The Case of the Discontented Husband: A Short Story
Author: Agatha Christie
Date: 1932-08-29 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Mystery; Crime
Description: Previously published in the print anthology Parker Pine Investigates. Reginald Wade goes to Parker Pyne when he learns that his wife has decided to leave him for another man. Reggie’s only hope is that his wife has declared a six-month grace period. If she still feels the same at the end, she wants a divorce. Pyne decides that dark, glamorous Madeline de Sara is just what Reggie needs to console him—but will Mrs. Wade think this is such a good idea?
Publisher: Harper Collins
Rights: All rights reserved

Contents

The Case of the Discontented Husband

About the Author

The Agatha Christie Collection

Copyright

About the Publisher

THE CASE OF THE DISCONTENTED HUSBAND

Undoubtedly one of Mr. Parker Pyne’s greatest assets was his sympathetic manner. It was a manner that invited confidence. He was well acquainted with the kind of paralysis that descended on clients as soon as they got inside his office. It was Mr. Pyne’s task to pave the way for the necessary disclosures.

On this particular morning he sat facing a new client, a Mr. Reginald Wade. Mr. Wade, he deduced at once, was the inarticulate type. The type that finds it hard to put into words anything connected with the emotions.

He was a tall, broadly-built man with mild, pleasant blue eyes and a well-tanned complexion. He sat pulling absentmindedly at a little moustache while he looked at Mr. Parker Pyne with all the pathos of a dumb animal.

“Saw your advertisement, you know,” he jerked. “Thought I might as well come along. Rum sort of show, but you never know, what?”

Mr. Parker Pyne interpreted these cryptic remarks correctly. “When things go badly, one is willing to take a chance,” he suggested.

“That’s it. That’s it, exactly. I’m willing to take a chance—any chance. Things are in a bad way with me, Mr. Pyne. I don’t know what to do about it. Difficult, you know; damned difficult.”

“That,” said Mr. Pyne, “is where I come in. I do know what to do! I am a specialist in every kind of human trouble.”

“Oh, I say—bit of a tall order, that!”

“Not really. Human troubles are easily classified into a few main heads. There is ill health. There is boredom. There are wives who are in trouble over their husbands. There are husbands”—he paused—“who are in trouble over their wives.”

“Matter of fact, you’ve hit it. You’ve hit it absolutely.”

“Tell me about it,” said Mr. Pyne.

“There’s nothing much to tell. My wife wants me to give her a divorce so that she can marry another chap.”

“Very common indeed in these days. Now you, I gather, don’t see eye to eye with her in this business?”

“I’m fond of her,” said Mr. Wade simply. “You see—well, I’m fond of her.”

A simple and somewhat tame statement, but if Mr. Wade had said, “I adore her. I worship the ground she walks on. I would cut myself into little pieces for her,” he could not have been more explicit to Mr. Parker Pyne.

“All the same, you know,” went on Mr. Wade, “what can I do? I mean, a fellow’s so helpless. If she prefers this other fellow—well, one’s got to play the game; stand aside and all that.”

“The proposal is that she should divorce you?”

“Of course. I couldn’t let her be dragged through the divorce court.”

Mr. Pyne looked at him thoughtfully. “But you come to me? Why?”

The other laughed in a shamefaced manner. “I don’t know. You see, I’m not a clever chap. I can’t think of things. I thought you might—well, suggest something. I’ve got six months, you see. She agreed to that. If at the end of six months she is still of the same mind—well, then, I get out. I thought you might give me a hint or two. At present everything I do annoys her.

“You see, Mr. Pyne, what it comes to is this: I’m not a clever chap! I like knocking balls about. I like a round of golf and a good set of tennis. I’m no good at music and art and such things. My wife’s clever. She likes pictures and the opera and concerts, and naturally she gets bored with me. This other fellow—nasty, long-haired chap—he knows all about these things. He can talk about them. I can’t. In a way, I can understand a clever, beautiful woman getting fed up with an ass like me.”

