow, at least she hoped the brow was intellectual. She had tried tightly arranged curls, she had tried a kind of artistic disarray. She had to admit that it did not matter very much today what her type of hairdressing was, because today she was going to do what she very seldom did, wear a hat.<\/p>\n

On the top shelf of Mrs Oliver\u2019s wardrobe there reposed four hats. One was definitely allotted to weddings. When you went to a wedding, a hat was a \u2018must\u2019. But even then Mrs Oliver kept two. One, in a round bandbox, was of feathers. It fitted closely to the head and stood up very well to sudden squalls of rain if they should overtake one unexpectedly as one passed from a car to the interior of the sacred edifice, or as so often now a days, a registrar\u2019s office.<\/p>\n

The other, and more elaborate, hat was definitely for attending a wedding held on a Saturday afternoon in summer. It had flowers and chiffon and a covering of yellow net attached with mimosa.<\/p>\n

The other two hats on the shelf were of a more all-purpose character. One was what Mrs Oliver called her \u2018country house hat\u2019, made of tan felt suitable for wearing with tweeds of almost any pattern, with a becoming brim that you could turn up or turn down.<\/p>\n

Mrs Oliver had a cashmere pullover for warmth and a thin pullover for hot days, either of which was suitable in colour to go with this. However, though the pullovers were frequently worn, the hat was practically never worn. Because, really, why put on a hat just to go to the country and have a meal with your friends?<\/p>\n

The fourth hat was the most expensive of the lot and it had extraordinarily durable advantages about it. Possibly, Mrs Oliver sometimes thought, because it was so expensive. It consisted of a kind of turban of various layers of contrasting velvets, all of rather becoming pastel shades which would go with anything.<\/p>\n

Mrs Oliver paused in doubt and then called for assistance.<\/p>\n

\u2018Maria,\u2019 she said, then louder, \u2018Maria. Come here a minute.\u2019<\/p>\n

Maria came. She was used to being asked to give advice on what Mrs Oliver was thinking of wearing.<\/p>\n

\u2018Going to wear your lovely smart hat, are you?\u2019 said Maria.<\/p>\n

\u2018Yes,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver. \u2018I wanted to know whether you think it looks best this way or the other way round.\u2019<\/p>\n

Maria stood back and took a look. <\/p>\n

\u2018Well, that\u2019s back to front you\u2019re wearing it now, isn\u2019t it?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Yes, I know,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver. \u2018I know that quite well. But I thought somehow it looked better that way.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh, why should it?\u2019 said Maria. <\/p>\n

\u2018Well, it\u2019s meant, I suppose. But it\u2019s got to be meant by me as well as the shop that sold it,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver.<\/p>\n

\u2018Why do you think it\u2019s better the wrong way round?\u2019 <\/p>\n

\u2018Because you get that lovely shade of blue and the dark brown, and I think that looks better than the other way which is green with the red and the chocolate colour.\u2019<\/p>\n

At this point Mrs Oliver removed the hat, put it on again and tried it wrong way round, right way round and sideways, which both she and Maria disapproved of.<\/p>\n

\u2018You can\u2019t have it the wide way. I mean, it\u2019s wrong for your face, isn\u2019t it? It\u2019d be wrong for anyone\u2019s face.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018No. That won\u2019t do. I think I\u2019ll have it the right way round, after all.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Well, I think it\u2019s safer always,\u2019 said Maria.<\/p>\n

Mrs Oliver took off the hat. Maria assisted her to put on a well cut, thin woollen dress of a delicate puce colour, and helped her to adjust the hat.<\/p>\n

\u2018You look ever so smart,\u2019 said Maria.<\/p>\n

That was what Mrs Oliver liked so much about Maria. If given the least excuse for saying so, she always approved and gave praise.<\/p>\n

