In another minute the girl had reached them.
Dr Gerard performed the introduction.
‘Miss Boynton, this is M. Hercule Poirot.’
‘Oh.’ She looked at him uncertainly. Her fingers joined together, twined themselves uneasily in and out. The enchanted nymph had come back from the country of enchantment. She was now just an ordinary awkward girl, slightly nervous and ill at ease.
Poirot said: ‘It is a piece of good fortune meeting you here, mademoiselle. I tried to see you in the hotel.’
‘Did you?’
Her smile was vacant. Her fingers began plucking at the belt of her dress. He said gently:
‘Will you walk with me a little way?’
She moved docilely enough, obedient to his whim.
Presently she said, rather unexpectedly, in a queer, hurried voice:
‘You are—you are a detective, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, mademoiselle.’
‘A very well-known detective?’
‘The best detective in the world,’ said Poirot, stating it as a simple truth, no more, no less.
Ginevra Boynton breathed very softly:
‘You have come here to protect me?’
Poirot stroked his moustaches thoughtfully. He said:
‘Are you, then, in danger, mademoiselle?’
‘Yes, yes.’ She looked round with a quick, suspicious glance. ‘I told Dr Gerard about it in Jerusalem. He was very clever. He gave no sign at the time. But he followed me—to that terrible place with the red rocks.’ She shivered. ‘They meant to kill me there. I have to be continually on my guard.’
Poirot nodded gently and indulgently.
Ginevra Boynton said: ‘He is kind—and good. He is in love with me!’
‘Yes?’
‘Oh, yes. He says my name in his sleep…’ Her voice softened—again a kind of trembling, unearthly beauty hovered there. ‘I saw him—lying there turning and tossing—and saying my name…I stole away quietly.’ She paused. ‘I thought, perhaps, he had sent for you? I have a terrible lot of enemies, you know. They are all round me. Sometimes they are disguised.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Poirot gently. ‘But you are safe here—with all your family round you.’
She drew herself up proudly.
‘They are not my family! I have nothing to do with them. I cannot tell you who I really am—that is a great secret. It would surprise you if you knew.’
He said gently: ‘Was your mother’s death a great shock to you, mademoiselle?’
Ginevra stamped her feet.
‘I tell you—she wasn’t my mother! My enemies paid her to pretend she was and to see I did not escape!’
‘Where were you on the afternoon of her death?’
‘I was in the tent…It was hot in there, but I didn’t dare come out…They might have got me…’ She gave a little quiver. ‘One of them—looked into my tent. He was disguised but I knew him. I pretended to be asleep. The Sheikh had sent him. The Sheikh wanted to kidnap me, of course.’
For a few moments Poirot walked in silence, then he said: ‘They are very pretty, these histories you recount to yourself?’
She stopped. She glared at him. ‘They’re true. They’re all true.’ Again she stamped an angry foot.
‘Yes,’ said Poirot, ‘they are certainly ingenious.’
She cried out: ‘They are true—true—’
Then, angrily, she turned from him and ran down the hillside. Poirot stood looking after her. In a minute or two he heard a voice close behind him.
‘What did you say to her?’
Poirot turned to where Dr Gerard, a little out of breath, stood beside him. Sarah was coming towards them both, but she came at a more leisurely pace.
Poirot answered Gerard’s question.
‘I told her,’ he said, ‘that she had imagined to herself some pretty stories.’
The doctor nodded his head thoughtfully.
‘And she was angry? That is a good sign. It shows, you see, that she has not yet completely passed through the door. She still knows that it is not the truth! I shall cure her.’
‘Ah, you are undertaking a cure?’
‘Yes. I have discussed the matter with young Mrs Boynton and her husband. Ginevra will come to Paris and enter one of my clinics. Afterwards she will have her training for the stage.’
‘The stage?’
‘Yes—there is a possibility there for her of great success. And that is what she needs—what she must have! In many essentials she has the same nature as her mother.’
‘No!’ cried Sarah, revolted.
‘It seems impossible to you, but certain fundamental traits are the same. They were both born with a great yearning for importance; they both demand that their personality shall impress! This poor child has been thwarted and suppressed at every turn; she has been given no outlet for her fierce ambition, for her love of life, for the expression of her vivid romantic personality.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘Nous allons changer tout ça!’
Then, with a little bow, he murmured: ‘You will excuse me?’ And he hurried down the hill after the girl.
Sarah said: ‘Dr Gerard is tremendously keen on his job.’
‘I perceive his keenness,’ said Poirot.
Sarah said, with a frown: ‘All the same, I can’t bear his comparing her to that horrible old woman—although, once—I felt sorry for Mrs Boynton myself.’
‘When was that, mademoiselle?’
‘That time I told you about in Jerusalem. I suddenly felt as though I’d got the whole business wrong. You know that feeling one has sometimes when just for a short time you see everything the other way round? I got all het-up about it and went and made a fool of myself!’
‘Oh, no—not that!’
Sarah, as always when she remembered her conversation with Mrs Boynton, was blushing acutely.
‘I felt all exalted as though I had a mission! And then later, when Lady W. fixed a fishy eye on me and said she had seen me talking to Mrs Boynton, I thought she had probably overheard, and I felt the most complete ass.’
Poirot said: ‘What exactly was it that old Mrs Boynton said to you? Can you remember the exact words?’
‘I think so. They made rather an impression on me. “I never forget,” that’s what she said. “Remember that. I’ve never forgotten anything—not an action, not a name, not a face.”’ Sarah shivered. ‘She said it so malevolently—not even looking at me. I feel—I feel as if, even now, I can hear her…’
Poirot said gently: ‘It impressed you very much?’
‘Yes. I’m not easily frightened—but sometimes I dream of her saying just those words and her evil, leering triumphant face. Ugh!’ She gave a quick shiver. Then she turned suddenly to him.
‘M. Poirot, perhaps I ought not to ask, but have you come to a conclusion about this business? Have you found out anything definite?’
‘Yes.’
He saw her lips tremble as she asked, ‘What?’
‘I have found out to whom Raymond Boynton spoke that night in Jerusalem. It was to his sister Carol.’
‘Carol—of course!’
Then she went on: ‘Did you tell him—did you ask him—’
It was no use. She could not go on. Poirot looked at her gravely and compassionately. He said quietly:
‘It means—so much to you, mademoiselle?’
‘It means just everything!’ said Sarah. Then she squared her shoulders. ‘But I’ve got to know.’
Poirot said quietly: ‘He told me that it was a hysterical outburst—no more! That he and his sister were worked up. He told me that in daylight such an idea appeared fantastic to them both.’
‘I see…’
Poirot said gently: ‘Miss Sarah, will you not tell me what it is you fear?’
Sarah turned a white despairing face upon him.
‘That afternoon—we were together. And he left me saying—saying he wanted to do something now—while he had the courage. I thought he meant just to—to tell her. But supposing he meant…’
Her voice died away. She stood rigid, fighting for control.
[Appointment with Death -Agatha Christie] Part 2. Chapter 12