by M C Beaton
‘He’s got quite a big car park at the back,’ said Agatha. ‘He could put up one of those marquee things with heaters.’
‘He hasn’t the money for that now.’
‘Then we’d better start raising some,’ said Agatha.
‘If anyone can do it, you can.’ Agatha’s past career was that of a successful public relations executive.
‘Are you going to Mr Lacey’s wedding?’ asked Mrs Bloxby.
‘Of course. They’re being married in Felicity’s home village of Downboys in Sussex. I suppose they’ll arrange accommodation for us all.’
‘I asked about that,’ said Mrs Bloxby. ‘We’re expected to make our own bookings. There’s the town of Hewes not too far away.’
‘Cheapskates! I hope I can still get a room.’
‘I think you have one. Toni Gilmour has been invited and knowing you were away and the possible shortage of rooms, she booked a double at The Jolly Farmer in Hewes.’
The doorbell rang and Mrs Bloxby went to answer it. She came back followed by Bill Wong. Bill was half Chinese and half English. He had a strong Gloucester accent and the only thing oriental about him was his rather beautiful almond-shaped eyes.
‘Hello, Agatha,’ said Bill. ‘Thought I might find you here. You’ve been putting the frighteners on your ex.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Agatha, turning red. ‘How are your parents?’
But Bill was not to be deflected. ‘James phoned me from the Crimea. Told me he saw you. Then when he went to Gallipoli, there you were again. He thinks you’re stalking him.’
‘The vanity of men never ceases to amaze me,’ said Agatha.
‘But what on earth were you doing?’ asked Bill.
‘It’s coincidence, that’s all,’ said Agatha. ‘I was on holiday. I was James’s wife, remember, so I learned a lot about military history.’
‘Oh, really? When was the Battle of Waterloo?’
‘Mr Wong,’ said Mrs Bloxby gently. ‘You are surely off duty and not interrogating a suspect. Tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee, please.’
When she had served coffee, Mrs Bloxby broke the heavy silence between Agatha and Bill by asking Agatha how she would go about fund-raising to save the village pub.
Anxious to escape any further questions from Bill, Agatha began to talk of running an initial campaign in the local papers and then holding a fête to raise money. ‘Maybe I’ll get a smoking celebrity’ she said.
Bill eventually left and drove into police headquarters in Mircester to start his shift.
He decided to phone James, who was staying with his future in-laws in Downboys in Sussex.
‘I spoke to Agatha today, James,’ said Bill. ‘I don’t know what she was doing at the battlefields, but Agatha likes to compete with people. You’d better watch out. Maybe she plans to turn out her own guides. No, I shouldn’t think for a moment she was stalking you.’
Detective Sergeant Collins listened outside Bill’s door. She was jealous of Bill and highly ambitious, so she often listened to his calls, hoping to steal a march on him. But Bill’s call this time seemed to be nothing important. Only some chat about that infuriating Raisin female.
The days before the wedding seemed, to Agatha, to hurtle past and soon she was in her car being driven to Sussex. Agatha had agreed to let Toni drive because her hip was hurting again. A surgeon had told her that she really must begin to think seriously about having a hip operation.
Toni was wearing a leather jacket over a black T-shirt. A broad leather belt was slung low over her slim hips and her black trousers were tucked into a pair of pixie boots. Her fair hair was cut short and layered.
Agatha glanced at her sideways and sighed. Her own figure, although she had lost weight, seemed to sag even more these days. She had been neglecting her exercises. Sometimes early fifties felt young enough to her, but on days like this, seated next to the glowing youth of Toni and going to her ex’s marriage to a gorgeous girl, she felt ancient. Agatha’s legs were still good and her brown hair thick and glossy.
The countryside sped past. ‘Half a league, half a league, half a league onwards,’ muttered Agatha.
‘Oh, we got that at school,’ said Toni. ‘“The Charge of the Light Brigade”.’
Agatha winced. She had forgotten where the quotation came from.
‘What’s in your enormous suitcase?’ asked Toni. ‘We’ll only be there for a couple of days.’
