Agatha Raisin 18 (2007) - Kissing Christmas Goodbye

by M C Beaton

  How odd that the terrifying Agatha should turn out to be so motherly. And the cottage was the kind she had seen on chocolate boxes and calendars with its deep thatched roof.

  Toni did not expect this heaven to last. But her young life had been full of experience of how to enjoy the moment before the drunken chaos created by her mother and brother descended on her again. She sighed and stretched out and was soon fast asleep.

  Toni awoke with a start and looked at the alarm clock beside her bed—and groaned. Nine o’clock! How could she have overslept? She struggled up and saw a note on the bedside table. It was from Agatha. She read: “I think you should take the day off and relax. There is food in the freezer. Help yourself. A.”

  Toni got up and stretched. Two white fluffy towels had been placed at the end of her bed. She found the bathroom, had a shower and dressed in a blouse, jeans and sandals.

  She went into the kitchen. Agatha’s cats, Hodge and Boswell, came to meet her. Toni crouched down on the floor and petted them, then stood up and went to the fridge. There were no eggs or bacon. A chest freezer stood against one wall. She lifted the lid. The labels that could still be read showed Agatha’s love for microwaveable food such as curries and lasagne.

  Toni saw a loaf on the counter and decided to settle for a breakfast of toast and coffee.

  She had just finished when the doorbell rang. Toni experienced a pang of fear. What if her brother had come to hunt her down?

  There was a spyhole in the door and she peered through it. A pleasant-looking greyhaired woman stood on the step.

  Toni opened the door. “I am Mrs Bloxby,” said the woman. “Mrs Raisin called me. She had not told you how to set the burglar alarm. Let me show you.”

  “That is kind of you,” said Toni.

  She listened carefully to the instructions and then Mrs Bloxby said, “I also wondered whether you might like to come with me to the vicarage? You must be hungry. Mrs Raisin only has black coffee and cigarettes for breakfast.”

  Toni was still hungry so she agreed, and ten minutes later was sitting in the vicarage garden listening to the domestic sounds from the kitchen as Mrs Bloxby prepared her breakfast.

  The sun shone down in all its hazy autumn beauty. From the fields above the village came the sound of a tractor.

  The vicar’s wife came out with a tray and unloaded a plate of bacon, sausage and eggs, coffee, toast and marmalade.

  “This is very good of you,” said Toni awkwardly. “Did Mrs Raisin tell you why I am staying with her?”

  “Mrs Raisin said that you had some trouble at home, that is all.”

  Silence fell as Toni ate steadily. Mrs Bloxby took out some knitting. The needles flashed in the sunlight.

  Toni finished her meal and sat back with a sigh. “I’ll need to find somewhere to live,” she said. “I can’t stay with Mrs Raisin forever. We call her Agatha at the office.”

  Mrs Bloxby smiled. “It is a very old–fashioned tradition in the village to use second names. I gather you don’t want to go home again.”

  “It’s difficult,” said Toni. Mrs Bloxby smiled and continued to knit. “It’s like this,” said Toni, and then it all burst out of her, all the family troubles.

  “What about your father?” asked Mrs Bloxby.

  “I don’t know who he is,” mumbled Toni.

  “I really wouldn’t worry about your future,” said Mrs Bloxby. “Mrs Raisin is a great organizer.” She put down her knitting. “Now, I must go about my parish duties.”

  “Can I help?”

  “As a matter of fact, you can. One of my duties is to read to old Mrs Wilson. She is going blind.”

  “I can do that.”

  “I will take you there.”

  Such as Agatha and Mrs Bloxby seemed old to the youthful Toni, but Mrs Wilson seemed as old as an Egyptian mummy. Despite the heat of the day, she was wrapped in shawls. Her face was criss-crossed with deep wrinkles and her scalp showed through her thin grey hair. Mrs Bloxby introduced Toni and left. Mrs Wilson turned milky eyes on Toni. “That book there,” she ordered. “Begin at the beginning.”

  Toni picked it up. A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.

  She began to read, reflecting that it was a good thing the old lady still had her hearing and she didn’t have to shout. She had never been much of a reader, but she became so involved in the story that she only realized after an hour that Mrs Wilson had fallen asleep.

