by M C Beaton
James had gone to Greece and Agatha had to admit to herself that she was bored. "I bought three tickets and all I got was a tin of sardines," grumbled old Mrs. Boggle.
"With tickets at twenty pee each, you got a bargain," snapped Agatha.
"I know what it is," said Mrs. Boggle, "you're keeping all the best prizes for yourself." Agatha ignored her and sold more tickets. To her delight and under the envious eyes of Mrs. Boggle, the next two people won, respectively, a bottle of whisky and a hamper of selected cheeses. Mr. Boggle bought another ticket. She won a bottle of shampoo. "There you are," said Agatha brightly. "You can't complain about that." But of course Mrs. Boggle did, saying she had wanted the whisky. The day wore on. The jingly-jangly music of the morris dances began to get on Agatha's nerves.
She was restless and wanted some excitement. She had phoned Charles, but he had cheerfully said he was busy and Agatha knew that "busy" with Charles meant he was in pursuit of some female.
On this sunny day, with bunting fluttering in the lightest of breezes, her thoughts turned again to Jimmy. Her cottage at night no longer seemed a sanctuary, a refuge, but lonely and boring, with only the television for company. Mrs. Bloxby had tried to help the "new" Agatha to sainthood by suggesting that their next move would be to help out at a charity fete in Long-borough.
If I had married Jimmy, thought Agatha wistfully, I would be part of a pair, I would be Mrs. Jessop. The police had returned the love potion and hair restorer. Agatha had sent them both to a lab in Birmingham for analysis. The love potion turned out to be aniseed-flavoured water and the hair restorer was a bottle of commercial stuff, available on the market for twenty-five pounds. All Francie had done was remove the label. But it meant that no magic had made Jimmy fall for her. He was not like James Lacey, bad-tempered and chilly, or Charles, fickle and amoral. He was a decent man and he had loved her and he had given her his ring.
Wyckhadden had been all right, thought Agatha, automatically selling tickets and smiling and handing out prizes. It was only the murders and the dreadful weather which had made it seem so awful.
And then she began to wonder if she could get Jimmy back. She could explain about Charles, explain that she had been upset and had drunk too much. He would give her that warm smile of his and she would feel secure. She began to forget that stab of relief she had experienced when she had known that the engagement was over.
Why not go back to Wyckhadden and just see if she could talk to him?
The idea of taking action, some action, any action began to get a grip of Agatha.
She began to feel happy in a way that no amount of good works had managed to make her feel.
At the end of the day, she began to help clear up. Mrs. Bloxby, looking with some surprise at Agatha's happy face, thought that perhaps Agatha really was meant for good works.
That was until Agatha told her she planned to go back to Wyckhadden and see Jimmy. Mrs. Bloxby was about to protest that Agatha would probably only meet with rejection, Mrs. Bloxby being more used to the Jimmy Jessops of this world--that is, ordinary decent people--than Agatha, but decided against it. Perhaps Jimmy might turn out to be the man for Agatha after all. She had only Agatha's word for it that he was an ordinary decent man. And the world was full of women who had married for companionship and security, so why not Agatha? So she fought down the voice of her conscience that was telling her that Agatha Raisin would be miserable with less, and wished her luck.
Agatha did not immediately dash off. She went to the beautician's and had a facial and her eyebrows shaped. Then the hairdresser's, then into a new boutique beside the hairdresser's in Evesham to choose something new. She hesitated between selecting something pretty and feminine or something sharp and businesslike. At last she bought a biscuit-coloured linen suit and a soft, pale yellow silk blouse to go with it. Then she drove back to Carsely and called round to see her cleaner, Doris Simpson, to tell her that she was going away again, but just for a few days, and that there was now an extra cat to feed.
Feeling more and more confident, she had a good night's sleep and set out on the long road to Wyckhadden early the following morning.
As she drove into Wyckhadden past neat little villas and bungalows on the outskirts, she looked at them with new eyes. She could live a life in one of those, mowing the lawn and polishing the car.