‘Because I don’t know what to wear,’ said Agatha, ‘so I brought as much as I could. I don’t know whether to be dressy or smart casual.’
‘They’ll all be wearing hats like the Duchess of Cornwall,’ said Toni.
‘I haven’t got a hat.’
‘Neither have I. You always look smart.’
‘How’s business going?’
‘We’re actually beginning to make a profit.’
Agatha fought down a surge of competition. Just look where that character defect had got her. Making a right fool of herself. At least she could try to keep clear of James.
Toni hit that idea on the head by saying, ‘There’s some sort of pre-wedding party tonight at Downboys.’
‘Why?’ moaned Agatha. ‘The groom’s not supposed to see the bride before the wedding.’
‘I don’t think that bothers people these days,’ said Toni.
‘Why did you book us in at a pub? Doesn’t Hewes boast a hotel?’
‘It has two. But they’ve been taken over by Felicity’s relatives and friends. I think their accommodation is being paid for. Maybe James didn’t know he was expected to pay for his side of the church. The Jolly Farmer’s pretty reasonable.’
‘I hope that doesn’t mean a communal bathroom.’
‘No, bathroom en suite promised.’
‘I thought you might have wanted to travel down with Harry Beam,’ said Agatha.
‘He’s following us down. As we’re sharing a room, it’s better if we turn up together,’ said Toni.
Hewes was an attractive old market town situated by a river. The pub turned out to be a sort of pub-cum-hotel built round an old courtyard.
Their room was large and pleasant with a low-beamed ceiling, flowery wallpaper and two comfortable beds. There was even a desk with a plug for Internet access.
‘What time is this party?’ asked Agatha.
‘It’s at eight o’clock this evening. Buffet supper thrown in, so we don’t need to bother about food.’
‘How did you find all this out?’ asked Agatha.
‘I phoned up for directions and found out about the buffet supper.’
‘I wonder if James hoped I wouldn’t attend,’ fretted Agatha. ‘I’ve a good mind not to go.’
‘Don’t leave me on my own,’ said Toni.
‘I thought that by this time you wouldn’t be afraid of anything,’ said Agatha.
‘Not when I’m working,’ said Toni. ‘But the English middle classes frighten me when I have to meet them socially. I feel they can see right into my council estate soul.’
Toni had hardly any time to have a shower and change. Agatha monopolized the bathroom and then covered her bed in dresses and trouser suits, worrying over what to wear. At last she settled for a blue-and-gold evening jacket with a short black velvet skirt and high heels.
Toni was wearing a short white chiffon dress and gold leather high-heeled sandals.
Agatha felt a pang of envy. Oh, to be young and wrinkle-free again!
Both were nervous when they set out – Toni hoping she did not make some social gaffe or other and Agatha dreading that James would confront her over her visits to the battlefields.
‘I’ll lie!’ she said out loud.
‘About what?’ asked Toni.
‘Never mind.’
The village of Downboys was built around a cross-roads. In the centre was an old pub, a church and a small grocery store. It seemed a very gloomy sort of place. Although the evening sky above was still cloudless afte
r a sunny day, the trunks of the trees were black with damp.
‘Let me see,’ muttered Toni, squinting down at a piece of paper on her lap. ‘I turn left at the crossroads, then a few yards and a right turn into a cul-de-sac and their house is the villa at the end. I can hear music. They must have hired a band. This is it. Damn! The drive’s crammed with cars. We’d better park here and get out and walk.’
They walked up the drive towards the sound of the jaunty music. ‘Isn’t it still usual to have a stag party for the man the night before and a hen party for the women?’ grumbled Agatha.
‘I thought it was,’ said Toni.
The Bross-Tilkingtons’ villa was large and Victorian. The front door was standing open. They walked in. A young man wearing nothing more than a bow tie and a leather apron asked them for their invitations.
‘I didn’t know this was fancy dress,’ said Agatha.
‘I’m from Naked Servants,’ said the young man, smiling. He studied their invitations and then said, ‘Go through the house and out through the french windows. The party is in the marquee on the lawn.’
