Elephants Can Remember - Agatha Christie, Books, Poirot Books
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//-->HP37 - Elephants Can RememberAgatha ChristieChapter 1A LITERARY LUNCHEONMrs. Oliver looked at herself in the glass. She gave a brief, sideways look towards the clock on themantelpiece, which she had some idea was twenty minutes slow. Then she resumed her study of hercoiffure. The trouble with Mrs. Oliver was - and she admitted it freely - that her styles of hairdressingwere 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 shehoped the brow was intellectual. She had tried tightly arranged curls, she had tried a kind of artisticdisarray. 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.On the top shelf of Mrs. Oliver's wardrobe there reposed four hats. One was definitely allotted toweddings. When you went to a wedding, a hat was a 'must'. But even then Mrs. Oliver kept two. One, ina round band-box, was of feathers. It fitted closely to the head and stood up very well to sudden squallsof rain if they should overtake one unexpectedly as one passed from a car to the interior of the sacrededifice, or as so often nowadays, a registrar's office.The other, and more elaborate, hat was definitely for attending a wedding held on a Saturday afternoonin summer. It had flowers and chiffon and a covering of yellow net attached with mimosa.The other two hats on the shelf were of a more all-purpose character. One was what Mrs. Oliver calledher country house hat, made of tan felt suitable for wearing with tweeds of almost any pattern, with abecoming brim that you could turn up or turn down.Mrs. Oliver had a cashmere pullover for warmth and a thin pullover for hot days, either of which wassuitable in color to go with this. However, though the pullovers were frequently worn, the hat waspractically never worn. Because, really, why put on a hat just to go to the country and have a meal withyour friends?The fourth hat was the most expensive of the lot and it had extraordinary advantages about it. Possibly,Mrs. Oliver sometimes thought, because it was so expensive. It consisted of a kind of turban of variouslayers of contrasting velvets, all of rather becoming pastel shades which would go with anything.Mrs. Oliver paused in doubt and then called for assistance."Maria," she said, then louder, "Maria. Come here a minute."Maria came. She was used to being asked to give advice on what Mrs. Oliver was thinking of wearing."Going to wear your lovely smart hat, are you?" said Maria."Yes," said Mrs. Oliver. "I wanted to know whether you think it looks best this way or the other wayround."Maria stood back and took a look."Well, that's back to front you're wearing it now, isn't it?""Yes, I know," said Mrs. Oliver. "I know that quite well. But I thought somehow it looked better thatway.""Oh, why should it?" said Maria."Well, it's meant, I suppose. But it's got to be meant by me as well as the shop that sold it," said Mrs.Oliver."Why do you think it's better the wrong way round?""Because you get that lovely shade of blue and the dark brown, and I think that looks better than theother way, which is green with the red and the chocolate color."At this point Mrs. Oliver removed the hat, put it on again and tried it wrong way round, right way roundand sideways, which both she and Maria disapproved of."You can't have it the wide way. I mean, it's wrong for your face, isn't it? It'd be wrong for anyone'sface.""No. That won't do. I think I'll have it the right way round, after all.""Well, I think it's safer always," said Maria.Mrs. Oliver took off the hat. Maria assisted her to put on a well-cut, thin woolen dress of a delicate pucecolor, and helped her to adjust the hat."You look ever so smart," said Maria.That was what Mrs. Oliver liked so much about Maria. If given the least excuse for saying so, shealways approved and gave praise."Going to make a speech at the luncheon, are you?" Maria asked."A speech!" Mrs. Oliver sounded horrified. "No, of course not. You know I never make speeches.""Well, I thought they always did at these here literary luncheons. That's what you're going to, isn't it?Famous writers of nineteen seventy-three - or wherever year it is we've got to now.""I don't need to make a speech," said Mrs. Oliver. "Several other people who like doing it will bemaking speeches, and they are much better at it than I would be.""I'm sure you'd make a lovely speech if you put your mind to it," said Maria, adjusting herself to therole of a tempter."No, I shouldn't," said Mrs. Oliver. "I know what I can do and I know what I can't. I can't makespeeches. I get all worried and nervy and I should probably stammer or say the same thing twice. Ishould not only feel silly, I should probably look silly. Now it's all right with words. You can writewords down or speak them into a machine or dictate them. I can do things with words so long as I knowit's not a speech I'm making.""Oh, well. I hope everything'll go all right. But I'm sure it will. Quite a grand luncheon, isn't it?""Yes," said Mrs. Oliver in a deeply depressed voice. "Quite a grand luncheon."And why, she thought, but did not say, why on earth am I going to it? She searched her mind for a bitbecause she always really liked knowing what she was doing instead of doing it first and wonderingwhy she had done it afterwards."I suppose," she said, again to herself and not to Maria, who had had to return rather hurriedly to thekitchen, summoned