PART 2: A woman scorned

“Lady Cheerton tells me you are a nephew of zee great Professor Glasgow?” Poirot said to the young gentlemen on his left, whom Lady Cheerton had previously told him was Trevelyan.
“Oh yes, and you are quite right, he really is a wonderful mathematician. I can only hope one day to have half the success in research that he has had,” enthused Trevelyan as he leaned back in his chair removing the napkin from his chest.
“But of course, he iz most famous,” smiled Poirot.

“Mathematically… and otherwise,” interjected a wispy voice. Poirot looked to where the voice had come from.
“Barrat, another nephew of the great Professor Glasgow,” came the voice again. Barrat offered his hand to Poirot across Trevelyan, and as he did Poirot noticed that Trevelyan directed the smallest expression of distaste towards Barrat. Poirot took the offered hand, “A pleasure to meet you. But let me ask, “otherwise”? You intrigue me monsieur.”
Barrat opened his mouth to reply when Trevelyan cut in, “I think Barrat is merely referring to the pleasure our uncle takes in the travelling which being such an imminent mathematician affords. Is that not correct Barrat?”
Barrat bowed his head slightly taking up his wine glass and before taking a sip “Of course Trevelyan, as always you know exactly what I mean.”
Barrat and Trevelyan exchanged an indecipherable look, but before Poirot could comment further a small crash to his left caused him to turn.

To Poirot’s left sat Patricia Fansmield. Throughout the meal she had had her wine glass refilled more times than Poirot could remember and now, as the dessert dishes were being cleared away, the effects were certainly showing. She had, it seems, just knocked over her water glass as she had reached, blurry-eyed for one of the empty wine bottles in front of her. Poirot glanced across the table and caught Captain Severs’ eye. Captain Severs rolled his own and they exchanged a knowing look before resuming his conversation with Dr Lilac and Lady Cheerton.

“Paul. Pauuul!” Patricia slurred shrilly to her husband across the table, her head lolling to one sat and her drained wine glass precariously held in her hand. Poirot looked across to Professor Fansmield, who was engaged in conversation with Professor Glasgow and Dr Anne. Upon hearing his wife he looked up and wrinkled his brow. “Yes, dear” he replied through gritted teeth.
“Paul, will you please stop flirting so overtly with that woman!” Patricia jabbed the air roughly with the index finger of her free hand to indicate Dr Anne, who sat at her husband’s right hand side.
“Please Patricia, if anyone has cause to complain it is certainly not you,” hissed Professor Fansmield never shifting his gaze from his wife.
“I’ve had enough Paul” shrieked Patricia
“For once, I quite agree with you, my dear” responded Professor Fansmield, the tone of his voice remaining dangerously even.

The others at the table all shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Dr Anne appeared to be very much engrossed with her napkin, as she folded and unfolded it nervously in her lap. Professor Yorde had adopted a position not dissimilar to a statue- frozen and apparently under the impression that if he remained perfectly still he would get sucked into no argument.

Barrat, however, was staring at the scene with wide, hungry eyes. He appeared to be almost quivering with excitement at such an outburst. Miss Ruth looked equally as interested, while Professor Glasgow looked extremely uncomfortable. He had turned a deep puce colour and fidgeted constantly, periodically glancing nervously at Patricia- seemingly willing her to be quiet. If that was indeed what he was hoping, it did not happen.

“I don’t see why you have to sit next to her anyway,” continued Patricia.
“If you knew anything about the etiquette of dinner parties you would realise that it is not done for a husband to be seated on the same side of the table as his wife, let alone next to her.” There was a pause before Professor Fansmield added, “as much as he might dearly like to.”
“Well, please excuse me if I’m not as enormously well bred as you, my darling” retorted Patricia, her voice stiff with malice; the term of endearment which punctuated her sentence flew like a dagger through the air.


Professor Fansmield regarded his wife with a look of utter contempt and stood, throwing his napkin to the table, “if you’ll all excuse me, I need a cigarette” and he made a small bow in the direction of Lady Cheerton.

“I’ll join you if you don’t mind,” came the voice of Professor Glasgow.

“Sir, I most certainly do,” responded Professor Fansmield and with that he walked to the French windows and exited into the dark of the night.

Professor Glasgow turned an even darker shade of puce and signalled to the maid to replenish his glass.

A full second of silence engulfed the table before Lady Cheerton, clearing her throat spoke, “I think we ladies should leave the gentlemen to set the world to rights. We’ll take coffee in the parlour.” Everyone at the table rose, and the ladies left, Miss Ruth helping Patricia from the room as discreetly as she could manage.

“Well, quite, yes,” began the Reverend Doctor Kerry Cheerton once the ladies had left the room, “I think a good stiff drink is what everybody needs.” And he rose to pour large glasses of brandy for everyone, “leave the ladies to their coffee eh?” he chuckled.

The doors connecting the dining room to the drawing room were opened and the Reverend Doctor Kerry Cheerton, followed by Professor Glasgow and Professor Vector moved to seat themselves in old and comfortable looking green leather chairs.

Trevelyan excused himself to go for a cigarette and exited the room in a similar manner to Professor Fansmield, and was closely followed by Dr Lilac, “I think I’ll step out for a breath of fresh air, it is such a beautiful night after all.”

Poirot, Captain Severs, Barrat, Professor Yorde and Dr Gangle remained seating at the dining table.

“Nasty business all that,” commented Captain Severs
“Quite” added Dr Gangle
“Well, it’s only to be expected really” said Barrat
“Really?” said Captain Severs
“Oh yes,” asserted Barrat “it’s plain to anyone they’re not happily married and well, if rumours are to be believed…”
“Rumours?” inquired Dr Gangle, leaning in slightly.

Barrat’s face relaxed into a wide smile as he took a breath, “Word is, Patricia had an affair years and years ago, and well, they’ve never quite recovered.”
“I say, that would explain the Professor’s comment” opined Captain Severs
“But, then why iz eet she who is making zee accusations most wild?” asked Poirot, “eet does not make sense”
“And why was Professor Glasgow looking so damn shifty?” mused Captain Severs
“No, well, Professor Fansmield has since had his own assignations, all in the name of revenge and its left Patricia a bit…”
“Paranoid and consumed with resentment?” offered Captain Severs
“Exactly” smiled Barrat
“But if they do not love each other, why stay together?” asked Dr Gangle, “Surely it’s as simple as reciting A to zee… zed, I mean, zed.”
Barrat, Professor Yorde and Captain Severs looked at Dr Gangle. “But, my dear chap” began Professor Yorde, somewhat incredulously “it’s just not done to get a divorce, not in Britain!”
“Of course, of course, I.. momentarily forgot myself” said Dr Gangle hastily.

Poirot looked at Dr Gangle, he suddenly seemed very flustered.
“What part of the country did you say you were from?” asked Professor Yorde
“Oh, a little place called Englandshire,” Dr Gangl tapped his finger against his union jack shirt unconsciously.
“I see” murmured Professor Yorde.

“It would be better for her to just kill him” chuckled Barrat
“Ahh, but would she have it in her?” replied Dr Gangle, making an effort to recover himself.
Barrat giggled churlishly and took a deep drink from his glass. And before he could say another word a different voice spoke, a voice full of meaning,

“Oh yes, there is nothing more dangerous than a woman scorned.”

No one had noticed Professor Vector approach them from the drawing room, and the seriousness of his tone was a sharp contrast to the capricious tone Barrat had used and the gentlemen fell silent.