Agatha Raisin 18 (2007) - Kissing Christmas Goodbye

by M C Beaton

  “I did not.”

  “I talked to the vicar’s wife over in Ancombe and she told me you were quite pressing about wanting to help. Her husband is taking the carol service and yet you offered to help when no help was needed.”

  The vicar looked mulish.

  “Let’s put it this way. I’m not going.”

  “Let’s put it this way,” shouted Mrs Bloxby. “I am tired, sick and tired of your selfishness. I wear myself out with parish visits which you should be making. You control the purse strings. When did I last have a new dress? When did we last have a holiday?” And with that, the vicar’s wife burst into tears.

  “Oh, I am so sorry.” The vicar’s voice trembled. “I never thought…”

  He handed her a clean handkerchief and then wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t cry. We shall go to Agatha’s and you can have a splendid new dress. And…and after all the Christmas services are over, why don’t we take a short holiday, somewhere sunny?”

  Mrs Bloxby detached herself from him and dried her eyes. “Do you promise?”

  “With all my heart. I do love you. You must know that.”

  She gave him a weak smile.

  “Now, what about a cup of tea?”

  A frosty gleam appeared in his wife’s eyes.

  “I’ll get it,” said the vicar hurriedly. “I’ll get it!”

  Agatha’s nerves were on edge. The great day had arrived, but the weather was unseasonably warm and there was no sign of James. The men were erecting the marquee in a depressing drizzle.

  Toni, Doris Simpson and Mrs Bloxby arrived to help. The rooms were already decorated but Agatha had decided to put the tree in the marquee so they would all need to wait until the men were finished.

  Toni, sitting at the kitchen table, wrote out place cards on stiff cardboard. She also wrote on the cards that a bus had been hired to take the Mircester guests home at midnight and that the same bus would bring them back the next day to pick up their cars. Doris had previously taken Agatha’s cats to her home because Hodge and Boswell were spending too much of their cunning time trying to get at the huge turkey lying in all its glory on the kitchen counter.

  Crates of champagne and wine had arrived. The caterers were supplying extra tables, tablecloths, plates and glasses.

  At last the men came in to say the marquee was ready, just as Roy arrived from London in an allwhite suit with a sprig of holly in his lapel.

  They carried the large tree, propped outside the front door, along the canvas tunnel at the side of the house and into the marquee. Then they returned to the house to go up to the spare room where the tree decorations were stored and carry them to the marquee as well. Roy had brought an overall with him to cover his precious suit. He whistled happily as he started by pinning a silver star on the top of the tree. “I see you’ve got coloured lights,” he shouted down. “Too naff. White lights are the new black.”

  “Coloured lights,” insisted Agatha grimly. “Oh, do get a move on!”

  By five o’clock, Agatha got Roy to open a bottle of champagne. The chef was already busy in the kitchen, roasting the turkey and shouting at his assistants.

  “Do you think a dinner will ever come out of this chaos?” moaned Agatha.

  “It’ll be all right on the night,” said Roy.

  “This is the night, you cloth head.”

  “No need to be a bitch, Aggie, just because there’s no sign of your ex.”

  “If James doesn’t come, it’s all the same to me,” protested Agatha, suddenly feeling sick at the thought he might not arrive and the waste of all this expense.

  The guests were due to arrive at seven o’clock for drinks in the marquee, followed by dinner at eight.

  Doris Simpson and Mrs Bloxby went home to change and Agatha and Toni retreated upstairs to do the same.

  Roy shouted after them that he was going to write a large sign saying ‘Agatha’s Party’ and put it over the entrance to the tunnel. “Otherwise,” he called up the stairs, “they’ll be ringing the doorbell and you’ll need to go out in the rain to show them where to go.” Roy thought happily of the snow machine resting in the small van he had hired. He couldn’t wait to see Agatha’s face.

  Half an hour later, Roy called again that the barman had arrived along with the first guests, but where was Agatha?