by a smell of overflowing jam which she happened to have on the stove, "I wantedto see what it felt like. I'm always being asked to literary lunches or something like that and I never go."Mrs. Oliver arrived at the last course of the grand luncheon with a sigh of satisfaction as she toyed withthe remains of the meringue on her plate. She was particularly fond of meringues and it was a deliciouslast course in a very delicious luncheon. Nevertheless, when one reached middle age, one had to becareful with meringues. One's teeth! They looked all right, they had the great advantage that they couldnot ache, they were white and quite agreeable-looking - just like the real thing. But it was true enoughthat they were not real teeth. And teeth that were not real teeth - or so Mrs. Oliver believed - were notreally of high-class material. Dogs, she had always understood, had teeth of real ivory, but humanbeings had teeth merely of bone. Or, she supposed, if they were false teeth, of plastic. Anyway, the pointwas that you mustn't get involved in some rather shame-making appearance, which false teeth mightlead you into. Lettuce was a difficulty, and salted almonds, and such things as chocolates with hardcenters, clinging caramels and the delicious stickiness and adherence of meringues. With a sigh ofsatisfaction, she dealt with the final mouthful. It had been a good lunch, a very good lunch.Mrs. Oliver was fond of her creature comforts. She had enjoyed the luncheon very much. She hadenjoyed the company, too. The luncheon, which had been given to celebrated female writers, hadfortunately not been confined to female writers only. There had been other writers, and critics, and thosewho read books as well as those who wrote them. Mrs. Oliver had sat between two very charmingmembers of the male sex.Edwin Aubyn, whose poetry she always enjoyed, an extremely entertaining person who had had variousentertaining experiences in his tours abroad, and various literary and personal adventures. Also he wasinterested in restaurants and food and they had talked very happily about food, and left the subject ofliterature aside.Sir Wesley Kent, on her other side, had also been an agreeable lunch companion. He had said very nicethings about her books, and had had the tact to say things that did not make her feel embarrassed, whichso many people could do almost without trying. He had mentioned one or two reasons why he had likedone or other of her books, and they had been the right reasons, and therefore Mrs. Oliver had thoughtfavorably 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, ofcourse. Sometimes emotional young men from very faraway countries. Only last week she had received [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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//-->HP37 - Elephants Can RememberAgatha ChristieChapter 1A LITERARY LUNCHEONMrs. Oliver looked at herself in the glass. She gave a brief, sideways look towards the clock on themantelpiece, which she had some idea was twenty minutes slow. Then she resumed her study of hercoiffure. The trouble with Mrs. Oliver was - and she admitted it freely - that her styles of hairdressingwere 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 shehoped the brow was intellectual. She had tried tightly arranged curls, she had tried a kind of artisticdisarray. 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.On the top shelf of Mrs. Oliver's wardrobe there reposed four hats. One was definitely allotted toweddings. When you went to a wedding, a hat was a 'must'. But even then Mrs. Oliver kept two. One, ina round band-box, was of feathers. It fitted closely to the head and stood up very well to sudden squallsof rain if they should overtake one unexpectedly as one passed from a car to the interior of the sacrededifice, or as so often nowadays, a registrar's office.The other, and more elaborate, hat was definitely for attending a wedding held on a Saturday afternoonin summer. It had flowers and chiffon and a covering of yellow net attached with mimosa.The other two hats on the shelf were of a more all-purpose character. One was what Mrs. Oliver calledher country house hat, made of tan felt suitable for wearing with tweeds of almost any pattern, with abecoming brim that you could turn up or turn down.Mrs. Oliver had a cashmere pullover for warmth and a thin pullover for hot days, either of which wassuitable in color to go with this. However, though the pullovers were frequently worn, the hat waspractically never worn. Because, really, why put on a hat just to go to the country and have a meal withyour friends?The fourth hat was the most expensive of the lot and it had extraordinary advantages about it. Possibly,Mrs. Oliver sometimes thought, because it was so expensive. It consisted of a kind of turban of variouslayers of contrasting velvets, all of rather becoming pastel shades which would go with anything.Mrs. Oliver paused in doubt and then called for assistance."Maria," she said, then louder, "Maria. Come here a minute."Maria came. She was used to being asked to give advice on what Mrs. Oliver was thinking of wearing."Going to wear your lovely smart hat, are you?" said Maria."Yes," said Mrs. Oliver. "I wanted to know whether you think it looks best this way or the other wayround."Maria stood back and took a look."Well, that's back to front you're wearing it now, isn't it?""Yes, I know," said Mrs. Oliver. "I know