The Harlequin Tea Set and Other Stories – Agatha Christie
The Harlequin Tea Set
THE EDGE
Clare Halliwell walked down the short path that led from her cottage door to the gate. On her arm was a basket, and in the basket was a bottle of soup, some home-made jelly, and a few grapes. There were not many poor people in the small village of Daymer’s End, but such as there were were assiduously looked after, and Clare was one of the most efficient of the parish workers.
Clare Halliwell was thirty-two. She had an upright carriage, a healthy color, and nice brown eyes. She was not beautiful, but she looked fresh and pleasant and very English. Everybody liked her and said she was a good sort. Since her mother’s death, two years ago, she had lived alone in the cottage with her dog, Rover. She kept poultry and was fond of animals and of a healthy outdoor life.
As she unlatched the gate, a two-seater car swept past, and the driver, a girl in a red hat, waved a greeting. Clare responded, but for a moment her lips tightened. She felt that pang at her heart which always came when she saw Vivien Lee, Gerald’s wife!
Medenham Grange, which lay just a mile outside the village, had belonged to the Lees for many generations. Sir Gerald Lee, the present owner of the Grange, was a man old for his years and considered by many stiff in manner. His pomposity really covered a good deal of shyness. He and Clare had played together as children. Later they had been friends, and a closer and dearer tie had been confidently expected by many – including, it may be said, Clare herself. There was no hurry, of course – but someday – She left it so in her own mind. Someday.
And then, just a year ago, the village had been startled by the news of Sir Gerald’s marriage to a Miss Harper – a girl nobody had ever heard of!
The new Lady Lee had not been popular in the village. She took not the faintest interest in parochial matters, was bored by hunting, and loathed the country and outdoor sports. Many of the wiseacres shook their heads and wondered how it would end. It was easy to see where Sir Gerald’s infatuation had come in. Vivien was a beauty. From head to foot she was a complete contrast to Clare Halliwell – small, elfin, dainty, with golden-red hair that curled enchantingly over her pretty ears, and big violet eyes that could shoot a sideways glance of provocation to the manner born.
Gerald Lee, in his simple man’s way, had been anxious that his wife and Clare should be great friends. Clare was often asked to dine at the Grange, and Vivien made a pretty pretence of affectionate intimacy whenever they met. Hence that gay salutation of hers this morning.
Clare walked on and did her errand. The vicar was also visiting the old woman in question, and he and Clare walked a few yards together afterwards before their ways parted. They stood still for a minute discussing parish affairs.
“Jones has broken out again, I’m afraid,” said the vicar. “And I had such hopes after he had volunteered, of his own accord, to take the pledge.”
“Disgusting,” said Clare crisply.
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