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Five Little Pigs :: Christie Agatha
Страница: 46 из 147He said:
‘Yes, but the whole point is that Amyas never was an ordinary man! He was a painter, you see, and with him painting came first-really sometimes in the most extraordinary way! I don’t understand these so-called artistic people myself-never have. I understood Crale a little because, of course, I’d known him all my life. His people were the same sort as my people. And in many ways Crale ran true to type-it was only where art came in that he didn’t conform to the usual standards. He wasn’t, you see, an amateur in any way. He was first-class-really first-class. Some people say he’s a genius. They may be right. But as a result, he was always what I should describe as unbalanced. When he was painting a picture-nothing else mattered, nothing could be allowed to get in the way. He was like a man in a dream. Completely obsessed by what he was doing. Not till the canvas was finished did he come out of this absorption and start to pick up the threads of ordinary life again.’
He looked questioningly at Poirot and the latter nodded.
‘You understand, I see. Well, that explains, I think, why this particular situation arose. He was in love with this girl. He wanted to marry her. He was prepared to leave his wife and child for her. But he’d started painting her down here, and he wanted to finish that picture. Nothing else mattered to him. He didn’tsee anything else. And the fact that the situation was a perfectly impossible one for the two women concerned, doesn’t seem to have occurred to him.’
‘Did either of them understand his point of view?’
‘Oh yes-in a way. Elsa did, I suppose. She was terrifically enthusiastic about his painting. But it was a difficult position for her-naturally. And as for Caroline-’
He stopped. Poirot said:
‘For Caroline-yes, indeed.’
Meredith Blake said, speaking with a little difficulty:
‘Caroline-I had always-well, I had always been very fond of Caroline. There was a time when-when I hoped to marry her. But that was soon nipped in the bud. Still, I remained, if I may say so, devoted to-to her service.’
Poirot nodded thoughtfully. That slightly old-fashioned phrase expressed, he felt, the man before him very typically. Meredith Blake was the kind of man who would devote himself readily to a romantic and honourable devotion. He would serve his lady faithfully and without hope of reward. Yes, it was all very much in character.
He said, carefully weighing the words:
‘You must have resented this-attitude-onher behalf?’
‘I did. Oh, I did. I-I actually remonstrated with Crale on the subject.
‘Yes, but the whole point is that Amyas never was an ordinary man! He was a painter, you see, and with him painting came first-really sometimes in the most extraordinary way! I don’t understand these so-called artistic people myself-never have. I understood Crale a little because, of course, I’d known him all my life. His people were the same sort as my people. And in many ways Crale ran true to type-it was only where art came in that he didn’t conform to the usual standards. He wasn’t, you see, an amateur in any way. He was first-class-really first-class. Some people say he’s a genius. They may be right. But as a result, he was always what I should describe as unbalanced. When he was painting a picture-nothing else mattered, nothing could be allowed to get in the way. He was like a man in a dream. Completely obsessed by what he was doing. Not till the canvas was finished did he come out of this absorption and start to pick up the threads of ordinary life again.’
He looked questioningly at Poirot and the latter nodded.
‘You understand, I see. Well, that explains, I think, why this particular situation arose. He was in love with this girl. He wanted to marry her. He was prepared to leave his wife and child for her. But he’d started painting her down here, and he wanted to finish that picture. Nothing else mattered to him. He didn’tsee anything else. And the fact that the situation was a perfectly impossible one for the two women concerned, doesn’t seem to have occurred to him.’
‘Did either of them understand his point of view?’
‘Oh yes-in a way. Elsa did, I suppose. She was terrifically enthusiastic about his painting. But it was a difficult position for her-naturally. And as for Caroline-’
He stopped. Poirot said:
‘For Caroline-yes, indeed.’
Meredith Blake said, speaking with a little difficulty:
‘Caroline-I had always-well, I had always been very fond of Caroline. There was a time when-when I hoped to marry her. But that was soon nipped in the bud. Still, I remained, if I may say so, devoted to-to her service.’
Poirot nodded thoughtfully. That slightly old-fashioned phrase expressed, he felt, the man before him very typically. Meredith Blake was the kind of man who would devote himself readily to a romantic and honourable devotion. He would serve his lady faithfully and without hope of reward. Yes, it was all very much in character.
He said, carefully weighing the words:
‘You must have resented this-attitude-onher behalf?’
‘I did. Oh, I did. I-I actually remonstrated with Crale on the subject.