Diana Glass
The Help
I accompany Mrs Bantry and Miss Marple outside to get ready for their sledding expedition, then head back to my room. Walking to the lifts, I nearly collide with Inspector Moreau. The last person I would have wanted to see in this moment.
‘Diana,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry. Last night …’ He dips his head and I can feel him trying to meet my gaze. But I won’t allow it. It is painful to look at him now.
‘It’s no matter,’ I say.
‘I know you must think me duplicitous. It …’ His tone is regretful. ‘If the circumstances were different. You see, don’t you? I am bound by the role I must perform. I came here for a reason—’
‘What? I thought you said you came here for a holiday.’
‘Oh,’ he says, ‘I mean that it is – ah – almost like Fate has provided me with a reason for being here. An inspector, snowed up in a hotel with two murders! So now that I am here, I find I must perform my duty. Do you see?’
‘I think so,’ I say. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to my room now. Perhaps I will see you later.’ And then, dully: ‘In the meantime, I’m sure you will want to show Miss Marple the photographs. I know she would be interested to see them.’
Miss Marple and Mrs Bantry will already be embarking on their sleigh ride by now; I don’t bother to tell him this. What can it matter now?
As I pass him, he reaches for my hand. In a moment of weakness, I let him hold my fingers for a second in his warm grip, feeling the ache in my ribcage grow.