  At quarter past seven, Agatha made an appearance in the marquee and quickly scanned the guests. No James. Toni was wearing a simple black sheath with a broad scarlet belt round her slim waist. Her hair was brushed down on her shoulders. George Pyson was talking to her. Mrs Bloxby was resplendent in a pretty smoky-blue chiffon dress, smiling up at her husband, her face radiant. Now that’s real love, thought Agatha wistfully.

  Soon, with the exception of James, everyone had arrived. Agatha longed to postpone the dinner for a little longer but felt sure the temperamental chef in the kitchen would murder her.

  Harry Beam was talking to Bill Wong’s girlfriend, a tarty creature with thick make–up and a see-through blouse. Toni had started to talk animatedly to Bill Wong and ignore George, who was hovering behind her. Miss Simms had arrived accompanied by some knuckle dragger, as Agatha inwardly damned him.

  Agatha encountered a glare from the chef, who had marched into the marquee, and reluctantly called out, “Dinner is served.”

  The guests oohed and aahed at the decorations as they searched for their places. Agatha noticed that Bill Wong was not sitting next to his girlfriend but next to Toni, and Harry Beam was now seated next to Bill’s girlfriend. Agatha wondered if Toni had changed the place cards.

  Everyone pulled crackers, the caterers poured wine and the first course of chestnut soup was served. Agatha was miserably aware of the empty place beside her. Then, just as the second course, smoked salmon, was appearing on the table, there was a ring at the doorbell. Agatha jumped to her feet, but Charles, seated in the hall, shouted he’d get it.

  James Lacey walked in. “Your place is here!” called Agatha, her face radiant.

  He walked up to her and bent down to kiss her on the cheek. Agatha drew back and pointed to the large bunch of mistletoe above her head. He smiled and wrapped his arms around her, bent his head, and kissed her passionately on the mouth.

  And Agatha felt nothing.

  When he drew back, he looked down at her with a puzzled frown.

  “Oh, do sit down, James,” said Agatha, all false jollity. “You’ve missed the first course but you’re in good time for the salmon and the turkey.”

  Oh dear, thought Mrs Bloxby, as Agatha bent her head over her plate and studied the smoked salmon as if it were the most interesting thing she had ever seen.

  Jade, Bill Wong’s girlfriend, was flirting outrageously with Harry Beam.

  Toni and Bill Wong had their heads together in animated discussion. Miss Simms’s boyfriend was poking at his smoked salmon, shouting, “What’s this muck?”

  George Pyson felt very lonely. He had nourished such hopes for this evening.

  Toni, once she had started talking to Bill, had barely looked at him.

  The plates were cleared away. The chef appeared in the doorway with the magnificent roasted turkey on a trolley.

  “Wait!” shouted Charles. He took out a whistle and blew a loud blast.

  “What on earth…?” began Agatha.

  “Go to the window,” called Charles, “and look out. It’s a surprise.”

  Agatha went to the dining room window and looked out and then stared in amazement.

  “It’s snowing!” she cried. “It’s really snowing.”

  There was an excited scraping back of chairs. Those in the sitting room opened their window: those in the hall opened the door. Agatha swung open the casement window, wide.

  Roy crouched in the darkness with the snow machine, and, slightly tipsy because he had been fortifying himself with brandy, was delighted with the reaction. “See if I can get some more,” he muttered. He fiddled with the dials. But he accidentally turned the dial to �
�Blizzard’.

  One minute, Agatha Raisin was framed by the window, looking out at gently falling snow. The next moment, she had turned into a snowman. She turned slowly, her beady eyes glaring out from her white snow-covered face.

  Screams and yells and the crash of broken glass came as the guests reeled backwards before the arctic blast: curses as windows and door were wrenched shut.

  But not before Charles had run out through the blizzard, thrust Roy aside, and switched the machine off.

  There was a sudden silence.

  “You may as well all go home,” Agatha said wearily. Wet, papery snowflakes melted in her hair and dribbled down her face like tears.

  Then Miss Simms began to laugh. It was an infectious throaty laugh.

  Everyone began to join in. James shouted above the laughter, “This is a Christmas to remember. Here’s to Agatha!”

  Agatha jolted herself out of her misery. She turned to the chef. “We don’t want the turkey to get cold. Thank goodness the snow missed it. Get your girls in here to clear up the broken glass. Who the hell thought up this idea?”