Mr. Parker Pyne groaned. “You have been married—how long? . . . Nine years? And I suppose you have adopted that attitude from the start. Wrong, my dear sir; disastrously wrong! Never adopt an apologetic attitude with a woman. She will take you at your own valuation—and you deserve it. You should have gloried in your athletic prowess. You should have spoken of art and music as ‘all that nonsense my wife likes.’ You should have condoled with her on not being able to play games better. The humble spirit, my dear sir, is a washout in matrimony! No woman can be expected to stand up against it. No wonder your wife has been unable to last the course.”

Mr. Wade was looking at him in bewilderment. “Well,” he said, “what do you think I ought to do?”

“That certainly is the question. Whatever you should have done nine years ago, it is too late now. New tactics must be adopted. Have you ever had any affairs with other women?”

“Certainly not.”

“I should have said, perhaps, any light flirtations?”

“I never bothered about women much.”

“A mistake. You must start now.”

Mr. Wade looked alarmed. “Oh, look here, I couldn’t really. I mean—”

“You will be put to no trouble in the matter. One of my staff will be supplied for the purpose. She will tell you what is required of you, and any attentions you pay her she will, of course, understand to be merely a matter of business.”

Mr. Wade looked relieved. “That’s better. But do you really think—I mean, it seems to me that Iris will be keener to get rid of me than ever.”

“You do not understand human nature, Mr. Wade. Still less do you understand feminine human nature. At the present moment you are, from a feminine point of view, merely a waste product. Nobody wants you. What use has a woman for something that no one wants? None whatever. But take another angle. Suppose your wife discovers that you are looking forward to regaining your freedom as much as she is?”

“Then she ought to be pleased.”

“She ought to be, perhaps, but she will not be! Moreover, she will see that you have attracted a fascinating young woman—a young woman who could pick and choose. Immediately your stock goes up. Your wife knows that all her friends will say it was you who tired of her and wished to marry a more attractive woman. That will annoy her.”

“You think so?”

“I am sure of it. You will no longer be ‘poor dear old Reggie.’ You will be ‘that sly dog Reggie.’ All the difference in the world! Without relinquishing the other man, she will doubtless try to win you back. You will not be won. You will be sensible and repeat to her all her arguments. ‘Much better to part.’ ‘Temperamentally unsuited.’ You realize that while what she said was true—that you had never understood her—it is also true that she had never understood you. But we need not go into this now; you will be given full instructions when the time comes.”

Mr. Wade seemed doubtful still. “You really think that this plan of yours will do the trick?” he asked dubiously.

“I will not say I am absolutely sure of it,” said Mr. Parker Pyne cautiously. “There is a bare possibility that your wife may be so overwhelmingly in love with this other man that nothing you could say or do will affect her, but I consider that unlikely. She has probably been driven into this affair through boredom—boredom with the atmosphere of uncritical devotion and absolute fidelity with which you have most unwisely surrounded her. If you follow my instructions, the chances are, I should say, ninety-seven percent in your favour.”

“Good enough,” said Mr. Wade. “I’ll do it. By the way—er—how much?”

“My fee is two hundred guineas, payable in advance.”

Mr. Wade drew out a chequebook.

The grounds of Lorrimer Court were lovely in the afternoon sunshine. Iris Wade, lying on a long chair, made a delicious spot of colour. She was dressed in delicate shades of mauve and by skilful makeup managed to look much younger than her thirty-five years.

She was talking to her friend Mrs. Massington, whom she always found sympathetic. Both ladies were afflicted with athletic husbands who talked stocks and shares and golf alternately.

“And so one learns to live and let live,” finished Iris.

“You’re wonderful, darling,” said Mrs. Massington, and added too quickly: “Tell me, who is this girl?”

Iris raised a weary shoulder. “Don’t ask me! Reggie found her. She’s Reggie’s little friend! So amusing. You know he never looks at girls as a rule. He came to me and hemmed and hawed, and finally said he wanted to ask this Miss de Sara down for the weekend. Of course I laughed—I couldn’t help it. Reggie you know! Well, here she is.”

“Where did he meet her?”

“I don’t know. He was very vague about it all.”