She drove straight to the Garden Hotel. The weather was warm on the beach and the kiosks in the pier were open. The sea, which had looked so threatening in the winter, was tamed into calm deep blue. A ship puffed along the line of the horizon, looking like a child's toy.
In the hotel, there was now a glamorous receptionist behind the desk and guests were coming and going.
The receptionist smiled and said Agatha was lucky. They had received a cancellation that morning. There was a smart young foreign porter in new hotel livery to carry her bag up to her room. The old hotel had an air of life and prosperity. Agatha wondered whether Harry, Jennifer and Mary were still in residence or if the big influx of new guests had driven them away. But then, they had said they were used to visitors.
Agatha picked up the phone and got through to the police station. "Wyckhadden police" came the voice of the desk sergeant. "I would like to speak to Inspector Jessop," said Agatha.
"Yes. May I ask who's calling?"
"Agatha Raisin."
"He's out on a case," said the desk sergeant sharply.
"When is he due back?"
"We don't know. Not for a long time."
"I am staying at the Garden Hotel. Would you ask him to phone me?"
"If I see him," said the desk sergeant ungraciously and replaced the receiver.
She changed into the new linen suit and blouse and walked down to the hall. She asked for Mr. Martin.
Mr. Martin came out of his office and looked at her like the Ancient Mariner spotting the albatross. "Oh, dear ... I mean, how nice to see you again."
"I wondered if Miss Stobbs, Miss Dulsey and Mr. Berry were still in residence."
"Yes, they are." He looked at the line of keys behind the desk. "They all appear to be out at the moment. Er, will you be staying long?"
"A couple of days," said Agatha.
Agatha went out into the sunshine and walked along the pier. She wished she had brought her coat, for although the sun was warm, the sea breeze was somewhat chilly. She then saw that among the souvenir kiosks, there was a new booth: MADAM MYSTIC, FORTUNE-TELLER.
May as well pass the time until I figure out what to do, thought Agatha.
Madam Mystic was dressed in a long black robe and wore a turban on her head.
"Sit down," she said. "Your fortune will cost you ten pounds."
"Right."
"Money now."
Agatha paid over a ten-pound note.
"Let me see your hands," said Madam Mystic.
Agatha held out her hands. "You are a healthy, determined woman with a lot of success and money in her life, but not love."
"And will I get any?" asked Agatha, wondering, why did I come to this charlatan?
"Perhaps, but you must go to look for it. You live in a small place where nothing happens."
That's what you think, thought Agatha.
"The love of your life is in Norfolk. He is tall with fair hair. He is a widower. You must go in search of him."
"Norfolk's a big county. Where? North, south, east or west?"
"You drive to Norfolk and something will guide you."
She fell silent.
"Anything else?"
"You must not stay in Wyckhadden. Forget what brought you here and go home."
"What? Not to Norfolk?"
"You will go there eventually. I cannot see any more."
I must stop wasting money, Agatha chided herself. She walked out into the sunshine.
And there she saw Harry Berry, leaning on the rail of the pier watching some anglers.
Agatha went up to him. "Hullo, Harry."
He turned round. "Oh, it'
s you," he said. "What brings you back?"
"I was at a loose end. I thought I would look up Jimmy Jessop."
Harry eyes shone briefly with amusement.
"The hotel seems to be doing well," said Agatha.
"It's not the same place. First, we were full of press, then ghouls wanting to see the room where Daisy fell from the window, then word got around about the meals being sumptious, and all sorts of tourists started coming."
"How are Jennifer and Mary?"
"Fine, but we're all thinking of moving somewhere quieter."
"Was it a great shock to learn that Daisy was a murderess?"
Harry turned back and stared down at the water. "Not really."
"What! Never tell me you knew all along."
"It was just a feeling," said Harry. "The colonel often said he thought it was Daisy."
"What! I thought none of you ever talked about the murder."
"Well, we did, when you weren't around."
So much for feeling part of the group, thought Agatha bitterly. "Why was I such an outsider that nothing was mentioned to me?"
"We thought you might make a fuss, and we don't like fuss."
"So why didn't you go to the police?"