  Toni put the book down and let herself out. Mrs Wilson’s cottage was at the top of the village. Toni walked down under a green arch of trees and called in at the general stores to ask for directions to Agatha’s house because she had forgotten the road. The villagers in the shop were obviously trying not to stare too hard at her black eye.

  In the afternoon, Patrick returned. He said that the locals hadn’t been very forthcoming at first, until he had stood them a round of drinks. It was then they had begun to talk. “They’re really bitter,” he said. “Turns out that Mrs Tamworthy’s got building permission for some of her land. It’s agricultural land, so they feel she must have bribed someone. They say when she sells, the new owner can put up houses and they’ll be expensive houses that no one in the village can afford. They are planning a protest march to the council offices. The ringleader appears to be the publican, called Paul Chambers. He says that Mrs Tamworthy would be better off dead. He says none of her family would sell the place.”

  Phil came into the office. “I didn’t get very far with Jimmy Tamworthy, but he’s a quiet, gentlemanly type. I got the idea that he might consider working in a shop beneath him.”

  “I don’t suppose we can do much more until I get out there for the weekend,” said Agatha. “Let’s get back to the more mundane cases.”

  Toni was just wondering whether she should go back to the general stores and perhaps buy something to prepare a dinner for the evening when she heard a key turning in the lock. Agatha must be home early. “I’m in the kitchen,” she called.

  Charles Fraith walked in.

  “Have you come to stay?” asked Toni. “I mean, Agatha has only one spare bedroom.”

  “I may sleep on the sofa or I may go home. It doesn’t matter. You still look as if you’ve been in the wars. Do you have a car?”

  “No, I can’t drive yet.”

  “Like a driving lesson?”

  Toni’s eyes shone. “I’d love that.”

  When she was with Agatha or Charles, Toni spoke in carefully precise English, unlike the voice she used at home or with her friends. She could hear inside her head, as she spoke, that other, coarser accent struggling to get out. Charles proved to be a good and patient teacher. He took her up on to the quiet back country roads.

  By the time they got back to Agatha’s cottage, Charles said, “You’re a good pupil. You’ll be driving in no time at all.”

  Agatha had arrived home. She looked up as they both came into the kitchen. Toni’s eyes were shining and Charles looked amused.

  “What have you been up to?” asked Agatha. “I’ve been giving Toni driving lessons”

  “Good for you. Sit down, Toni. I’ve got your contract. Read it carefully and sign it at the places I’ve marked with a cross. Charles, Roy was going to come with me on Saturday to Mrs Tamworthy’s birthday party.”

  “Who’s Mrs Tamworthy?”

  Agatha told him. When she had finished, Charles said, “It all sounds very odd. I’m curious. I’ll come with you.”

  “Thanks. I think the old lady might just be bonkers, but I wasn’t going to enjoy being on my own.”

  “I’ve finished,” said Toni. “It’s a generous wage.”

  “You’ll not only be earning it,” said Agatha, “you’ll soon be paying me rent, so you’ll need it. I’m buying a little flat round the corner from the office. You should be able to move in after a fortnight.” She raised a hand to cut off a volley of excited thanks from Toni. “As I said, you’ll be earning it. Charles, are you staying?”

  “May as well.
I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  “You’ve got a perfectly good bedroom in that mansion of yours,” Agatha pointed out, “and it’s only half an hour’s drive away.”

  “My aunt is having friends round this evening.”

  Charles lived with his aunt. “It’ll be like a geriatric convention. Much more fun here. Tell you what, I’ll take you both out for dinner”

  “I haven’t the right clothes to wear,” said Toni, imagining a grand restaurant.

  “You’ll do as you are,” said Agatha. “I’ll bet dear Charles here means to take us to the pub”

  “You are so right, Aggie.”

  “Got your wallet?”

  “Don’t be nasty.”

  Toni loved the Red Lion with its oak beams, stone floor and little mullioned windows. Agatha was chatting to Charles about the forthcoming weekend. Toni studied her uneasily. She was very grateful to Agatha for all her generosity but was frightened it was merely a whim and Agatha would soon grow tired of playing the Lady Bountiful, not knowing that a good part of Agatha’s generosity was prompted by shrewd business acumen. Agatha saw a promising detective, a young detective who would not leave her to go to university as Harry had done. Charles was also a puzzle. He was light and amusing, but Toni wondered what he really thought about things, not knowing that Agatha, who had known him a long time, often worried about the same thing.