“Perhaps he’s known her some time.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Mrs. Wade. “Of course,” she went on, “I’m delighted—simply delighted. I mean, it makes it so much easier for me, as things are. Because I have been unhappy about Reggie; he’s such a dear old thing. That’s what I kept saying to Sinclair—that it would hurt Reggie so. But he insisted that Reggie would soon get over it; it looks as if he were right. Two days ago Reggie seemed heartbroken—and now he wants this girl down! As I say, I’m amused. I like to see Reggie enjoying himself. I fancy the poor fellow actually thought I might be jealous. Such an absurd idea! ‘Of course,’ I said, ‘have your friend down.’ Poor Reggie—as though a girl like that could ever care about him. She’s just amusing herself.”

“She’s extremely attractive,” said Mrs. Massington. “Almost dangerously so, if you know what I mean. The sort of girl who cares only for men. I don’t feel, somehow, she can be a really nice girl.”

“Probably not,” said Mrs. Wade.

“She has marvellous clothes,” said Mrs. Massington.

“Almost too exotic don’t you think?”

“But very expensive.”

“Opulent. She’s too opulent looking.”

“Here they come,” said Mrs. Massington.

Madeleine de Sara and Reggie Wade were walking across the lawn. They were laughing and talking together and seemed very happy. Madeleine flung herself into a chair, tore off the beret she was wearing and ran her hands through her exquisitely dark curls.

She was undeniably beautiful.

“We’ve had such a marvellous afternoon!” she cried. “I’m terribly hot. I must be looking too dreadful.”

Reggie Wade started nervously at the sound of his cue. “You look—you look—” He gave a little laugh. “I won’t say it,” he finished.

Madeleine’s eyes met his. It was a glance of complete understanding on her part. Mrs. Massington noted it alertly.

“You should play golf,” said Madeleine to her hostess. “You miss such a lot. Why don’t you take it up? I have a friend who did and became quite good, and she was a lot older than you.”

“I don’t care for that sort of thing,” said Iris coldly.

“Are you bad at games? How rotten for you! It makes one feel so out of things. But really, Mrs. Wade, coaching nowadays is so good that almost anyone can play fairly well. I improved my tennis no end last summer. Of course I’m hopeless at golf.”

“Nonsense!” said Reggie. “You only need coaching. Look how you were getting those brassie shots this afternoon.”

“Because you showed me how. You’re a wonderful teacher. Lots of people simply can’t teach. But you’ve got the gift. It must be wonderful to be you—you can do everything.”

“Nonsense. I’m no good—no use whatever.” Reggie was confused.

“You must be very proud of him,” said Madeleine, turning to Mrs. Wade. “How have you managed to keep him all these years? You must have been very clever. Or have you hidden him away?”

Her hostess made no reply. She picked up her book with a hand that trembled.

Reggie murmured something about changing, and went off.

“I do think it’s so sweet of you to have me here,” said Madeleine to her hostess. “Some women are so suspicious of their husbands’ friends. I do think jealousy is absurd, don’t you?”

“I do indeed. I should never dream of being jealous of Reggie.”

“That’s wonderful of you! Because anyone can see that he’s a man who’s frightfully attractive to women. It was a shock to me when I heard he was married. Why do all the attractive men get snapped up so young?”

“I’m glad you find Reggie so attractive,” said Mrs. Wade.

“Well, he is, isn’t he? So good-looking, and so frightfully good at games. And that pretended indifference of his to women. That spurs us on of course.”

“I suppose you have lots of men friends,” said Mrs. Wade.

“Oh, yes. I like men better than women. Women are never really nice to me. I can’t think why.”

“Perhaps you are too nice to their husbands,” said Mrs. Massington with a tinkly laugh.

“Well, one’s sorry for people sometimes. So many nice men are tied to such dull wives. You know, ‘arty’ women and highbrow women. Naturally, the men want someone young and bright to talk to. I think that the modern ideas of marriage and divorce are so sensible. Start again while one is still young with someone who shares one’s tastes and ideas. It’s better for everybody in the end. I mean, the highbrow wives probably pick up some long-haired creature of their own type who satisfies them. I think cutting your losses and starting again is a wise plan, don’t you, Mrs. Wade?”

“Certainly.”

A certain frostiness in the atmosphere seemed to penetrate Madeleine’s consciousness. She murmured something about changing for tea and left them.

