The Hollow by Agatha Christie Page B

- bursting in upon you this way. I'm your neighbour, Lady Angkatell - from that ridiculous cottage Dovecotes - and the most frightful catastrophe has occurred!”
    Her smile broadened - became more humorous.
    “Not a match! Not a single match in the house! And Saturday evening. So stupid of me. But what could I do? I came along here to beg help from my only neighbour within miles.”
    Nobody spoke for a moment, for Veronica had rather that effect. She was lovely - not quietly lovely, not even dazzlingly lovely - but so efficiently lovely that it made you gasp! The waves of pale shimmering hair, the curving mouth - the platinum foxes that swathed her shoulders and the long sweep of white velvet underneath them...
    She was looking from one to the other of them, humorous, charming!
    “And I smoke,” she said, “like a chimney! And my lighter won't work! And besides, there's breakfast - gas stoves -” She thrust out her hands. “I do feel such a complete fool.”
    Lucy came forward, gracious, faintly amused.
    “Why, of course -” she began, but Veronica Cray interrupted.
    She was looking at John Christow. An expression of utter amazement, of incredulous delight, was spreading over her face. She took a step towards him, hands outstretched.
    “Why, surely - John! It's John Christow! Now isn't that too extraordinary? I haven't seen you for years and years and years! And suddenly - to find you here!”
    She had his hands in hers by now. She was all warmth and simple eagerness. She half turned her head to Lady Angkatell.
    “This is just the most wonderful surprise. John's an old, old friend of mine. Why. John's the first man I ever loved! I was crazy about you, John.”
    She was half laughing now - a woman moved by the ridiculous remembrance of young love.
    “I always thought John was just wonderful!”
    Sir Henry, courteous and polished, had moved forward to her.
    She must have a drink. He manoeuvred glasses. Lady Angkatell said:
    “Midge dear, ring the bell.”
    When Gudgeon came, Lucy said:
    “A box of matches, Gudgeon - at least has cook got plenty?”
    “A new dozen came in today, m'lady.”
    “Then bring in half a dozen. Gudgeon.”
    “Oh, no, Lady Angkatell - just one!”
    Veronica protested, laughing; she had her drink now and was smiling round at everyone. John Christow said:
    “This is my wife. Veronica.”
    “Oh, but how lovely to meet you.” Veronica beamed upon Gerda's air of bewilderment.
    Gudgeon brought in the matches, stacked on a silver salver.
    Lady Angkatell indicated Veronica Cray with a gesture and he brought the salver to her.
    “Oh, dear Lady Angkatell, not all these!”
    Lucy's gesture was negligently royal.
    “It's so tiresome having only one of a thing. We can spare them quite easily.”
    Sir Henry was saying pleasantly:
    “And how do you like living at Dovecotes?”
    “I adore it. It's wonderful here, near London, and yet one feels so beautifully isolated.”
    Veronica put down her glass. She drew the platinum foxes a little closer round her. She smiled on them all.
    “Thank you so much! You've been so kind -” the words floated between Sir Henry and Lady Angkatell, and for some reason, Edward. “I shall now carry home the spoils. John,” she gave him an artless, friendly smile, “you must see me safely back, because I want dreadfully to hear all you've been doing in the years and years since I've seen you. It makes me feel, of course, dreadfully old...”
    She moved to the window and John Christow followed
    “I'm so dreadfully sorry to have bothered you in this stupid way... Thank you so much, Lady Angkatell.”
    She went out with John. Sir Henry stood by the window looking after them.
    “Quite a fine warm night,” he said.
    Lady Angkatell yawned.
    “Oh, dear,” she murmured, “we must go to bed. Henry, we must go and see one of her pictures. I'm sure, from tonight, she must give a lovely performance.”
    They went upstairs. Midge, saying good night, asked Lucy:
    “A