  “Me and Roy,” said Charles. “We did so want to give you a white Christmas.”

  “I’ll kill you later. Chef, start carving. Girls, we need lots of paper towels so everyone can dry themselves off.”

  Agatha ran upstairs to change her clothes and repair her make–up. When she returned, everyone was sitting over large plates full of turkey and all the trimmings.

  “Agatha,” said James, “you never fail to surprise. Just listen to everybody. Your party’s a big success.”

  “I don’t know why they don’t want to lynch me,” said Agatha. “Mrs Bloxby’s got on a beautiful new dress. I hope it isn’t ruined.”

  “Eat your turkey and stop worrying. It’s the best turkey ever.”

  Agatha looked up at his handsome face and at his blue eyes and tried to reanimate some of that old passion, but nothing came.

  Roy had reappeared and was chattering to everyone between mouthfuls of turkey and avoiding looking down the table in Agatha’s direction.

  Patrick said, “Everyone’s drinking rather a lot. How are they all going to get home?”

  “I’ve hired a bus to come at midnight to take the Mircester lot home. At ten the following morning, it will pick them up in the square and bring them back to Carsely to pick up their cars. Toni left a note about that with their place cards.” After the turkey, a huge plum pudding in all its flaming glory was brought in, along with plates of mince pies and tubs of brandy butter and dishes of whipped cream.

  Agatha talked to Patrick about the Tamworthy case and then realized it looked as if she were pointedly ignoring James and turned back to him. He said he had been out of touch with the news on his travels, so Agatha told him about the murders.

  “Toni?” he asked when she had finished. “Is she here?”

  “She’s the blonde girl talking to Bill Wong.”

  “Very young and beautiful,” commented James. “I hope Bill doesn’t get his heart broken.”

  Agatha felt a stab of jealousy. Bill Wong was her friend, her very first friend. Oh, well, if he took Toni to meet his mother and father, that would be the end of that. The dinner finished with three cheers for Agatha and then they all moved back to the marquee, where liqueurs and mulled wine were being served.

  It was hard to feel dismal, thought Agatha, when everyone, even the knuckle dragger, kept telling her what a marvellous evening it had been. Even the vicar, a little bit tipsy, confided in her that he hadn’t wanted to come but it had all been so wonderful, he was glad he hadn’t missed it.

  James was constantly at Agatha’s side. Charles noticed that although Agatha looked happy, she didn’t have that look of anguished exhilaration she used to have whenever James was near.

  Agatha said to Mrs Bloxby, “Your gorgeous gown doesn’t seem to have suffered.”

  “Guess what, Mrs Raisin. Alf and I are going on holiday at the New Year. It’s only a package deal to Tunisia, but just think! Sunshine and no complaining parishioners.”

  At last the bus arrived to take the Mircester crowd home. Agatha stood outside her cottage to wave them off. She noticed that Bill was sitting next to Toni and Harry Beam next to Jade while George had a seat on his own.

  As the bus rolled away, George reflected that he had a chance of a job on an estate in Sussex. He had dreamed of taking Toni with him as his wife. But Toni seemed to have forgotten his very existence.

  James tried to kiss Agatha goodnight and looked surprised when she quickly turned her cheek. Charles and Roy were staying the night.

  “Now, Roy,” said Agatha when James had gone. “How could you do that to me?”

  “We both did it,” said Charles. “If Roy hadn’t hit the wrong button, it would have been a great success. But look at it this way. No one is ever going to forget Agatha Raisin’s Christmas dinner!”

  Epilogue

  The Mircester guests arrived the following morning and were served with coffee and Alka-Seltzer in the marquee. Agatha felt sorry for George. Toni was obviously trying to be polite to him but kept breaking away and returning to Bill Wong.

  James arrived to say he was leaving for his sister’s and would stay there over Christmas. He longed to ask Agatha to go with him. After avoiding her for so long, he found he could not bear her new indifference—but he knew his sister did not approve of Agatha.

  He said a reluctant goodbye, not even trying to kiss her this time, afraid of a rebuff.

