Death in the Clouds by Christie Agatha

Author:Christie, Agatha [Agatha, Christie,]
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Published: 2010-06-23T04:00:00+00:00

Death in the Clouds

Chapter 13

Jane presented herself at Antoine's on the morning after the inquest with some trepidation of spirit.

The person who was usually regarded as M. Antoine himself, and whose real name was Andrew Leech, greeted her with an ominous frown.

It was by now second nature to him to speak in broken English once within the portals of Bruton Street.

He upbraided Jane as a complete imbecile. Why did she wish to travel by air, anyway? What an idea! Her escapade would do his establishment infinite harm. Having vented his spleen to the full, Jane was permitted to escape, receiving as she did so a large-sized wink from her friend, Gladys.

Gladys was an ethereal blonde with a haughty demeanor and a faint, far-away professional voice. In private, her voice was hoarse and jocular.

“Don't you worry, dear,” she said to Jane. “The old brute's sitting on the fence watching which way the cat will jump. And it's my belief it isn't going to jump the way he thinks it is. Ta-ta, dearie, here's my old devil coming in, damn her eyes. I suppose she'll be in seventeen tantrums, as usual. I hope she hasn't brought that lap dog with her.”

A moment later Gladys' voice could be heard with its faint far-away notes:

“Good morning, madam. Not brought your sweet little Pekingese with you? Shall we get on with the shampoo, and then we'll be all ready for M. Henri.”

Jane had just entered the adjoining cubicle, where a henna-haired woman was sitting waiting, examining her face in the glass and saying to a friend:

“Darling, my face is really too frightful this morning; it really is.”

The friend, who, in a bored manner, was turning over the pages of a three weeks' old Sketch, replied uninterestediy:

“Do you think so, my sweet? It seems to me much the same as usual.”

On the entrance of Jane, the bored friend stopped her languid survey of the Sketch and subjected Jane to a piercing stare instead.

Then she said, “It is, darling. I'm sure of it.”

“Good morning, madam,” said Jane, with that airy brightness expected of her and which she could now produce quite mechanically and without any effort whatsoever. “It's quite a long time since we've seen you here. I expect you've been abroad.”

“Antibes,” said the henna-haired woman, who in her turn was staring at Jane with the frankest interest.

“How lovely,” said Jane with false enthusiasm. “Let me see. Is it a shampoo and set, or are you having a tint today?”

Momentarily diverted from her scrutiny, the henna-haired woman leaned toward and examined her hair attentively.

“I think I could go another week. Heavens, what a fright I look!”

The friend said, “Well, darling, what can you expect at this time of the morning?”

Jane said: “Ah, wait until M. Georges has finished with you.”

“Tell me -” the woman resumed her stare - “are you the girl who gave evidence at the inquest yesterday? The girl who was in the aeroplane?”

“Yes, madam.”

“How too terribly thrilling! Tell me about it.”

Jane did her best to please:

“Well, madam, it was all rather dreadful, really.

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