"Why? We could've been wrong and Daisy was one of us."
Agatha looked at him. "That snow-woman," she said slowly. "You tried to make it as much like Francie as possible in the hope that Daisy might betray herself."
"Could have been something like that. It's over now, Poor Daisy."
"Poor Daisy. She murdered two women."
"They were murderees. If it hadn't been Daisy it would have been someone else."
"See you later." Agatha turned and walked away. Charles had been right. They were mad.
She decided to go to that pub and see if Jimmy turned up. She was perfectly sure he had not been out on a case. The desk sergeant was simply trying to keep her away from him.
She waited in the pub for an hour but there was no sign of Jimmy. She went back to the hotel and got her car and drove to the police station and waited outside. Wyckhadden seemed to have returned to being a relatively crime-free zone. Hardly anyone came or went. The day wore on. She had made an early start and was beginning to feel sleepy.
Then she saw his tall figure emerging from the police station. She fumbled for the door handle of the car, wrenched open the door and called, "Jimmy!"
He turned and saw her and that old familiar glad smile lit up his face. He still loves me, thought Agatha. Thank God. She hurried towards him.
"This is a surprise," he said. "What brings you back?"
"I felt so badly about the way I treated you. I wanted to see you again."
"Let's go for a drink," said Jimmy, tucking her arm in his. "I've a lot to tell you."
They walked to a nearby pub. How could I ever have disliked this town, thought Agatha happily. I'll live here with my Jimmy for the rest of my life.
"Your usual, Agatha?" Agatha nodded. It was like old times. Jimmy got her a gin and tonic and a half pint of lager for himself.
"Now tell me what's happening?" asked Agatha. She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror opposite: shining brown hair, well made up, neat linen suit, she felt secure and content.
Jimmy put his hand over hers and looked into her eyes.
"I'm getting married, Agatha, and it's thanks to you."
Agatha stared at him. Then she looked at the mirror. A tired middle-aged woman looked back.
"It's like this," said Jimmy eagerly, "I was shocked rigid at your behavior with that baronet. I thought I'd never look at another woman again. And then Gladwyn walked into the police station.
"Gladwyn Evans." Jimmy flushed slightly and removed his hand from Agatha's. "She's a young widow. Only thirty-five. There had been a burglary at her home, and do you know what, she lives practically next door to me, but what with work and the murders, I hadn't had time to notice her. She'd only moved here recently. We got friendly. I found myself telling her all about you."
Agatha groaned inwardly.
"She was most sympathetic and with her living so near, we began to see a lot of each other and then she began preparing meals for me. I couldn't believe that such a pretty young woman would want to look after me. I didn't dare make a move until she said, just like that, 'Why don't we get married?' It was the talking about you that got us discussing all sorts of intimate things, you see."
"I'm very happy for you," said Agatha. "What about ... er ... the other problem?"
"Impotence? Forget it." He leaned back in his chair and laughed. "Gladwyn's pregnant! And I'm a father-to-be. Me, at my age. I feel I've won the lottery. No, better than winning the lottery."
"Here's to you," said Agatha faintly, raising her glass.
"Let's go and meet her."
"What?"
"You would like to meet her, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, that would be very nice," said Agatha weakly. She wanted to run away, far away.
But she meekly left the pub with Jimmy and they walked back to their cars. "I forget where you live, Jimmy."
"Just follow me."
So Agatha followed his car, although she longed to swing the wheel and head for the Garden, pack up and go home. Wyckhadden now seemed a hostile place, a place full of contemptuous eyes.
Gladwyn was young, yes, but she was probably some sort of housewifely frump with thick glasses and greasy hair. So Agatha consoled herself as she got out of her car and followed Jimmy up his garden path.
The door was opened by a plump, black-haired Welshwoman with smooth white skin and large brown eyes. "You'll never guess who this is!" cried Jimmy. "Agatha Raisin!"
A flash of shock followed by a flash of pure hatred flickered in Gladwyn's large eyes and then she smiled, "Come in."