  They all ate ham, egg and chips. Agatha and Charles had a glass of wine each and Toni had an orange juice.

  When they got back to the cottage, Toni suddenly felt awkward. Were Charles and Agatha having an affair? Charles seemed a bit younger than Agatha. Agatha, despite her stocky figure and small eyes, exuded an air of sexiness of which she seemed totally unaware.

  Toni decided to plead an early night. “Have you a copy of A Christmas Carol?” she asked.

  “Don’t think so.”

  “It’s just that your friend, Mrs Bloxby, came round. She got me to read to this old lady and that was the book. I keep wondering what happens.”

  Charles laughed. “You’ve led a charmed life if you don’t know. There have been so many films and plays based on that book.”

  “Never mind,” said Agatha. “There’s a box of detective stories in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

  Toni selected a copy of The Franchise Affair by Josephine Tey. It was the first detective story she had ever read. She read on into the night, until her eyelids drooped and she fell asleep.

  In the next two days, Agatha found she was engaged to find evidence in two more divorce cases. Toni, who had returned to work on Wednesday, had done well retrieving two cats and one dog, having taken Mrs Freedman’s advice and gone to the animal shelter.

  Agatha turned to her. “I think I’ll put you on the Horrington case, Toni,” she said. “Here is the file. Study it. It’s quite simple. Mrs Horrington thinks her husband is playing around and wants proof. Phil will give you the camera and lens. You haven’t seen your new flat yet. We’ll go along after work and you can actually move in tomorrow. I’m paying rent for it until the sale goes through.”

  Toni was worried. Agatha was paying her a good salary. Agatha had found her a flat. She felt the weight of gratitude and obligation. She hoped against hope she would prove lucky with this divorce case.

  Mr Horrington worked as sales director of a shoe company out on the industrial estate. Toni cycled out to the estate. The day was still sunny and the radio that morning had announced a hosepipe ban.

  Her heart sank as she cycled around the industrial estate. The ground around the shoe factory was bare of bushes and trees. Nowhere to hide. How had the others managed to watch him? If he left in his car, she could hardly keep up with him on her bicycle because, unlike the centre of town, the roads around the industrial estate did not carry much traffic.

  She took out her notes and found his home address and headed there instead. Mrs Horrington opened the door and scowled at the young girl with the fading black eye. “Go away. I’m not buying anything,” she said.

  She was a carefully preserved woman with expensively blonded hair. Her make–up was quite thick and her lipstick a scarlet slash across her mouth.

  “I’m from the agency,” said Toni. “I am working on your divorce.”

  “This is an outrage,” exclaimed Mrs Horrington. “Wait there!”

  She marched indoors and Toni waited.

  At last the door opened again and a mollified Mrs Horrington said, “You’d better come in. Mrs Raisin says you are not only brilliant but lucky. I’ll go along with it for the moment.”

  “I wanted to know if your husband had a favourite restaurant for lunch,” said Toni.

  “I believe he goes to La Nouvelle Cuisine,” she said. “Why?”

  “I wondered if he might take someone there.”

  Mrs Horrington gave a contemptuous laugh. “He would hardly parade anyone in front of the business community. They all lunch there.”

  “How did you guess he was having an affair?”

  “New underwear. Smells of scent. Looks guilty as hell.”

  “Have you challenged him?”

  “Oh, yes. He said it was all nonsense. He said he would take me on a cruise for a second honeymoon. No sign of him booking anything.”

  “Do you have a photograph of him? I couldn’t find one in the file.”

  “I gave one to that Raisin woman. Oh, wait here.”

  After a few minutes, Mrs Horrington came back with a photograph. It showed a plump middle-aged man with thinning grey hair and a paunch.

  “He’s dyed his hair black since that was taken,” said Mrs Horrington. “Another sign.”

  “I’ll get back to you,” said Toni.

  “You’d better do it quick. If you don’t have any results by the weekend, I’m employing another agency.”

