Free The Hollow by Agatha Christie

even—it’s younger than it was this morning.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œWe’ve been happy together, talking about Ainswick, thinking about Ainswick. Don’t you see what that means, Henrietta?”
    â€œIt’s you who don’t see what it means, Edward! We’ve been living all this afternoon in the past.”
    â€œThe past is sometimes a very good place to live.”
    â€œOne can’t go back. That’s the one thing one can’t do—go back.”
    He was silent for a minute or two. Then he said in a quiet, pleasant and quite unemotional voice:
    â€œWhat you really mean is that you won’t marry me because of John Christow?”
    Henrietta did not answer, and Edward went on:
    â€œThat’s it, isn’t it? If there were no John Christow in the world you would marry me.”
    Henrietta said harshly, “I can’t imagine a world in which there was no John Christow! That’s what you’ve got to understand.”
    â€œIf it’s like that, why on earth doesn’t the fellow get a divorce from his wife and then you could marry?”
    â€œJohn doesn’t want to get a divorce from his wife. And I don’t know that I should want to marry John if he did. It isn’t—it isn’t in the least like you think.”
    Edward said in a thoughtful, considering way:
    â€œJohn Christow. There are too many John Christows in this world.”
    â€œYou’re wrong,” said Henrietta. “There are very few people like John.”
    â€œIf that’s so—it’s a good thing! At least, that’s what I think!”
    He got up. “We’d better go back again.”

Seven
    A s they got into the car and Lewis shut the front door of the Harley Street house, Gerda felt the pang of exile go through her. That shut door was so final. She was barred out—this awful weekend was upon her. And there were things, quite a lot of things, that she ought to have done before leaving. Had she turned off that tap in the bathroom? And that note for the laundry—she’d put it—where had she put it? Would the children be all right with Mademoiselle? Mademoiselle was so—so—Would Terence, for instance, ever do anything that Mademoiselle told him to? French governesses never seemed to have any authority.
    She got into the driving seat, still bowed down by misery, and nervously pressed the starter. She pressed it again and again. John said: “The car will start better, Gerda, if you switch on the engine.”
    â€œOh, dear, how stupid of me.” She shot a quick, alarmed glance at him. If John was going to become annoyed straightaway—But to her relief he was smiling.
    â€œThat’s because,” thought Gerda, with one of her flashes of acumen, “he’s so pleased to be going to the Angkatells.”
    Poor John, he worked so hard! His life was so unselfish, so completely devoted to others. No wonder he looked forward to this long weekend. And, her mind harking back to the conversation at lunch, she said, as she let in the clutch rather too suddenly so that the car leapt forward from the kerb:
    â€œYou know, John, you really shouldn’t make jokes about hating sick people. It’s wonderful of you to make light of all you do, and I understand. But the children don’t. Terry, in particular, has such a very literal mind.”
    â€œThere are times,” said John Christow, “when Terry seems to me almost human—not like Zena! How long do girls go on being a mass of affectation?”
    Gerda gave a little quiet sweet laugh. John, she knew, was teasing her. She stuck to her point. Gerda had an adhesive mind.
    â€œI really think, John, that it’s good for children to realize the unselfishness and devotion of a doctor’s life.”
    â€œOh God!” said Christow.
    Gerda was momentarily deflected. The traffic lights she was approaching had been green for a long time.