“Detestable creatures these modern girls are,” said Mrs. Wade. “Not an idea in their heads.”

“She’s got one idea in hers, Iris,” said Mrs. Massington. “That girl’s in love with Reggie.”

“Nonsense!”

“She is. I saw the way she looked at him just now. She doesn’t care a pin whether he’s married or not. She means to have him. Disgusting, I call it.”

Mrs. Wade was silent a moment, then she laughed uncertainly. “After all,” she said, “what does it matter?”

Presently Mrs. Wade, too, went upstairs. Her husband was in his dressing room changing. He was singing.

“Enjoyed yourself, dear?” said Mrs. Wade.

“Oh, er—rather, yes.”

“I’m glad. I want you to be happy.”

“Yes, rather.”

Acting a part was not Reggie Wade’s strong point, but as it happened, the acute embarrassment occasioned by his fancying he was doing so did just as well. He avoided his wife’s eye and jumped when she spoke to him. He felt ashamed; hated the farce of it all. Nothing could have produced a better effect. He was the picture of conscious guilt.

“How long have you known her?” asked Mrs. Wade suddenly.

“Er—who?”

“Miss de Sara, of course.”

“Well, I don’t quite know. I mean—oh, some time.”

“Really? You never mentioned her.”

“Didn’t I? I suppose I forgot.”

“Forgot indeed!” said Mrs. Wade. She departed with a whisk of mauve draperies.

After tea Mr. Wade showed Miss de Sara the rose garden. They walked across the lawn conscious of two pairs of eyes raking their backs.

“Look here.” Safe out of sight in the rose garden Mr. Wade unburdened himself. “Look here, I think we’ll have to give this up. My wife looked at me just now as though she hated me.”

“Don’t worry,” said Madeleine. “It’s quite all right.”

“Do you think so? I mean, I don’t want to put her against me. She said several nasty things at tea.”

“It’s all right,” said Madeleine. “You’re doing splendidly.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Yes.” In a lower voice she went on: “Your wife is walking round the corner of the terrace. She wants to see what we’re doing. You’d better kiss me.”

“Oh!” said Mr. Wade nervously. “Must I? I mean—”

“Kiss me!” said Madeleine fiercely.

Mr. Wade kissed her. Any lack of élan in the performance was remedied by Madeleine. She flung her arms around him. Mr. Wade staggered.

“Oh!” he said.

“Did you hate it very much?” said Madeleine.

“No, of course not,” said Mr. Wade gallantly. “It—it just took me by surprise.” He added wistfully: “Have we been in the rose garden long enough, do you think?”

“I think so,” said Madeleine. “We’ve put in a bit of good work here.”

They returned to the lawn. Mrs. Massington informed them that Mrs. Wade had gone to lie down.

Later, Mr. Wade joined Madeleine with a perturbed face.

“She’s in an awful state—hysterics.”

“Good.”

“She saw me kissing you.”

“Well, we meant her to.”

“I know, but I couldn’t say that, could I? I didn’t know what to say. I said it had just—just—well, happened.”

“Excellent.”

“She said you were scheming to marry me and that you were no better than you should be. That upset me—it seemed such awfully rough luck on you. I mean, when you’re just doing a job. I said that I had the utmost respect for you and that what she said wasn’t true at all, and I’m afraid I got angry when she went on about it.”

“Magnificent!”

“And then she told me to go away. She doesn’t ever want to speak to me again. She talked of packing up and leaving.” His face was dismayed.

Madeleine smiled. “I’ll tell you the answer to that one. Tell her that you’ll be the one to go; that you’ll pack up and clear out to town.”

“But I don’t want to!”

“That’s all right. You won’t have to. Your wife would hate to think of you amusing yourself in London.”

The following morning Reggie Wade had a fresh bulletin to impart.

“She says she’s been thinking that it isn’t fair for her to go away when she agreed to stay six months. But she says that as I have my friends down here she doesn’t see why she shouldn’t have hers. She is asking Sinclair Jordan.”

“Is he the one?”

“Yes, and I’m damned if I’ll have him in my house!”