that quite well. But I thought somehow it looked better thatway.""Oh, why should it?" said Maria."Well, it's meant, I suppose. But it's got to be meant by me as well as the shop that sold it," said Mrs.Oliver."Why do you think it's better the wrong way round?""Because you get that lovely shade of blue and the dark brown, and I think that looks better than theother way, which is green with the red and the chocolate color."At this point Mrs. Oliver removed the hat, put it on again and tried it wrong way round, right way roundand sideways, which both she and Maria disapproved of."You can't have it the wide way. I mean, it's wrong for your face, isn't it? It'd be wrong for anyone'sface.""No. That won't do. I think I'll have it the right way round, after all.""Well, I think it's safer always," said Maria.Mrs. Oliver took off the hat. Maria assisted her to put on a well-cut, thin woolen dress of a delicate pucecolor, and helped her to adjust the hat."You look ever so smart," said Maria.That was what Mrs. Oliver liked so much about Maria. If given the least excuse for saying so, shealways approved and gave praise."Going to make a speech at the luncheon, are you?" Maria asked."A speech!" Mrs. Oliver sounded horrified. "No, of course not. You know I never make speeches.""Well, I thought they always did at these here literary luncheons. That's what you're going to, isn't it?Famous writers of nineteen seventy-three - or wherever year it is we've got to now.""I don't need to make a speech," said Mrs. Oliver. "Several other people who like doing it will bemaking speeches, and they are much better at it than I would be.""I'm sure you'd make a lovely speech if you put your mind to it," said Maria, adjusting herself to therole of a tempter."No, I shouldn't," said Mrs. Oliver. "I know what I can do and I know what I can't. I can't makespeeches. I get all worried and nervy and I should probably stammer or say the same thing twice. Ishould not only feel silly, I should probably look silly. Now it's all right with words. You can writewords down or speak them into a machine or dictate them. I can do things with words so long as I knowit's not a speech I'm making.""Oh, well. I hope everything'll go all right. But I'm sure it will. Quite a grand luncheon, isn't it?""Yes," said Mrs. Oliver in a deeply depressed voice. "Quite a grand luncheon."And why, she thought, but did not say, why on earth am I going to it? She searched her mind for a bitbecause she always really liked knowing what she was doing instead of doing it first and wonderingwhy she had done it afterwards."I suppose," she said, again to herself and not to Maria, who had had to return rather hurriedly to thekitchen, summoned by a smell of overflowing jam which she happened to have on the stove, "I wantedto see what it felt like. I'm always being asked to literary lunches or something like that and I never go."Mrs. Oliver arrived at the last course of the grand luncheon with a sigh of satisfaction as she toyed withthe remains of the meringue on her plate. She was particularly fond of meringues and it was a deliciouslast course in a very delicious luncheon. Nevertheless, when one reached middle age, one had to becareful with meringues. One's teeth! They looked all right, they had the great advantage that they couldnot ache, they were white and quite agreeable-looking - just like the real thing. But it was true enoughthat they were not real teeth. And teeth that were not real teeth - or so Mrs. Oliver believed - were notreally of high-class material. Dogs, she had always understood, had teeth of real ivory, but humanbeings had teeth merely of bone. Or, she supposed, if they were false teeth, of plastic. Anyway, the pointwas that you mustn't get involved in some rather shame-making appearance, which false teeth mightlead you into. Lettuce was a difficulty, and salted almonds, and such things as chocolates with hardcenters, clinging caramels and the delicious stickiness and adherence of meringues. With a sigh ofsatisfaction, she dealt with the final mouthful. It had been a good lunch, a very good lunch.Mrs. Oliver was fond of her creature comforts. She had enjoyed the luncheon very much. She hadenjoyed the company, too. The luncheon, which had been given to celebrated female writers, hadfortunately not been confined to female writers only. There had been other writers, and critics, and thosewho read books as well as those who wrote them. Mrs. Oliver had sat between two very charmingmembers of the male sex.Edwin Aubyn, whose poetry she always enjoyed, an extremely entertaining person who had had variousentertaining experiences in his tours abroad, and various literary and personal adventures. Also he wasinterested in restaurants and food and they had talked very happily about food, and left the subject ofliterature aside.Sir Wesley Kent, on her other side, had also been an agreeable lunch companion. He had said very nicethings about her books, and had had the tact to say things that did not make her feel embarrassed, whichso many people could do almost without trying. He had mentioned one or two reasons why he had likedone or other of her books, and they had been the right reasons, and therefore Mrs. Oliver had thoughtfavorably 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, ofcourse. Sometimes emotional young men from very faraway countries. Only last week she had received [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]