Evil Under the Sun Page #3

how I landed my first leading role

in Flames of Eternity.

However did you find out?

I bribed his wife.

Naughty Rex!

Ah, the days of my youth. But I've

shoved all that behind me now, Rex.

Which is exactly what you're going to do

with your lousy book.

But, Arlena darling, you promised.

When we were in New York.

I've spent the advance.

I simply must have that release.

Forget it.

You're not going to barbecue me

to keep yourself in sailor suits.

But, Arlena, angel,

you must.

I said forget it, I'm not going to

sign that release. And that's final.

You're going to regret this,

Arlene.

That's a promise.

Good morning, Mrs Marshall.

Good morning, Mr Brewster.

Hello.

Oh, hello.

Oh, Linda, what are doing here?

Acting as chaperone, gooseberry or spy?

I just wanted a chat.

I don't seem to be having much fun.

If it's fun you're looking for,

go play with the jellyfish.

Oh, my God!

She runs like a dromedary with dropsy.

Bonjour, madame.

B*tch!

No, no, put me down!

Put me down! No, no, no, no!

I shall cry! I shall, I shall cry!

You do not care for the aquatic sports

or the sunbathing, madame.

I wish I could. But I don't go brown.

I sort of resemble a cassata.

Pink skin, white blisters,

and green in the face.

Unlike your husband, I observe.

No, he manages those things rather well.

Sometimes I think he must think

I'm an awful goose.

But why, madame?

I do not indulge in those sports myself

and yet I assure you,

I am very far from being... a goose.

Ah, there you are, Monsieur Poirot.

I've just had a telephone call

from your friend, Sir Horace.

He says he's having trouble with his...

piffle valve?

Ha! Such a valve still

has to be invented, madame.

Well, I dare say you're right,

I wasn't paying attention.

Anyway, the result is,

he'll be 24 hours late.

Good morning, Kenneth.

Are you going for a swim?

The water is so hot,

the lobsters are coming out red.

Good morning.

Come along, Daddy, you promised

to come for a walk with me.

Patrick... aren't you getting

a little tired of rowing?

That was last night.

And this morning he starts all over...

Andre... Andre... I don't care.

I don't care if Monsieur Poirot

wants cement on his sausages

or boot-blacking on his butter,

just give it to him!

That finicky little Belgian fart

will find it all on his bill anyhow.

- With a vengeance!

- Very well, madame.

I'm so sorry. Are we late? Patrick

insisted he row me around the island.

It's bigger than I thought.

Poor darling, he's exhausted.

Not in the least surprised.

I'm sorry we didn't take you with us,

my dear.

The sun would have been

much too strong for you. You know that.

Arlena, here you are,

it's the script that I promised you.

No, I thought I told you last night.

I've given up the theatre.

These two are all

I'm concerned with now.

- What's it called anyway?

- ft"s Not Right And It's Not Fair.

Sounds like a black man's left leg.

- It's alright, Mr Poirot.

- Pardon, madame. Je m'excuse.

Please stay.

I'm just being silly.

I wish I had more self-control,

didn't show what I feel.

Well, that is sometimes

not easy for the ladies.

Do you know what I am most sick of

in this place?

- What, madame?

- Pity.

I can't bear to be pitied.

Everyone round here

seems to feel so sorry for me.

I can tell it

by the way they look at me.

"Poor little thing," they're saying.

"What she has to put up with, with

that poor fool of a husband of hers. "

"What a pity she's not strong enough

to compete for what she wants. "

Will you allow me to tell you something,

madame?

The Arlena Stuarts of

this world do not count.

Their domination is of

the moment.

Really, to count, a woman

must have either goodness or brains.

You can't actually believe that men care

for either of those things, can you?

Oh, yes, I do, madame.

Your husband loves you.

I know that.

Come, let us take a little promenade.

Hmm?

How I wish I could do that,

just lie in the sun.

Mais pourquoi, madame?

Look at them lying in rows,

like corpses in the morgue!

They are not men and women.

Nothing personal about them.

They're just bodies, butcher's meat,

steaks grilling in the sun.

I'm sorry, Mr Poirot,

I suffer from vertigo.

I can't bear to look down

from a height.

I'm better now.

In fact I am determined to enjoy myself.

It's so blissful here, so tranquil,

so far from all violence and trouble.

Yes, you are right, madame.

The sky is blue, the sun is shining,

and yet you forget that everywhere

there is evil under the sun.

You're going to be late for dinner,

you know.

Yes, I know.

Just having a bit of a think.

About Arlena?

I suppose it's no use

saying it's your own fault.

- Not much...

- No, it never is.

How about, "You've made your bed,

now you must lie on it"?

- Worse.

- Thought it might be.

- Poor Kenneth. You do pick 'em.

- Oh, I can cope.

- Do you think Linda can?

- What do you mean?

She's always on at that poor child,

bitching the hell out of her.

Yes. Yes, a pity about that.

Linda's like... like her mother,

you see, she takes things hard.

- Why don't you do something about it?

- Like what?

Like fixing up a divorce, for instance.

People do it all the time.

With most of my friends

it's a full-time occupation.

Arlena's alright.

She just adores to flirt, that's all.

There's nothing in it.

It's all on the spur of the moment.

Spur of the moment?

You really are blind.

Who the hell do you think booked Patrick

Redfern in here in the first place?

You don't mean...?

I'm afraid so.

Even so. With me, a deal is a deal.

I don't approve of quick marriage

and easy divorce.

Arlena is my wife.

That's all there is to it.

Till death do you part?

Exactly.

I see.

Well?

I could just kill that cow!

Well, what the hell do we do now, Odell?

Just leave it to me.

- I'll think of something.

- Hm! My hero.

I swear, if you were a man,

I would divorce you.

Hello, darling! You'd better get

a move on. Where have you been?

I've just been having a word

with Daphne.

You get on like a house on fire

with her, don't you?

She's a nice lady.

Yes, I suppose she is.

As hotel proprietors go.

And you get on rather well with Redfern,

don't you?

He's a nice fellow.

Yes, I suppose he is, as gigolos go.

What's that supposed to mean?

You liked him well enough

when you met him in London.

I never set eyes on the man before.

Really?

I could have sworn you were there.

It must have been

your regimental dinner.

Well, anyway, what does it matter?

He just happens to be a guest here

who took me for a boat ride.

He just happens to be a guest here,

Arlena,

because you just happened

to book him in.

The b*tch Daphne!

Christine,

I refuse to talk about it!

That's rich!

You don't want to talk about it?

Look here,

I can't even speak to a woman

without you jumping to the conclusion

that I'm having an affair!

Aren't you? You leave me

here alone and go off with her.

I'm the laughing stock of the hotel.

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