‘God, how naff!’ muttered Agatha. Am I getting old, Toni? That vision didn’t rouse a single hormone.’
‘Cheered me up,’ said Toni. ‘I’m more at home with vulgar people. And a semi-naked servant is definitely vulgar.’
Agatha hesitated. ‘Maybe I’ll go back to the pub and drive back later and pick you up.’
‘Not like you,’ said Toni, taking her arm. ‘Let’s face the music.’
They walked out through the french windows towards a huge striped marquee on the lawn.
There was another nearly naked young man at the entrance. He took their cards and bawled out their names but his voice was lost in the sounds of a medley from Mary Poppins being belted out by a brass band.
‘Food and tables,’ said Agatha. ‘Let’s grab something to eat and drink and sit down.’
‘Don’t you want to circulate?’
‘No.’
‘I see Bill Wong over there. I’m going to talk to him,’ said Toni, ‘and then I’ll join you.’
Agatha decided to have a drink first. She ordered a gin and tonic and then carried her glass to a table in a corner and sat down. She was soon joined by the members of her detective agency staff – Phil Marshall, Patrick Mulligan and Mrs Freedman.
Phil was in his seventies, Patrick, early sixties, as was Mrs Freedman. Agatha, in her early fifties, instead of being glad of their company, felt obscurely aged by it, especially when the crowd of milling guests parted to show her the beautiful bride-to-be standing with her arm linked in James’s.
And then James saw her. He whispered something to Felicity and made his way to Agatha’s table.
‘I’d like a word with you,’ he said.
‘Sit down,’ said Agatha, trying to smile but feeling as if her face had been Botoxed.
‘In private – outside. Can’t hear myself think for that band.’
Agatha was about to protest, but at that moment the band launched into the music from The Guns of Navarone. She rose and reluctantly followed him outside.
He looked the same as ever, thought Agatha miserably – tall and handsome with his blue eyes and his thick hair going a little grey at the temples.
‘I can’t think of a more polite way of putting it,’ said James. ‘But were you stalking me?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Agatha defiantly.
‘Well, let me spell it out for you. I went all the way to Balaclava and saw you fleeing the hotel. Then I went to the ANZAC landings – and guess what? You were just leaving there as well. Were you chasing me?’
Agatha opened her mouth to lie, to give a furious denial, but then she thought, what does it all matter any more? He’s getting married.
‘You upset me at that engagement party of yours when you said I had never listened to you. I wanted to prove you wrong. I had a holiday due to me. I’d taken a tumble down the stairs and I think that must have addled my wits. I was going to stun you with my military knowledge.’
James began to laugh. Then he said, ‘Oh, Agatha, you are an original. Let’s take a stroll and talk about something else. You’re looking very well. How are things at -? Oh, what is it?’
One of the nearly naked young men had materialized beside them. ‘Mr Lacey,’ he said, ‘your fiancée wishes to speak to you.’
‘All right. Tell her I’ll be with her in a moment.’
‘Whose idea was it to hire the Naked Servants?’ asked Agatha.
‘Felicity thought it would be fun.’
‘And you were happy with that?’
‘Agatha, don’t needle me. I’ll tell you this,’ said James with sudden passion, ‘if I could think of a way to get out of this bloody forthcoming marriage, I would.’
‘Shoot her?’
‘Don’t be flippant. Stop creeping around us!’ The latter to a Naked Servant who had appeared beside James and was avidly listening.
‘I only came to tell you that Miss Felicity is wondering where you are,’ said the young man huffily.
‘I’m coming,’ said James wearily.
Agatha sadly watched him go.
Chapter Two
AGATHA RETURNED TO her table. Charles, with Mr and Mrs Bloxby, came up to join her, followed by Harry, Toni and Bill Wong, and Agatha’s ex-employee, Roy Silver.
They put several tables together to form a sort of Cotswold party. The band was taking a break and so they were able to talk.
‘Mr and Mrs Bross-Tilkington look such an ordinary staid couple,’ said Mrs Bloxby. ‘I must admit the Naked Servants shocked me.’