  Toni pedalled under the unseasonally hot sun into the centre of Mircester. She propped her bike outside the restaurant and went in, the camera slung round her neck.

  A pleasant wave of air conditioning hit her. A formidable maître d’ approached. “I am taking pictures for a new magazine called Gloucester Food,” said Toni, trying to imitate Charles’s polished vowels as best as she could.

  “I don’t know that my customers would like having their meals interrupted by photographs,” said the maître d’.

  Toni noticed there was a service hatch from the kitchen. “I could shoot a few photographs through that service hatch,” she said. “I’ll be very discreet. It’s best to take photographs when the restaurant is as busy as this.”

  The maître d’ hesitated only a moment. Although the lunch hour was still busy, attendance in the evenings had been falling off. The restaurant could do with the publicity.

  “Just for a little while,” he said. “We don’t use the service hatch any more. The waiters carry the food straight in from the kitchen.”

  He led Toni into the kitchen. She raised the service hatch and then stood back. She wanted anyone looking over to get used to seeing it open. She studied the photograph of Mr Horrington and then cautiously approached the service hatch and looked through.

  She saw Mr Horrington just getting to his feet and helping a comparatively young woman into her jacket.

  Toni darted out of the kitchen and said to the startled maître d’, “I’ve left some equipment outside.”

  She positioned herself outside the restaurant. There would not be much point photographing the pair if they stood apart and showed no signs of affection. Mr Horrington could just claim it was a buyer.

  He emerged with the woman. Toni raised the camera. He whispered something in her ear and she giggled. Toni snapped a picture, glad the sound of the shutter was drowned by the traffic. Then Mr Horrington looked hurriedly up and down the street, not seeing Toni, who had crouched down behind a parked car. Toni rose to her feet again just in time to witness Mr Horrington and the woman engaged in a steamy kiss.

  “Gotcha!” she muttered, clicking the camera and taking as many photog
raphs as she could.

  Later, Agatha said, amazed, “You are lucky. I’ve followed him for days. Damn it. I concentrated on the evenings. He always seemed to be working late.”

  “Then she probably works at the shoe factory as well,” said Toni.

  “Good. I’ll go and see Mrs Horrington. Do you want to come with me?”

  “No, I’ll leave it to you.”

  “Had lunch?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Go out and get something and we’ll go to that flat when I get back.”

  When Agatha had gone, Toni asked Mrs Freedman, “When do I get my pay? I’m running low.”

  “On Friday. I gather you don’t have a bank account so you will be paid cash until you set one up. But you haven’t yet claimed any expenses. I can give you some money out the petty cash for just now. Take an expenses sheet with you and fill it in. You can put down for lunch at that posh restaurant.”

  “I don’t have a receipt.”

  “We’ll assume you lost it. Here’s forty pounds for the moment.”

  Toni was determined to keep as much of the money as possible, so she went to the nearest Burger King. She was just finishing a burger when she looked through the window and saw her brother, Terry, lurching along the street. He looked drunk. She bent down and hid until he had passed.

  Later that afternoon, Agatha took her to see the flat. It was very small: one tiny living room, a small bedroom, a minuscule kitchen and a bathroom. The bathroom was surprisingly the largest room in the place.

  “I’m buying the furnishings as well,” said Agatha. “They’re pretty horrible, but you can change them as you go along. You’ve got a bed at least and I put bedclothes on it and some towels in the bathroom. Now I’ll take you home and you can collect your bag. Everything went through quickly and so instead of waiting a fortnight, you can move in right away.”

  Toni was choked up with gratitude as Agatha handed her the keys. She had an impulse to hug her but reflected that one probably didn’t hug such as the formidable Agatha Raisin.

  Agatha, as she drove towards Carsely, was prey to mixed feelings. It was all right to think that Toni was just lucky, but she herself should have thought of that restaurant. Toni’s black eye was fading fast. How wonderful to be young again, thought Agatha. How marvellous not to suffer the indignities of approaching old age: spreading waistline, moustache, hair dye and aching hip. She resolved to go back to the beautician’s, Beau Monde, in Evesham and get Dawn to work her magic on her face before the weekend.