\u2018Going to make a speech at the luncheon, are you?\u2019 Maria asked.<\/p>\n

\u2018A speech!\u2019 Mrs Oliver sounded horrified. \u2018No, of course not. You know I never make speeches.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Well, I thought they always did at these here literary luncheons. That\u2019s what you\u2019re going to, isn\u2019t it? Famous writers of 1973 \u2013 or whichever year it is we\u2019ve got to now.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I don\u2019t need to make a speech,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver. \u2018Several other people who like<\/i> doing it will be making speeches, and they are much better at it than I would be.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I\u2019m sure you\u2019d make a lovely speech if you put your mind to it,\u2019 said Maria, adjusting herself to the r\u00f4le of a tempter.<\/p>\n

\u2018No, I shouldn\u2019t,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver. \u2018I know what I can do and I know what I can\u2019t. I can\u2019t make speeches. I get all worried and nervy and I should probably stammer or say the same thing twice. I should not only feel silly, I should probably look silly. Now it\u2019s all right with words. You can write words down or speak them into a machine or dictate them. I can do things with words so long as I know it\u2019s not a speech I\u2019m making.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh well. I hope everything\u2019ll go all right. But I\u2019m sure it will. Quite a grand luncheon, isn\u2019t it?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Yes,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver, in a deeply depressed voice. \u2018Quite a grand luncheon.\u2019<\/p>\n

And why, she thought, but did not say, why on earth am I going to it? She searched her mind for a bit because she always really liked knowing what she was going to do instead of doing it first and wondering why she had done it afterwards.<\/p>\n

\u2018I suppose,\u2019 she said, again to herself and not to Maria, who had had to return rather hurriedly to the kitchen, summoned by a smell of overflowing jam which she happened to have on the stove, \u2018I wanted to see what it felt like. I\u2019m always being asked to literary lunches or something like that and I never go.\u2019<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Mrs Oliver arrived at the last course of the grand luncheon with a sigh of satisfaction as she toyed with the remains of the meringue on her plate. She was particularly fond of meringues and it was a delicious last course in a very delicious luncheon. Nevertheless, when one reached middle age, one had to be careful with meringues. One\u2019s teeth? They looked all right, they had the great advantage that they could not ache, they were white and quite agreeable-looking \u2013 just like the real thing. But it was true enough that they were not<\/i> real teeth. And teeth that were not real teeth \u2013 or so Mrs Oliver believed \u2013 were not really of high class material. Dogs, she had always understood, had teeth of real ivory, but human beings had teeth merely of bone. Or, she supposed, if they were false teeth, of plastic. Anyway, the point was that you mustn\u2019t get involved in some rather shame-making appearance, which false teeth might lead you into. Lettuce was a difficulty, and salted almonds, and such things as chocolates with hard centres, clinging caramels and the delicious stickiness and adherence of meringues. With a sigh of satisfaction, she dealt with the final mouthful. It had been a good lunch, a very good lunch.<\/p>\n

Mrs Oliver was fond of her creature comforts. She had enjoyed the luncheon very much. She had enjoyed the company, too. The luncheon, which had been given to celebrated female writers, had fortunately not been confined to female writers only. There had been other writers, and critics, and those who read books as well as those who wrote them. Mrs Oliver had sat between two very charming members of the male sex. Edwin Aubyn, whose poetry she always enjoyed, an extremely entertaining person who had had various entertaining experiences in his tours abroad, and various literary and personal adventures. Also he was interested in restaurants and food and they had talked very happily about food, and left the subject of literature aside.<\/p>\n