‘It was Felicity’s idea,’ said Agatha.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Bill. ‘I wonder what James thinks of it all.’
‘There’s worse to come,’ said Toni.
‘Like what?’ asked Agatha.
‘At the end of the party they have a competition where we vote for the handsomest servant. Then that servant is raffled off.’
‘You mean, pimped off,’ said Agatha.
‘No, the winner of the raffle gets to sit on the Naked Servant’s lap. Nothing more than that.’
The vicar, Alf Bloxby, got to his feet. ‘We’re leaving,’ he said.
Mrs Bloxby didn’t protest. ‘It’s not really my scene, Mrs Raisin.’
‘Nor mine either,’ said Agatha. ‘But I don’t want to drag Toni away.’
‘Oh, you can drag me away any time you like,’ said Toni. ‘Doesn’t Felicity have any young friends? I mean, there’s about five people her age and the rest are wrinklies and they all seem to be leering at the servants. It’s creepy.’
Agatha hesitated. ‘Apart from a few of James’s friends and his sister, the rest of us here are his side of the church, so to speak. If we all get up and walk out, it’ll look rude. Then we should really thank our hosts and we can’t all march up to them together.’
The Bloxbys sat down again. ‘You’re right,’ said Mrs Bloxby. ‘I wish something would happen to end this party.’
Harry and Toni glanced at each other and then Harry said, ‘Toni and I are going out for a bit of fresh air.’
Just after Toni and Harry had left, Agatha found herself suddenly confronted by a furious Felicity. ‘You leave James alone,’ she shouted. ‘I know you’ve been stalking him. You’re obsessed with him. Stay away from him!’
There was a shocked silence. ‘You can’t say that one’s beautiful when she’s angry,’ said Charles. ‘She looked snakelike.’
‘Any ideas?’ asked Toni when they were outside.
‘We could cut the guy ropes.’
‘Might cause accidents if the marquee collapsed and smothered people.’
‘Let’s walk round the tent and see if we can think of something.’
They walked around the back of the marquee. The lawn ended in a small river.
‘Look at that!’ said Toni. ‘Over to the left.’
Harry looked and saw kennels with a fenced-off yar
d. Behind the fence prowled four Alsatians.
‘If they got out,’ said Toni, ‘I bet they’d head straight for the food.’
‘What if they savage the guests?’
‘I’m sure they’ve been trained to only attack when ordered to. What do you think?’
They walked up to the kennels. ‘They do look hungry,’ said Harry. ‘Mind you, I could just lift this latch on the gate and let it swing open.’
‘There’s a shed nearby,’ said Toni. ‘Let’s make sure there isn’t a kennel man.’
They peered through the open door of the shed. A thickset man lay asleep with an empty bottle of whisky behind him. A pot of boiling water with horsemeat in it stood on the stove. ‘He’s forgotten to feed them,’ said Harry, turning off the gas on the cooker.
‘What on earth are the Bross-Tilkingtons doing with four Alsatians?’
‘They seem to be pretty rich. People get nervous these days.’ Harry took out a handkerchief and lifted the latch. ‘My dad had an Alsatian once. They’re really all right. Stand back! All they’ll want is food.’
The gate swung open. The dogs sniffed. The evening air was full of the smells of food.
The four dogs moved slowly out of the kennels. Then, moving as one dog, they leaped forward.
‘Poor James looks as if he wants to die,’ said Bill Wong as a roll of drums heralded the start of the raffle.
Felicity’s mother, Olivia, walked up to a microphone in front of the band. She was a square-built sort of woman draped in peach silk. Her hair was so white and so rigidly lacquered it looked like a steel helmet.
‘Now, ladies,’ she began. ‘The moment you have all been waiting for.’ Beside her, with cheesy grins on their faces, stood five Naked Servants.
And then the dogs erupted into the tent. One jumped on the buffet table while the others scrabbled to join it, finally pulling down the white tablecloth and sending plates of food flying. Guests were screaming and fleeing from the tent. Felicity’s father was shouting for someone called Jerry.
Outside the tent, the guests were making rapidly for their cars and soon the night air was full of the sound of revving engines.
