Agatha Hess was, technically, every bit as efficient as Miss O'Connor. On the other hand, she had nothing remotely close to Miss O'Connor's pleasantness when going about her job. As far as having Miss Lemon's initiative, Poirot figured he would do just as well to pray for a spring breeze in the middle of a snow storm. The woman did her job and that was it. There was no cheery good morning when she came in. No offer to make his Tisane and he wasn't about to ask. So, it was just as well he was usually out of the office when she was there. The chill that accompanied Agatha Hess' disposition would put him in the hospital with double Pneumonia.
When he received a phone call from the agency, asking how the new receptionist was doing, Hercule just about bit his tongue off to keep from being disparaging to the kind woman who'd been so courteous to inquire. To his relief, the woman concurred with his assessment. "We've gotten the same complaint nearly everywhere Miss Hess is placed. No one will keep her. She's got the typing skills, short hand, filing. All the work related responsibilities are fine. The problem is , her attitude would curdle fresh milk into sour cream."
Poirot cleared his throat to keep from laughing since the milk-curdler in question was a room away.
"If you can hold on for one more day, we will send a new receptionist to you on Monday. AND....by way of an apology, we won't charge you for this week. Pay her what you think might be fair for the work and that will be it. You won't be charged any weekly rate. Apologies, again, Mr. Poirot, for such an inconvenience."
Thank heaven for small mercies, Poirot would not be in the office for most of Friday. He was acting as a consultant to some big wigs at Scotland yard for most of the day and so he paid Miss Hess for the week's work before he left. He said nothing of her being let go by the agency. That was their job. Still, he felt a measure of sympathy for this woman, whose personality did not so much invite people but repel them. In the workforce, especially for women, such a drawback could have financially crippling consequences.
Agatha glanced at the check and nodded. Her 'thank you' might as well have been delivered by way of gun-point for all the gratitude Poirot heard. He left her with the simple instructions that she leave her keys with the doorman and place the letters, for his signing, on his desk. With that, he was gone, and, to all intents and purposes, so was Miss Agatha Hess.
****
The four friends met up again, at the happiest of occasions. The wedding of Felicity Lemon to Giles Edgar Bennett.
Felicity Lemon met Giles Edgar Bennett {Whom she'd taken to calling Edgar} when Mr. Poirot gave in to his friends' pleas that he leave the country for a time, while threats from the Manchester Brotherhood and took an extended sabbatical in his home country of Belgium. In turn, of course, Felicity had to find a new job. That was easy enough. Her sister always said that there was a job waiting whenever she needed it. That turned out NOT to be the case, as a newly graduated 'office administrator' plucked up the job at the dormitory with a list of credentials that made it shy of impossible for the young woman NOT to b e hired.
By way of an apology for bumping her sister from the job she'd been promised, Felicity was given another lead at a private school as a 'head mistess' , which gave Felicity office responsibilities but also a place of authority with the students. The Principal, Mr. Bennett, was the court-of-last-resort. While Miss Lemon was a less intimidating figure, she was was no one to be trifled with. A few of the students learned that particular lesson the hard way when they found themselves in Mr. Bennett's office.
That collaborative effort gave the two mutual respect for each other that, one date at a time, grew into genuine romance, til, by and by, they found themselves at a church, ready to share their happy day with family, and friends.
In her room, Felicity let her bride's maid's fuss over her gown while she admired or worried over this detail or that. Her sister, Joyce rolled her eyes over the incessant panic over one thing or another. "For heaven's sake! Edgar is marrying YOU, Felicity, not your gown. It looks FINE. Perfect. And everything else is in place. Let's get this wedding underway before the minister ends up conducting joined funerals."
"Mr. Poirot. He ...."
"He's with your bride groom; giving him the speech. "
"I don't think Edgar needs that talk. He's a wid..."
"Not THAT talk, dear. The one where the 'father' of the bride exercises the prerogative of promising he will bring on Edgar's head any harm that is done to you. Though I've already done that. Between me and Mr. Poirot, you're safe."
Now it was Felicity's turn to roll her eyes. "I KNOW I'm safe, Joyce or I would not be marrying him. "
A knock at the door brought the other two women in Felicity's party (Edgar's sister , Lila and front office receptionist, Connie) to attention. The bride's maids wore a soft violet that complimented her white gown perfectly. But everything went with white.
Opening the door just wide enough to see out, Joyce saw Mr. Poirot . "Okay, girls! The 'father of the bride' is here. That's our cue to get lined up. "
Joyce ushered the other women out of the room and then let Hercule into the room; closing the door behind her. "Don't be too long."
Upon seeing her in her wedding gown, Poirot was momentarily silenced.
"Do I look okay? I mean, the gown. The girls fussed over it...." Her words fell over each other.