Agatha went into Jimmy's transformed bungalow. The walls had been painted in warm pastel colors. There was a sewing machine set up in the living room, a cozy clutter of magazines and books and framed prints on the walls.
"I'll get tea," said Gladwyn in a lilting voice, "and leave you to talk."
"You'll need to see the nursery before you go," said Jimmy. "Oh, there's something else. You know that fur coat of yours?"
"Yes."
"Gladwyn knows this furrier and he did a beautiful job of restoring it. It looks like new. You don't mind?"
"No," said Agatha who suddenly found she minded like hell.
"Did you find that rolling pin?" asked Agatha.
"Yes, it was indeed buried in the garden."
"And I suppose from DNA samples you identified any traces of blood on it as Francie's?"
Jimmy snorted. "Don't talk to me about DNA. Do you know there's a back log of one hundred thousand cases? The police are having to drop cases because the evidence is not coming up in time for the court case. Good thing she killed herself. Saves the public purse all that money for a trial and for lengthy imprisonment. We'd never have suspected her. I kept feeling sure it was Janine's husband."
"What happened about that business with the Ferris wheel?"
"Nothing or you might have been called back for some court case. They all stuck together and swore blind it was a faulty piece of mechanism. Isn't life odd, Agatha? If you'd come back here before I met Gladwyn, I would have hated you, would have had nothing to do with you. But now I'm really in love, it all seems like a miracle and all I can think is that it's because of you that these nasty murders got solved and because of you, I was able to talk to Gladwyn about my feelings and emotions."
"You are a very forgiving man," said Agatha, wondering whether she were as mad as Jennifer, Mary, and Harry. How could she have possibly believed that she could just walk back into his life after the way she had treated him?
Gladwyn came in bearing a tea tray and a plate of homemade cakes.
"What brought you to Wyckhadden?" asked Agatha politely.
"It was about a year after the death of my husband," said Gladwyn. "I wanted to make a new start in a new place where ther
e weren't any memories. I sold up in Merthyr Tydfil and moved down here. I've always liked the sea. Oh, did Jimmy tell you about the coat?"
"Yes, and I'm glad you're wearing it."
"I'll show you." Gladwyn went out and returned after a few moments with the mink coat wrapped round her. The furrier had done a beautiful job. Agatha felt a lump in her throat. She remembered the days when fur was fashionable, walking down Bond Street in that very coat, feeling like a million dollars, a younger, ambitious Agatha with the world at her feet, and no silly yearnings for love to clutter up her mind.
"It looks marvellous on you."
"I can't take it on our honeymoon," laughed Gladwyn.
"Where are you going?"
"Benidorm, Spain."
"It'll certainly be hot."
"Come and see the nursery," said Gladwyn.
I must get out of here before I cry, thought Agatha desperately.
She followed Gladwyn through to a small bedroom. The walls were decorated with stencils of bluebirds and teddy bears. A new cot stood by the window and beside it a box full of fluffy toys.
"Gladwyn did all the painting and decoration herself," said Jimmy. "There's nothing she can't do."
Agatha looked at her watch and let out a stagy exclamation of surprise. "That time already! I must fly. I'm meeting someone.
"I'll just go to the bathroom," said Jimmy, "and then I'll see you out."
Agatha walked towards the door. She and Gladwyn stood on the step. Gladwyn turned to her and said in a low voice, "If you ever come back here again, you old bitch, I'll strangle you. Leave my Jimmy alone. What he ever saw in an old frump like you, is beyond me."
Jimmy came up and joined them. Agatha wanted to hurl insults at Gladwyn, but restrained herself.
She shook hands with Jimmy, nodded to Gladwyn, and on stiff legs walked down the garden path. She got into her car. They were standing side by side on the doorstep.
Agatha waved. Jimmy turned and went inside. Gladwyn gave Agatha a two fingered sign, turned and followed him.
Agatha drove around the comer, stopped the car and leaned against the wheel, breathing heavily. Why had she been such a fool? Face up to it, she told herself fiercely, Jimmy has been very, very lucky. You would have driven him mad within a week.
