The Mysterious Mr. Quin – Agatha Christie
But his wife was different. She was, Mr. Satterthwaite knew, an Australian. Portal had been out in Australia two years ago, had met her out there and had married her and brought her home. She had never been to England previous to her marriage. All the same, she wasn’t at all like any other Australian woman Mr. Satterthwaite had met.
He observed her now, covertly. Interesting woman–very. So still, and yet so–alive. Alive! That was just it! Not exactly beautiful–no, you wouldn’t call her beautiful, but there was a kind of calamitous magic about her that you couldn’t miss– that no man could miss. The masculine side of Mr. Satterthwaite spoke there, but the feminine side (for Mr. Satterthwaite had a large share of femininity) was equally interested in another question. Why did Mrs. Portal dye her hair?
No other man would probably have known that she dyed her hair, but Mr. Satterthwaite knew. He knew all those things. And it puzzled him. Many dark women dye their hair blonde– he had never before come across a fair woman who dyed her hair black.
Everything about her intrigued him. In a queer intuitive way, he felt certain that she was either very happy or very unhappy– but tie didn’t know which, and it annoyed him not to know. Furthermore there was the curious effect she had upon her husband.
“He adores her,” said Mr. Satterthwaite to himself, “but sometimes he’s–yes, afraid of her! That’s very interesting. That’s uncommonly interesting.”
Portal drank too much. That was certain. And he had a curious way of watching his wife when she wasn’t looking
“Nerves,” said Mr. Satterthwaite. “The fellow’s all nerves. She knows it too, but she won’t do anything about it.”
He felt very curious about the pair of them. Something was going on that he couldn’t fathom.
He was roused from his meditations on the subject by the solemn chiming of the big clock in the corner.
“Twelve o’clock,” said Evesham.” New Year’s Day. Happy New Year everybody. As a matter of fact that clock’s five minutes fast– I don’t know why the children wouldn’t wait up and see the New Year in?”
“I don’t suppose for a minute they’ve really gone to bed, ” said his wife placidly. “They’re probably putting hairbrushes or something in our beds. That sort of thing does so amuse them. I can’t think why. We should never have been allowed to do such a thing in my young days.”
“Autre temps, autre moeurs,” said Conway, smiling.
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