Sir Wesley Kent, on her other side, had also been an agreeable luncheon companion. He had said very nice things about her books, and had had the tact to say things that did not make her feel embarrassed, which many people could do almost without trying. He had mentioned one or two reasons why he had liked one or other of her books, and they had been the right reasons, and therefore Mrs Oliver had thought favourably of him for that reason. Praise from men, Mrs Oliver thought to herself, is always acceptable. It was women who gushed. Some of the things that women wrote to her! Really! Not always women, of course. Sometimes emotional young men from very far away countries. Only last week she had received a fan letter beginning \u2018Reading your book, I feel what a noble woman you must be.\u2019 After reading The Second Goldfish<\/i> he had then gone off into an intense kind of literary ecstasy which was, Mrs Oliver felt, completely unfitting. She was not unduly modest. She thought the detective stories she wrote were quite good of their kind. Some were not so good and some were much better than others. But there was no reason, so far as she could see, to make anyone think that she was a noble woman. She was a lucky woman who had established a happy knack of writing what quite a lot of people wanted to read. Wonderful luck that was, Mrs Oliver thought to herself.<\/p>\n

Well, all things considered, she had got through this ordeal very well. She had quite enjoyed herself, talked to some nice people. Now they were moving to where coffee was being handed round and where you could change partners and chat with other people. This was the moment of danger, as Mrs Oliver knew well. This was now where other women would come and attack her. Attack her with fulsome praise, and where she always felt lamentably inefficient at giving the right answers because there weren\u2019t really any right answers that you could give. It went really rather like a travel book for going abroad with the right phrases.<\/p>\n

Question: \u2018I must<\/i> tell you how very fond I am of reading your books and how wonderful I think they are.\u2019<\/p>\n

Answer from flustered author, \u2018Well, that\u2019s very kind. I am so glad.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018You must understand that I\u2019ve been waiting to meet you for months. It really is wonderful.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh, it\u2019s very nice of you. Very nice indeed.\u2019<\/p>\n

It went on very much like that. Neither of you seemed to be able to talk about anything of outside interest. It had to be all about your books, or the other woman\u2019s books if you knew what her books were. You were in the literary web and you weren\u2019t good at this sort of stuff. Some people could do it, but Mrs Oliver was bitterly aware of not having the proper capacity. A foreign friend of hers had once put her, when she was staying at an embassy abroad, through a kind of course.<\/p>\n

\u2018I listen to you,\u2019 Albertina had said in her charming, low, foreign voice, \u2018I have listened to what you say to that young man who came from the newspaper to interview you. You have not got \u2013 no! you have not got the pride you should have in your work. You should say \u201cYes, I write well. I write better than anyone else who writes detective stories.\u201d\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018But I don\u2019t,\u2019 Mrs Oliver had said at that moment. \u2018I\u2019m not bad, but \u2013\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Ah, do not say \u201cI don\u2019t\u201d like that. You must say you do<\/i>; even if you do not think you do, you ought to say<\/i> you do.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I wish, Albertina,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver, \u2018that you could interview these journalists who come. You would do it so well. Can\u2019t you pretend to be me one day, and I\u2019ll listen behind the door?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Yes, I suppose I could do it. It would be rather fun. But they would know I was not you. They know your face. But you must say \u201cYes, yes, I know that I am better than anyone else.\u201d You must say that to everybody. They should know it. They should announce it. Oh yes \u2013 it is terrible to hear you sitting there and say things as though you apologize<\/i> for what you are. It must not be like that.\u2019<\/p>\n

It had been rather, Mrs Oliver thought, as though she had been a budding actress trying to learn a part, and the director had found her hopelessly bad at taking direction. Well, anyway, there\u2019d be not much difficulty here. There\u2019d be a few waiting females when they all got up from the table. In fact, she could see one or two hovering already. That wouldn\u2019t matter much. She would go and smile and be nice and say \u2018So kind of you. I\u2019m so pleased. One is so glad to know people like one\u2019s books.\u2019 All the stale old things. Rather as you put a hand into a box and took out some useful words already strung together like a necklace of beads. And then, before very long now, she could leave.<\/p>\n