“You must,” said Madeleine. “Don’t worry, I’ll attend to him. Say that on thinking things over you have no objection and that you know she won’t mind you asking me to stay on, too.”

“Oh dear!” sighed Mr. Wade.

“Now don’t lose heart,” said Madeleine. “Everything is going splendidly. Another fortnight—and all your troubles will be over.”

“A fortnight? Do you really think so?” demanded Mr. Wade.

“Think so? I’m sure of it,” said Madeleine.

A week later Madeleine de Sara entered Mr. Parker Pyne’s office and sank wearily into a chair.

“Enter the Queen of the Vamps,” said Mr. Parker Pyne, smiling.

“Vamps!” said Madeleine. She gave a hollow laugh. “I’ve never had such uphill work being a vamp. That man is obsessed by his wife! It’s a disease.”

Mr. Parker Pyne smiled. “Yes, indeed. Well, in one way it made our task easier. It is not every man, my dear Madeleine, whom I would expose to your fascination so lightheartedly.”

The girl laughed. “If you knew the difficulty I had to make him even kiss me as though he liked it!”

“A novel experience for you, my dear. Well, is your task accomplished?”

“Yes, I think all is well. We had a tremendous scene last night. Let me see, my last report was three days ago?”

“Yes.”

“Well, as I told you, I only had to look at that miserable worm, Sinclair Jordan, once. He was all over me—especially as he thought from my clothes that I had money. Mrs. Wade was furious, of course. Here were both her men dancing attendance on me. I soon showed where my preference lay. I made fun of Sinclair Jordan, to his face and to her. I laughed at his clothes, and at the length of his hair. I pointed out that he had knock knees.”

“Excellent technique,” said Mr. Parker Pyne appreciatively.

“Everything boiled up last night. Mrs. Wade came out in the open. She accused me of breaking up her home. Reggie Wade mentioned the little matter of Sinclair Jordan. She said that that was only the result of her unhappiness and loneliness. She had noticed her husband’s abstraction for some time, but had no idea as to the cause of it. She said they had always been ideally happy, that she adored him and he knew it, and that she wanted him and only him.

“I said it was too late for that. Mr. Wade followed his instructions splendidly. He said he didn’t give a damn! He was going to marry me! Mrs. Wade could have her Sinclair as soon as she pleased. There was no reason why the divorce proceedings shouldn’t be started at once; waiting six months was absurd.

“Within a few days, he said, she should have the necessary evidence and could instruct her solicitors. He said he couldn’t live without me. Then Mrs. Wade clutched her chest and talked about her weak heart and had to be given brandy. He didn’t weaken. He went up to town this morning, and I’ve no doubt she’s gone after him by this time.”

“So that’s all right,” said Mr. Pyne cheerfully. “A very satisfactory case.”

The door flew open. In the doorway stood Reggie Wade.

“Is she here?” he demanded, advancing into the room. “Where is she?” He caught sight of Madeleine. “Darling!” he cried. He seized both her hands. “Darling, darling. You knew, didn’t you, that it was real last night—that I meant every word I said to Iris? I don’t know why I was blind so long. But I’ve known for the last three days.”

“Known what?” said Madeleine faintly.

“That I adored you. That there was no woman in the world for me but you. Iris can bring her divorce and when it’s gone through you’ll marry me, won’t you? Say you will, Madeleine, I adore you.”

He caught the paralysed Madeleine in his arms just as the door flew open again, this time to admit a thin woman dressed in untidy green.

“I thought so,” said the newcomer. “I followed you! I knew you’d go to her!”

“I can assure you—” began Mr. Parker Pyne, recovering from the stupefaction that had descended upon him.

The intruder took no notice of him. She swept on: “Oh, Reggie, you can’t want to break my heart! Only come back! I’ll not say a word about this. I’ll learn golf. I won’t have any friends you don’t care about. After all these years, when we’ve been so happy together—”

“I’ve never been happy till now,” said Mr. Wade, still gazing at Madeleine. “Dash it all, Iris, you wanted to marry that ass Jordan. Why don’t you go and do it?”

Mrs. Wade gave a wail. “I hate him! I hate the very sight of him.” She turned to Madeleine. “You wicked woman! You horrible vampire—stealing my husband from me.”

