The Hollow by Agatha Christie Page B

morning with an appraising eye, he saw the differences there were from the girl he remembered, as he had not been able to see them last night.
    Strictly speaking, he thought, she was more beautiful now than then. She understood her beauty better, and she cared for it and enhanced it in every way. Her hair, which had been deep golden, was now a silvery platinum colour. Her eyebrows were different, giving much more poignancy to her expression.
    Hers had never been a mindless beauty. Veronica, he remembered, had qualified as one of our “intellectual actresses.” She had a university degree and had views on Strindberg and on Shakespeare.
    He was struck now with what had only been dimly apparent to him in the past—that she was a woman whose egoism was quite abnormal. Veronica was accustomed to getting her own way, and beneath the smooth beautiful contours of flesh he seemed to sense an ugly iron determination.
    â€œI sent for you,” said Veronica, as she handed him a box of cigarettes, “because we’ve got to talk. We’ve got to make arrangements. For our future, I mean.”
    He took a cigarette and lighted it. Then he said quite pleasantly:
    â€œBut have we a future?”
    She gave him a sharp glance.
    â€œWhat do you mean, John? Of course we have got a future. We’ve wasted fifteen years. There’s no need to waste any more time.”
    He sat down.
    â€œI’m sorry, Veronica. But I’m afraid you’ve got all this taped out wrong. I’ve—enjoyed meeting you again very much. But your life and mine don’t touch anywhere. They are quite divergent.”
    â€œNonsense, John. I love you and you love me. We’ve always loved each other. You were incredibly obstinate in the past! But never mind that now. Our lives needn’t clash. I don’t mean to go back to the States. When I’ve finished this picture I’m working on now, I’m going to play a straight play on the London stage. I’ve got a wonderful play—Elderton’s written it for me. It will be a terrific success.”
    â€œI’m sure it will,” he said politely.
    â€œAnd you can go on being a doctor.” Her voice was kind and condescending. “You’re quite well-known, they tell me.”
    â€œMy dear girl, I’m married. I’ve got children.”
    â€œI’m married myself at the moment,” said Veronica. “But all these things are easily arranged. A good lawyer can fix up everything.” She smiled at him dazzlingly. “I always did mean to marry you, darling. I can’t think why I have this terrible passion for you, but there it is!”
    â€œI’m sorry, Veronica, but no good lawyer is going to fix up anything. Your life and mine have nothing to do with each other.”
    â€œNot after last night?”
    â€œYou’re not a child, Veronica. You’ve had a couple of husbands, and by all accounts several lovers. What does last night mean actually? Nothing at all, and you know it.”
    â€œOh, my dear John.” She was still amused, indulgent. “If you’d seen your face—there in that stuffy drawing room! You might have been in San Miguel again.”
    John sighed. He said:
    â€œI was in San Miguel. Try to understand, Veronica. You came to me out of the past. Last night, I, too, was in the past, but today—today’s different. I’m a man fifteen years older. A man you don’t even know—and whom I daresay you wouldn’t like much if you did know.”
    â€œYou prefer your wife and children to me?”
    She was genuinely amazed.
    â€œOdd as it may seem to you, I do.”
    â€œNonsense, John, you love me.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Veronica.”
    She said incredulously:
    â€œYou don’t love me?”
    â€œIt’s better to be quite clear about these things. You are an extraordinarily beautiful woman, Veronica, but I don’t love you.”
    She sat so