Her eyes went round the table because she might perhaps see some friends there as well as would-be admirers. Yes, she did see in the distance Maurine Grant, who was great fun. The moment came, the literary women and the attendant cavaliers who had also attended the lunch, rose. They streamed towards chairs, towards coffee tables, towards sofas, and confidential corners. The moment of peril, Mrs Oliver often thought of it to herself, though usually at cocktail and not literary parties because she seldom went to the latter. At any moment the danger might arise, as someone whom you did not remember but who remembered you, or someone whom you definitely did not want to talk to but whom you found you could not avoid. In this case it was the first dilemma that came to her. A large woman. Ample proportions, large white champing teeth. What in French could have been called une femme formidable<\/i>, but who definitely had not only the French variety of being formidable, but the English one of being supremely bossy. Obviously she either knew Mrs Oliver, or was intent on making her acquaintance there and then. The last was how it happened to go.<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh, Mrs Oliver,\u2019 she said in a high-pitched voice. \u2018What a pleasure to meet you today. I have wanted to for so long. I simply adore your books. So does my son. And my husband used to insist on never travelling without at least two of your books. But come, do sit down. There are so many things I want to ask you about.\u2019<\/p>\n

Oh well, thought Mrs Oliver, not my favourite type of woman, this. But as well her as any other.<\/p>\n

She allowed herself to be conducted in a firm way rather as a police officer might have done. She was taken to a settee for two across a corner, and her new friend accepted coffee and placed coffee before her also.<\/p>\n

\u2018There. Now we are settled. I don\u2019t suppose you know my name. I am Mrs Burton-Cox.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh yes,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver, embarrassed, as usual. Mrs Burton-Cox? Did she write books also? No, she couldn\u2019t really remember anything about her. But she seemed to have heard the name. A faint thought came to her. A book on politics, something like that? Not fiction, not fun, not crime. Perhaps a high-brow intellectual with political bias? That ought to be easy, Mrs Oliver thought with relief. I can just let her talk and say \u2018How interesting!\u2019 from time to time.<\/p>\n

\u2018You\u2019ll be very surprised, really, at what I\u2019m going to say,\u2019 said Mrs Burton-Cox. \u2018But I have felt, from reading your books, how sympathetic you are, how much you understand of human nature. And I feel that if there is anyone who can give me an answer to the question I want to ask, you will be the one to do so.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I don\u2019t think, really . . .\u2019 said Mrs Oliver, trying to think of suitable words to say that she felt very uncertain of being able to rise to the heights demanded of her.<\/p>\n

Mrs Burton-Cox dipped a lump of sugar in her coffee and crunched it in a rather carnivorous way, as though it was a bone. Ivory teeth, perhaps, thought Mrs Oliver vaguely. Ivory? Dogs had ivory, walruses had ivory and elephants had ivory, of course. Great big tusks of ivory. Mrs Burton-Cox was saying:<\/p>\n

\u2018Now the first thing I must ask you \u2013 I\u2019m pretty sure I am right, though \u2013 you have a goddaughter, haven\u2019t you? A goddaughter who\u2019s called Celia Ravenscroft?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver, rather pleasurably surprised. She felt she could deal perhaps with a goddaughter. She had a good many goddaughters \u2013 and godsons, for that matter. There were times, she had to admit as the years were growing upon her, when she couldn\u2019t remember them all. She had done her duty in due course, one\u2019s duty being to send toys to your god-children at Christmas in their early years, to visit them and their parents, or to have them visit you during the course of their upbringing, to take the boys out from school perhaps, and the girls also. And then, when the crowning days came, either the twenty-first birthday at which a godmother must do the right thing and let it be acknowledged to be done, and do it handsomely, or else marriage which entailed the same type of gift and a financial or other blessing. After that godchildren rather receded into the middle or far distance. They married or went abroad to foreign countries, foreign embassies, or taught in foreign schools or took up social projects. Anyway, they faded little by little out of your life. You were pleased to see them if they suddenly, as it were, floated up on the horizon again. But you had to remember to think when you had seen them last, whose daughters they were, what link had led to your being chosen as a godmother.<\/p>\n

\u2018Celia Ravenscroft,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver, doing her best. \u2018Yes, yes, of course. Yes, definitely.\u2019<\/p>\n

