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Authors: Agatha Christie
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you know. Nothing very important. But there it is. Why have you come to see me, dear?'
Sir Stafford was slightly taken aback by the directness of the query.
'I usually come and see you when I return from a trip abroad.'
'You'll have to come one chair nearer,' said Aunt Matilda. 'I'm just that bit deafer since you saw me last. You look different... Why do you look different?'
'Because I'm more sunburnt. You said so.'
'Nonsense, that's not what I mean at all. Don't tell me it's a girl at last.'
'A girl?'
'Well, I've always felt it might be one some day. The trouble is you've got too much sense of humour.'
'Now why should you think that?'
'Well, it's what people do think about you. Oh yes, they do. Your sense of humour is in the way of your career, too. You know, you're all mixed up with all these people. Diplomatic and political. What they call younger statesmen and elder statesmen and middle statesmen too. And all those different Parties. Really I think it's too silly to have too many Parties. First of all those awful, awful Labour people.' She raised her Conservative nose into the air. 'Why, when I was a girl there wasn't such a thing as a Labour Party. Nobody would have known what you meant by it. They'd have said “nonsense”. Pity it wasn't nonsense, too. And then there's the Liberals, of course, but they're terribly wet. And then there are the Tories, or the Conservatives as they call themselves again now.'
'And what's the matter with them?' asked Stafford Nye, smiling slightly.
'Too many earnest women. Makes them lack gaiety, you know.'
'Oh well, no political party goes in for gaiety much nowadays.'
'Just so,' said Aunt Matilda. 'And then of course that's where you go wrong. You want to cheer things up. You want to have a little gaiety and so you make a little gentle fun at people and of course they don't like it. They say “Ce n'est pas un garçon serieux,” like that man in the fishing.'
Sir Stafford Nye laughed. His eyes were wandering round the room.
'What are you looking at?' said Lady Matilda.
'Your pictures.'
'You don't want me to sell them, do you? Everyone seems to be selling their pictures nowadays. Old Lord Grampion, you know. He sold his Turners and he sold some of his ancestors as well. And Geoffrey Gouldman. All those lovely horses of his. By Stubbs, weren't they? Something like that. Really, the prices one gets!
'But I don't want to sell my pictures. I like them. Most of them in this room have a real interest because they're ancestors. I know nobody wants ancestors nowadays but then I'm old-fashioned. I like ancestors. My own ancestors, I mean. What are you looking at? Pamela?'
'Yes, I was. I was thinking about her the other day.'
'Astonishing how alike you two are. I mean, it's not even as though you were twins, though they say that different sex twins, even if they are twins, can't be identical, if you know what I mean.'
'So Shakespeare must have made rather a mistake over Viola and Sebastian.'
'Well, ordinary brothers and sisters can be alike, can't they? You and Pamela were always very alike - to look at, I mean.'
'Not in any other way? Don't you think we were alike in character?'
'No, not in the least. That's the funny part of it. But of course you and Pamela have what I call the family face. Not a Nye face. I mean the Baldwen-White face.'
Sir Stafford Nye never had been able to beat his great-aunt when the subject was genealogical.
She went on: 'I always thought that you and Pamela had taken after Alexa.'
'Who was Alexa?'
'You're great-great and many more great's grandmother. An hungarian countess, or a baroness, I'm not quite sure. Your great-great-great-grandfather fell in love with her when he was at the embassy in Vienna. Yes, hungarian. That's what she was. Very sporting. They are, hungarians. She went on huntings, great rider.'
'Is there a portrait of her in the gallery?'
'On the first floor. A little on the right of the top of the stairs.'
'I'll have a look
Sir Stafford was slightly taken aback by the directness of the query.
'I usually come and see you when I return from a trip abroad.'
'You'll have to come one chair nearer,' said Aunt Matilda. 'I'm just that bit deafer since you saw me last. You look different... Why do you look different?'
'Because I'm more sunburnt. You said so.'
'Nonsense, that's not what I mean at all. Don't tell me it's a girl at last.'
'A girl?'
'Well, I've always felt it might be one some day. The trouble is you've got too much sense of humour.'
'Now why should you think that?'
'Well, it's what people do think about you. Oh yes, they do. Your sense of humour is in the way of your career, too. You know, you're all mixed up with all these people. Diplomatic and political. What they call younger statesmen and elder statesmen and middle statesmen too. And all those different Parties. Really I think it's too silly to have too many Parties. First of all those awful, awful Labour people.' She raised her Conservative nose into the air. 'Why, when I was a girl there wasn't such a thing as a Labour Party. Nobody would have known what you meant by it. They'd have said “nonsense”. Pity it wasn't nonsense, too. And then there's the Liberals, of course, but they're terribly wet. And then there are the Tories, or the Conservatives as they call themselves again now.'
'And what's the matter with them?' asked Stafford Nye, smiling slightly.
'Too many earnest women. Makes them lack gaiety, you know.'
'Oh well, no political party goes in for gaiety much nowadays.'
'Just so,' said Aunt Matilda. 'And then of course that's where you go wrong. You want to cheer things up. You want to have a little gaiety and so you make a little gentle fun at people and of course they don't like it. They say “Ce n'est pas un garçon serieux,” like that man in the fishing.'
Sir Stafford Nye laughed. His eyes were wandering round the room.
'What are you looking at?' said Lady Matilda.
'Your pictures.'
'You don't want me to sell them, do you? Everyone seems to be selling their pictures nowadays. Old Lord Grampion, you know. He sold his Turners and he sold some of his ancestors as well. And Geoffrey Gouldman. All those lovely horses of his. By Stubbs, weren't they? Something like that. Really, the prices one gets!
'But I don't want to sell my pictures. I like them. Most of them in this room have a real interest because they're ancestors. I know nobody wants ancestors nowadays but then I'm old-fashioned. I like ancestors. My own ancestors, I mean. What are you looking at? Pamela?'
'Yes, I was. I was thinking about her the other day.'
'Astonishing how alike you two are. I mean, it's not even as though you were twins, though they say that different sex twins, even if they are twins, can't be identical, if you know what I mean.'
'So Shakespeare must have made rather a mistake over Viola and Sebastian.'
'Well, ordinary brothers and sisters can be alike, can't they? You and Pamela were always very alike - to look at, I mean.'
'Not in any other way? Don't you think we were alike in character?'
'No, not in the least. That's the funny part of it. But of course you and Pamela have what I call the family face. Not a Nye face. I mean the Baldwen-White face.'
Sir Stafford Nye never had been able to beat his great-aunt when the subject was genealogical.
She went on: 'I always thought that you and Pamela had taken after Alexa.'
'Who was Alexa?'
'You're great-great and many more great's grandmother. An hungarian countess, or a baroness, I'm not quite sure. Your great-great-great-grandfather fell in love with her when he was at the embassy in Vienna. Yes, hungarian. That's what she was. Very sporting. They are, hungarians. She went on huntings, great rider.'
'Is there a portrait of her in the gallery?'
'On the first floor. A little on the right of the top of the stairs.'
'I'll have a look
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