‘The important thing,’ he said, ‘is for you to get out of here fast as possible.’
I stood, unsure of what to do. In a way this was perfect – an added excuse to be out of touch over the next several days. At the same time it was unnerving, what seemed like Archie’s momentary defection. That wouldn’t do, not at all.
‘Nan, are you listening? You mustn’t be here. It doesn’t look right.’ He reached out and drew me to him. When I pressed my head against his chest, I could hear his heart, knocking away at an alarming clip. For a woman, a damaged reputation could bring about all manner of horror, in those days. But I knew it wasn’t concern for me that was making his heart erratic.
‘Agatha,’ he whispered into my hair as he held me tight, ‘where are you?’
On the ten-minute walk to the Sunningdale station, the bitter cold stung my face. Unlike Agatha I did not own a fur coat. I wondered how she managed now, wherever she was, having left her warmest garment in her car. What if I wandered by Newlands Corner and helped myself to it? The thought made me laugh and frown at the same time, pulling my wool coat close around me.
With luck Agatha would turn up by the end of the day. At this very moment police were searching through the brush all around Sunningdale, but certainly she wouldn’t be found there; she would return, perfectly hale and well, under her own steam. It wasn’t for me to worry about. My knuckles burned with the cold. I blew into my hands. They smelled like Teddy’s soap and I wondered what they’d tell her about Agatha’s whereabouts. If anything happened to Agatha – anything permanent – I would become the little girl’s full-time mother. That was if Archie wasn’t too traumatized to go ahead with our plans, and didn’t blame me for whatever happened to his wife. A certain kind of man does tend to blame a woman.
But if he didn’t, I could take over. I could be the one walking Teddy to school in the morning and stealing into Archie’s study while he was at work to scribble down stories. Even Honoria would have to change her tone, wouldn’t she, if she wanted to stay on at Styles.
I shook these thoughts away. I didn’t want any harm to come to Agatha. I wanted her to be found, whole and healthy. But there was nothing I could do to help and I needed to turn to my own affairs. I needed to focus on the week ahead, leaving the Christie family behind for just a little while, before coming back to join it forever.
The Disappearance
Day One
Saturday, 4 December 1926
WHEREVER YOU MAY be sitting, reading these pages, however much time has passed, you will know that Agatha Christie did not stay missing. You know she didn’t die in December of 1926. She survived to a ripe old age and wrote many more novels and stories. At least one book a year – ‘Christie for Christmas,’ her publisher used to say, banking on those December profits. Agatha moved past Archie and her shattered marriage, not only to become the bestselling author of all time, but also to find a love much better suited to her, the way a woman with a little life under her belt will, once she’s clear-eyed about her past and can see what’s best for her future.
Nobody could know any of that when the police fetched her car back to the road. There was plenty of petrol in the tank, the engine seemed to be in fine working order. No signs of any trouble. No explanation readily discernible. A little ways away another group of policemen, perhaps six of them, stood on the edge of the Silent Pool. Over the years more than one corpse had been dredged from those spring-fed waters.
One of the policemen said, ‘We’ll have to drag it if she doesn’t turn up by morning.’
At Styles the police gave Archie a brief rundown about what little they’d discovered, and what they planned next. Archie imagined nets cast into the Silent Pool. He envisioned them returning to shore, his wife’s body snarled in their threads, and covered his face with such sincere horror for a moment that the police stopped suspecting him of having done something criminal.