Not that any picture rose before her eyes of Celia Ravenscroft, not, that is, since a very early time. The christening. She\u2019d gone to Celia\u2019s christening and had found a very nice Queen Anne silver strainer as a christening present. Very nice. Do nicely for straining milk and would also be the sort of thing a god-daughter could always sell for a nice little sum if she wanted ready money at any time. Yes, she remembered the strainer very well indeed. Queen Anne \u2013 Seventeen-eleven it had been. Britannia mark. How much easier it was to remember silver coffee-pots or strainers or christening mugs than it was the actual child.<\/p>\n

\u2018Yes,\u2019 she said, \u2018yes, of course. I\u2019m afraid I haven\u2019t seen Celia for a very long time now.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Ah yes. She is, of course, a rather impulsive girl,\u2019 said Mrs Burton-Cox. \u2018I mean, she\u2019s changed her ideas very often. Of course, very intellectual, did very well at university, but \u2013 her political notions \u2013 I suppose all young people have political notions nowadays.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I\u2019m afraid I don\u2019t deal much with politics,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver, to whom politics had always been anathema.<\/p>\n

\u2018You see, I\u2019m going to confide in you. I\u2019m going totell you exactly what it is I want to know. I\u2019m sure you won\u2019t mind. I\u2019ve heard from so many people how kind you are, how willing always.\u2019<\/p>\n

I wonder if she\u2019s going to try and borrow money from me, thought Mrs Oliver, who had known many interviews that began with this kind of approach.<\/p>\n

\u2018You see, it is a matter of the greatest moment to me. Something that I really feel I must<\/i> find out. Celia, you see, is going to marry \u2013 or thinks she is going tomarry \u2013 my son, Desmond.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh, indeed!\u2019 said Mrs Oliver. <\/p>\n

\u2018At least, that is their idea at present. Of course, one has to know about people, and there\u2019s something I want very much to know. It\u2019s an extraordinary thing to ask anyone and I couldn\u2019t go \u2013 well, I mean, I couldn\u2019t very well go and ask a stranger, but I don\u2019t feel you are a stranger, dear Mrs Oliver.\u2019<\/p>\n

Mrs Oliver thought, I wish you did. She was getting nervous now. She wondered if Celia had had an illegitimate baby or was going to have an illegitimate baby, and whether she, Mrs Oliver, was supposed to know about it and give details. That would be very awkward. On the other hand, thought Mrs Oliver, I haven\u2019t seen her now for five or six years and she must be about twenty-five or -six, so it would be quite easy to say I don\u2019t know anything.<\/p>\n

Mrs Burton-Cox leaned forward and breathed hard. \u2018I want you to tell me because I\u2019m sure you must know or perhaps have a very good idea how it all came about. Did her mother kill her father or was it the father who killed the mother?\u2019<\/p>\n

Whatever Mrs Oliver had expected, it was certainly not that. She stared at Mrs Burton-Cox unbelievingly.<\/p>\n

\u2018But I don\u2019t \u2013\u2019 She stopped. \u2018I \u2013 I can\u2019t understand. I mean \u2013 what reason \u2013\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Dear Mrs Oliver, you must know<\/i> . . . I mean, such a famous case . . . Of course, I know it\u2019s a long time ago now, well, I suppose ten \u2013 twelve years at least, but it did cause a lot of attention at the time. I\u2019m sure you\u2019ll remember, you must<\/i> remember.\u2019<\/p>\n