“I don’t want your husband,” said Madeleine distractedly.

“Madeleine!” Mr. Wade was gazing at her in agony.

“Please go away,” said Madeleine.

“But look here, I’m not pretending. I mean it.”

“Oh, go away!” cried Madeleine hysterically. “Go away!”

Reggie moved reluctantly towards the door. “I shall come back,” he warned her. “You’ve not seen the last of me.” He went out, banging the door.

“Girls like you ought to be flogged and branded!” cried Mrs. Wade. “Reggie was an angel to me always till you came along. Now he’s so changed I don’t know him.” With a sob, she hurried out after her husband.

Madeleine and Mr. Parker Pyne looked at each other.

“I can’t help it,” said Madeleine helplessly. “He’s a very nice man—a dear—but I don’t want to marry him. I’d no idea of all this. If you knew the difficulty I had making him kiss me!”

“Ahem!” said Mr. Parker Pyne. “I regret to admit it, but it was an error of judgement on my part.” He shook his head sadly, and drawing Mr. Wade’s file towards him, wrote across it:

FAILURE—owing to natural causes.

N.B.—They should have been foreseen.

About the Author

AGATHA CHRISTIE is the most widely published author of all time, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Her books have sold more than a billion copies in English and another billion in a hundred foreign languages. She died in 1976.

www.AgathaChristie.com

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The Agatha Christie Collection

The Man in the Brown Suit

The Secret of Chimneys

The Seven Dials Mystery

The Mysterious Mr. Quin

The Sittaford Mystery

Parker Pyne Investigates

Why Didn’t They Ask Evans?

Murder Is Easy

The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories

And Then There Were None

Towards Zero

Death Comes as the End

Sparkling Cyanide

The Witness for the Prosecution and Other Stories

Crooked House

Three Blind Mice and Other Stories

They Came to Baghdad

Destination Unknown

Ordeal by Innocence

Double Sin and Other Stories

The Pale Horse

Star Over Bethlehem: Poems and Holiday Stories

Endless Night

Passenger to Frankfurt

The Golden Ball and Other Stories

The Mousetrap and Other Plays

The Harlequin Tea Set and Other Stories

The Hercule Poirot Mysteries

The Mysterious Affair at Styles

The Murder on the Links

Poirot Investigates

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

The Big Four

The Mystery of the Blue Train

Peril at End House

Lord Edgware Dies

Murder on the Orient Express

Three Act Tragedy

Death in the Clouds

The A.B.C. Murders

Murder in Mesopotamia

Cards on the Table

Murder in the Mews

Dumb Witness

Death on the Nile

Appointment with Death

Hercule Poirot’s Christmas

Sad Cypress

One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

Evil Under the Sun

Five Little Pigs

The Hollow

The Labors of Hercules

Taken at the Flood

The Under Dog and Other Stories

Mrs. McGinty’s Dead

After the Funeral

Hickory Dickory Dock

Dead Man’s Folly

Cat Among the Pigeons

The Clocks

Third Girl

Hallowe’en Party

Elephants Can Remember

Curtain: Poirot’s Last Case

The Miss Marple Mysteries

The Murder at the Vicarage

The Body in the Library

The Moving Finger

A Murder Is Announced

They Do It with Mirrors

A Pocket Full of Rye

4:50 from Paddington

The Mirror Crack’d from Side to Side

A Caribbean Mystery

At Bertram’s Hotel

Nemesis

Sleeping Murder

Miss Marple: The Complete Short Stories

The Tommy and Tuppence Mysteries

The Secret Adversary

Partners in Crime

N or M?

By the Pricking of My Thumbs

Postern of Fate

Memoirs

An Autobiography

Come, Tell Me How You Live

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

AGATHA CHRISTIE® PARKER PYNE INVESTIGATES™ are registered trademarks of Agatha Christie Limited in the UK and elsewhere. All rights reserved.

“The Case of the Discontented Husband” was previously published as part of Parker Pyne Investigates short story collection, copyright © 1934 Agatha Christie Limited. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPub Edition NOVEMBER 2013 ISBN: 9780062302557

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