"Oui." Poirot nodded, clearing his throat. "I just came from seeing your soon-to-be husband and I informed him how fortunate he was to have you as his bride. No truer words have I ever spoken. My Virginie, she did not have her father to read to me ''the riot act" but Hilde did every bit as well. She trusted me and yet, I was always aware that ANY betrayal on my part would be met with consequences.
Your Monsieur Bennett, he is a good man. He was a husband and a father. He walked down the aisle, his only daughter and told, to his son-in-law, much the same as I told him. " Hercule Poirot took her right hand and kissed it. "Be happy, Felicity."
Clearing the catch from her throat, she replied, "I will be. Thank you, Hercule."
The door opened and Felicity's sister, Joyce, peeked her head in. "We're ready when you are."
Taking a long, calming breath, Felicity nodded. "I'm ready."
"Let's get on with it then."
The wedding finally got underway and on time. Poirot walked his dear friend and former receptionist down the aisle to the violin strains of Mozart and gave her to her future husband with a kiss on both cheeks.
The wedding reception was a lovely time. Once the emotion of the wedding was over, people enjoyed themselves. Apart from the occasion, itself, finally getting to meet Mrs. Emily Japp was an extra pleasant surprise. As well as seeing little Aaron Hastings, all dressed up and dancing, as only a four year old could dance. First with the new bride, where he affected a gallant bow, touching his nose to Mrs. Bennett's hand before the two swung their hands as they moved to the music.
"I think he dances better than I do." Poirot whispered to Felicity's new husband.
After dancing with the bride, Aaron danced with Mrs. Japp and then with his mom.
"Swipe me, Hastings," Japp laughed. "He looks like a little you, on a case. What's the mystery?"
"The mystery, Japp, is how we have been able to keep him IN this suit." Hastings looked on with Japp and Poirot as Aaron danced under his mom's arm. "Keeping it clean has been down to Isabel's talents as a mother. Where she picks up half of what she knows is anyone's guess."
The reception began to wind down about ten or so. Isabel long since went to the hotel room with the sleepy boy. Japp and Emily, thinking well ahead, called a cab and offered Poirot a ride.
"Merci." a semi-groggy Poirot accepted. "I do believe I will. The bride and groom, they are off to their honeymoon. The rest of us, we should retire to our beds. For myself, I will give the thanks that there is Sunday evening Mass, as I do not see myself rising before noon tomorrow."
On the way home, Japp asked, "So? No hope of persuading you to retire?"
"Right now, mon ami, you have a better chance. But I would only have to take back the promise the next day, so I will say only goodnight. Enjoy the rest of the weekend rest. It was a pleasure to, at long last, meet you, Madame Japp."
"It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Poirot. At the risk of agreeing with my husband, you do need to be careful. It's about time you began to enjoy life. You worked hard."
"Alas, Madame, my little grey cells are not yet ready to let the body retire. However, I have a project that may well permit me to give the matter more thought."
"Dare I ask?" Japp managed to get the words out before a yawn could interrupt.
"It is a book project with Madame Oliver. I am giving to her chapters from my journal and she is going to fictionalize them."
Clearing her throat, Emily Japp spoke, "Speaking as one who used to snatch up the latest Sven Hjerson novel as soon as it was on the bookstore shelves, I do ask you to be careful, Mr. Poirot. Considering what she has already done to poor Sven, I don't want to think of what she could do to you, once she gets bored with this latest project."
"That is a matter I have given even more thought to, than to the prospect of retiring."
"Between the devil and the deep blue sea," Japp said, sounding a bit logey. "If I were you, I'd learn to swim."
Poirot was still puzzling over that bit of intoxicated 'wisdom' when the cab pulled in front of White Haven Mansions. He paid for his share of the ride and recommended the driver get the Japp's home. "I do not think Madame Japp is strong enough to carry her husband."
At the top of the steps to his apartment building, the door was opened as he approached. "Oh, Mr. Poirot. A young lady asked that I see that you receive this letter."
The night doorman handed a very nice envelope to Poirot. His full name was on the envelope along with the address. Looking both front and back of the envelope over, there was no sign of a return address.
"Did the young lady give you a name?"
"No sir. But she did give me twenty pounds to see that the letter was delivered. "
Poirot wanted to ask another question and realized the foolishness of such a question. It was dark. There would be no way to make a proper identification. It dawned on him, though, that both he and the night doorman were wearing gloves. If there was any malicious intent in this letter, hopefully whoever wrote it chose not to wear gloves when handling the envelope.
"Merci, Dominic."
Upon entering his suite and making sure the door was locked and bolted, Hercule want to his desk and took a letter opener from an ivory pen holder on his desk and carefully opened the envelope without taking off his gloves. In red ink, the following note was written, complete with a small but pointed illustration.
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