Mrs Oliver\u2019s brain was working desperately. Celia was her goddaughter. That was quite true. Celia\u2019s mother \u2013 yes, of course. Celia\u2019s mother had been Molly Preston-Grey, who had been a friend of hers, though not a particularly intimate one, and of course she had married a man in the Army, yes \u2013 what was his name \u2013 Sir Something Ravenscroft. Or was he an ambassador? Extraordinary, one couldn\u2019t remember these things. She couldn\u2019t even remember whether she herself had been Molly\u2019s bridesmaid. She thought she had. Rather a smart wedding at the Guards Chapel or something like that. But one did<\/i> forget so. And after that she hadn\u2019t met them for years \u2013 they\u2019d been out somewhere \u2013 in the Middle East? In Persia? In Iraq? One time in Egypt? Malaya? Very occasionally, when they had been visiting England, she met them again. But they\u2019d been like one of those photographs that one takes and looks at. One knows the people vaguely who are in it but it\u2019s so faded that you really can\u2019t recognize them or remember who they were. And she couldn\u2019t remember now whether Sir Something Ravenscroft and Lady Ravenscroft, born Molly Preston-Grey, had entered much into her life. She didn\u2019t think so. But then . . . Mrs Burton-Cox was still looking at her. Looking at her as though disappointed in her lack of savoir-faire<\/i>, her inability to remember what had evidently been a cause c\u00e9l\u00e8bre<\/i>.<\/p>\n

\u2018Killed? You mean \u2013 an accident?\u2019 <\/p>\n

\u2018Oh no. Not an accident. In one of those houses by the sea. Cornwall, I think. Somewhere where there were rocks. Anyway, they had a house down there. And they were both found on the cliff there and they\u2019d been shot, you know. But there was nothing really by which the police could tell whether the wife shot the husband and then shot herself, or whether the husband shot the wife and then shot himself. They went into the evidence of the \u2013 you know \u2013 of the bullets and the various things, but it was very difficult. They thought it might be a suicide pact and \u2013 I forget what the verdict was. Something \u2013 it could have been misadventure or something like that. But of course everyone knew it must have been meant<\/i>, and there were a lot of stories that went about, of course, at the time \u2013\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Probably all invented ones,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver hopefully, trying to remember even one of the stories if she could.<\/p>\n

\u2018Well, maybe. Maybe. It\u2019s very hard to say, I know. There were tales of a quarrel either that day or before, there was some talk of another man, and then of course there was the usual talk about some other woman. And one never knows which way it was about. I think things were hushed up a good deal because General Ravenscroft\u2019s position was rather a high one, and I think it was said that he\u2019d been in a nursing home that year, and he\u2019d been very run down or something, and that he really didn\u2019t know what he was doing.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I\u2019m really afraid,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver, speaking firmly, \u2018that I must say that I don\u2019t know anything about it. I do remember, now you mention it, that there was such a case, and I remember the names and that I knew the people, but I never knew what happened or anything at all about it. And I really don\u2019t think I have the least idea . . .\u2019<\/p>\n

And really, thought Mrs Oliver, wishing she was brave enough to say it, how on earth you<\/i> have the impertinence to ask me such a thing I don\u2019t know.<\/p>\n

\u2018It\u2019s very important that I should know,\u2019 Mrs Burton-Cox said.<\/p>\n

Her eyes, which were rather like hard marbles, started to snap.<\/p>\n

\u2018It\u2019s important, you see, because of my boy, my dear boy wanting to marry Celia.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I\u2019m afraid I can\u2019t help you,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver. \u2018I\u2019ve never heard anything.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018But you must<\/i> know,\u2019 said Mrs Burton-Cox. \u2018I mean, you write these wonderful stories, you know all about crime. You know who commits crimes and why they do it, and I\u2019m sure that all sorts of people will tell you the story behind the story, as one so much thinks of these things.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I don\u2019t know anything,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver, in a voice which no longer held very much politeness, and definitely now spoke in tones of distaste.<\/p>\n