  Bill came up to Agatha, his eyes shining. “Toni says she’ll come to my home for Christmas dinner.” And that will be that, thought Agatha. His parents will soon see Toni off.

  After the bus had left, Agatha, Roy and Charles went into the cottage. Agatha stared in dismay at the mess. The caterers had taken away the spare tables and cloths, but fake snow still lay on the floor and on the decorations.

  “I thought the stuff was supposed to be biodegradable,” said Charles.

  “But it is,” said Roy. “We can vacuum it all off the floor. Where’s the sitting-room furniture, Agatha?”

  “It’s in storage, and thankfully so are the pictures, ornaments and fiddly bits. I’ll give you the vacuum, Roy. What about the stuff all over the walls and decorations?”

  “That washes off.”

  Both Charles and Roy were desperately thinking of ways to get out of cleaning it up, but Agatha stood over them while they groaned and worked. The minute the place was comparatively clean, both said they must rush off.

  Agatha said goodbye and then collected her cats from Doris.

  After all the hustle and bustle of the previous days, the cottage felt empty and lonely. “Six days to Christmas,” said Agatha gloomily to her cats, “and nowhere to go.”

  On Christmas Day, Agatha went out for a long lonely walk. She decided to take the decorations down when she returned without waiting for Twelfth Night. So depressing to sit on one’s own and stare at all the baubles. She wondered with a grim smile how Toni was surviving Christmas dinner with Bill’s parents.

  “This is Toni,” said Bill proudly, as his mother opened the door. Mrs Wong peered at Toni through thick glasses and wiped her red hands on her apron.

  “I didn’t know we were having extra company,” she said. “Oh, well, take her into the lounge.”

  Mr Wong was sitting reading a newspaper. He lowered it reluctantly when Bill introduced Toni. Bill served sweet sherry in tiny glasses. Mr Wong had the same almond-shaped eyes as Bill but the rest of him was depressed British, from his droopy moustache to his ratty cardigan and carpet slippers. He raised his newspaper again. Toni saw nothing odd in his silence.

  “How clever of your mum,” she said to Bill, “to keep the plastic covers on her three–piece suite. She’ll never have to worry about getting it dirty.”

  “My mother’s very house-proud,” said Bill.

  Then there was a long silence. Mr Wong rattled his newspaper nervously. He was used to Bill’s girlfriend
s chattering to fill up the silence. Toni didn’t bother.

  “Dinner,” shouted Mrs Wong.

  Mrs Wong was usually a dreadful cook. Toni was in luck. The soup was tomato out of a can. Toni loved tomato soup. This was followed by a turkey already roasted at the local supermarket. Toni ate with relish. The Wongs did not seem odd to her. If one comes from a dysfunctional family, then the unacceptable becomes acceptable.

  After the dinner was over, Toni insisted on following Mrs Wong into the kitchen. Although there was a large dishwasher, every plate had to be scrubbed clean before being put into the machine. Toni talked happily about the murder case.

  When it was time to leave, she flung her arms around the startled Mrs Wong, hugged her, and said, “Thank you for a wonderful meal.”

  And Mrs Wong said for the first time in her life, “Call again.”

  Agatha was just taking down branches of fake holly when her phone rang. She rushed to answer it in the hope that someone actually wanted her company.

  It was Alison, her voice breaking with hysteria. “They killed him! The villagers have killed him.”

  “Calm down. Take a deep breath and speak slowly,” ordered Agatha. “Who’s been killed?”

  “Jimmy. They hanged him in that room above his shop, put a black candle under him and all sorts of cabalistic drawings painted in red on the walls.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Alison met her in the hall. “They’re all in the drawing room, except Sadie. She’s being interviewed by the police in the dining room. I can’t take any more of this, Agatha.”

  Agatha went into the drawing room. Sir Henry Field was staring out of the window. Bert was slumped in a chair, staring sightlessly ahead. Sadie came in. “Your turn next, Alison.”

  Alison sighed and got to her feet.

  “It’s awful,” said Sadie. “Those villagers and their witchcraft.” She stared at Agatha. “What are you doing here?”