Extract from the Evening Shout:
We regret to announce the death of Lady Westholme, M.P., the result of a tragic accident.
Lady Westholme, who was fond of travelling in out-of-the-way countries, always took a small revolver with her. She was cleaning this when it went off accidentally and killed her. Death was instantaneous. The deepest sympathy will be felt for Lord Westholme, etc., etc.
On a warm June evening five years later Sarah Boynton and her husband sat in the stalls of a London theatre. The play was Hamlet. Sarah gripped Raymond’s arm as Ophelia’s words came floating over the footlights:
How should I your true love know
From another one?
By his cockle hat and staff,
And his sandal shoon.
He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;
At his head a grass-green turf;
At his heels a stone.
O, ho!
A lump rose in Sarah’s throat. That exquisite witless beauty, that lovely unearthly smile of one gone beyond trouble and grief to a region where only a floating mirage was truth…
Sarah said to herself: ‘She’s lovely…’
That haunting, lilting voice, always beautiful in tone, but now disciplined and modulated to be the perfect instrument.
Sarah said with decision as the curtain fell at the end of the act: ‘Jinny’s a great actress—a great—great actress!’
Later they sat round a supper-table at the Savoy. Ginevra, smiling, remote, turned to the bearded man by her side.
‘I was good, wasn’t I, Theodore?’
‘You were wonderful, chérie.’
A happy smile floated on her lips.
She murmured: ‘You always believed in me—you always knew I could do great things—sway multitudes…’
At a table not far away the Hamlet of the evening was saying gloomily:
‘Her mannerisms! Of course people like it just at first—but what I say is, it’s not Shakespeare. Did you see how she ruined my exit?’
Nadine, sitting opposite Ginevra, said: ‘How exciting it is to be here in London with Jinny acting Ophelia and being so famous!’
Ginevra said softly: ‘It was nice of you to come over.’
‘A regular family party,’ said Nadine, smiling as she looked round. Then she said to Lennox: ‘I think the children might go to the matinée, don’t you? They’re quite old enough, and they do so want to see Aunt Jinny on the stage!’
Lennox, a sane, happy-looking Lennox with humorous eyes, lifted his glass.
‘To the newly-weds, Mr and Mrs Cope.’
Jefferson Cope and Carol acknowledged the toast.
‘The unfaithful swain!’ said Carol, laughing. ‘Jeff, you’d better drink to your first love as she’s sitting right opposite you.’
Raymond said gaily: ‘Jeff’s blushing. He doesn’t like being reminded of the old days.’
His face clouded suddenly.
Sarah touched his hand with hers, and the cloud lifted. He looked at her and grinned.
‘Seems just like a bad dream!’
A dapper figure stopped by their table. Hercule Poirot, faultlessly and beautifully apparelled, his moustaches proudly twisted, bowed regally.
‘Mademoiselle,’ he said to Ginevra, ‘mes hommages. You were superb!’
They greeted him affectionately, made a place for him beside Sarah.
He beamed round on them all and when they were all talking he leaned a little sideways and said softly to Sarah:
‘Eh bien, it seems that all marches well now with la famille Boynton!’
‘Thanks to you!’ said Sarah.
‘He becomes very eminent, your husband. I read today an excellent review of his last book.’
‘It’s really rather good—although I say it! Did you know that Carol and Jefferson Cope had made a match of it at last? And Lennox and Nadine have got two of the nicest children—cute, Raymond calls them. As for Jinny—well, I rather think Jinny’s a genius.’
She looked across the table at the lovely face and the red-gold crown of hair, and then she gave a tiny start.
For a moment her face was grave. She raised her glass slowly to her lips.
‘You drink a toast, madame?’ asked Poirot.
Sarah said slowly:
‘I thought—suddenly—of Her. Looking at Jinny, I saw—for the first time—the likeness. The same thing—only Jinny is in light—where She was in darkness…’
And from opposite, Ginevra said unexpectedly:
‘Poor Mother…She was queer…Now—that we’re all so happy—I feel kind of sorry for her. She didn’t get what she wanted out of life. It must have been tough for her.’
Almost without a pause, her voice quivered softly into the lines from Cymbeline while the others listened spell-bound to the music of them:
‘Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Thou the worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages…’
[Appointment with Death ] Epilogue