\u2018But you do see that really one doesn\u2019t know who to go to ask about it? I mean, one couldn\u2019t go to the police after all these years, and I don\u2019t suppose they\u2019d tell you anyway because obviously they were trying to hush it up. But I feel it\u2019s important to get the truth<\/i>.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I only write books,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver coldly. \u2018They are entirely fictional. I know nothing personally about crime and have no opinions on criminology. So I\u2019m afraid I can\u2019t help you in any<\/i> way.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018But you could ask your goddaughter. You could ask Celia.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Ask Celia!\u2019 Mrs Oliver stared again. \u2018I don\u2019t see how I could do that<\/i>. She was \u2013 why, I think she must have been quite a child when this tragedy happened.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh, I expect she knew all about it, though,\u2019 said Mrs Burton-Cox. \u2018Children always know everything. And she\u2019d tell you. I\u2019m sure she\u2019d tell you<\/i>.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018You\u2019d better ask her yourself, I should think,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver.<\/p>\n

\u2018I don\u2019t think I could really do that,\u2019 said Mrs Burton-Cox. \u2018I don\u2019t think, you know, that Desmond would like it. You know he\u2019s rather \u2013 well, he\u2019s rather touchy where Celia is concerned and I really don\u2019t think that \u2013 no \u2013 I\u2019m sure she\u2019d tell you.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I really shouldn\u2019t dream of asking her,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver. She made a pretence of looking at her watch. \u2018Oh dear,\u2019 she said, \u2018what a long time we\u2019ve been over this delightful lunch. I must run now, I have a very important appointment. Goodbye, Mrs \u2013 er \u2013 Bedley-Cox, so sorry I can\u2019t help you but these things are rather delicate and \u2013 does it really make any difference anyway, from your point of view?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh, I think it makes all<\/i> the difference.\u2019<\/p>\n

At that moment, a literary figure whom Mrs Oliver knew well drifted past. Mrs Oliver jumped up to catch her by the arm.<\/p>\n

\u2018Louise, my dear, how lovely to see you. I hadn\u2019t noticed you were here.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh, Ariadne, it\u2019s a long time since I\u2019ve seen you<\/i>. You\u2019ve grown a lot thinner, haven\u2019t you?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018What nice things you always say to me,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver, engaging her friend by the arm and retreating from the settee. \u2018I\u2019m rushing away because I\u2019ve got an appointment.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I suppose you got tied up with that awful woman, didn\u2019t you?\u2019 said her friend, looking over her shoulder at Mrs Burton-Cox.<\/p>\n

\u2018She was asking me the most extraordinary questions,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver.<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh. Didn\u2019t you know how to answer them?\u2019 <\/p>\n

\u2018No. They weren\u2019t any of my business anyway. I didn\u2019t know anything about them. Anyway, I wouldn\u2019t have wanted to answer them.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Was it about anything interesting?\u2019 <\/p>\n

\u2018I suppose,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver, letting a new idea come into her head. \u2018I suppose it might be interesting, only \u2013\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018She\u2019s getting up to chase you,\u2019 said her friend. \u2018Come along. I\u2019ll see you get out and give you a lift to anywhere you want to go if you haven\u2019t got your car here.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I never take my car about in London, it\u2019s so awful to park.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I know it is. Absolutely deadly.\u2019<\/p>\n

Mrs Oliver made the proper goodbyes. Thanks, words of greatly expressed pleasure, and presently was being driven round a London square.<\/p>\n

\u2018Eaton Terrace, isn\u2019t it?\u2019 said the kindly friend. \u2018Yes,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver, \u2018but where I\u2019ve got to go now is \u2013 I think it\u2019s Whitefriars Mansions. I can\u2019t quite remember the name of it, but I know where it is.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh, flats. Rather modern ones. Very square and geometrical.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018That\u2019s right,\u2019 said Mrs Oliver.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Read the full book by downloading it below.<\/p>\n

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Book Preview Chapter 1 A Literary Luncheon Mrs Oliver looked at herself in the glass. She gave a brief, sideways look towards the clock on the mantel-piece, which she had some idea was twenty minutes slow. Then she resumed her study of her coiffure. The trouble with Mrs Oliver was \u2013 and she admitted it … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2350,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[142],"class_list":["post-2351","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-agatha-christie"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2351","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2351"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2351\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2350"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2351"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2351"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2351"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}