by M C Beaton
All the rooms were lit by tall candles. Alison described what life would have been like for guests and servants in the eighteenth century. She's actually worth the entrance fee, thought Agatha.
When the tour was over, Alison led them over to the tea room. "It's like this," she said when they were seated. "Just after the New Year, when I got back from visiting my friend in Spain, I found Bert had left me. Just like that. Cleared off to Marbella. Bought a flat once the will came through. His excuse was that he didn't want anything, including me, to remind him of his mother. Can you beat it?"
"But you were going to tell him you had left him," said Agatha.
"I felt too sorry for him. I just said I was taking a holiday."
"So why did you take this job?" asked Agatha.
"The manager approached me. His name is Mark. He said it would be nice if one of the family could act as a guide. I thought it would be better than sitting at home on my own. So here I am. I love it. I feel like an actress."
"You won't have a job much longer," said Roy, "if the villagers go on being sullen."
"Any minute now, you'll see a change. Mark's just been round the lot handing out letters saying that if they don't smarten up their act, he's going to start charging rent. Look at the waitresses behind the counter reading theirs."
Agatha could see their startled, shocked faces. Then they were suddenly beaming and bustling about the tables.
"What about Sadie?" asked Agatha. "Was she ever up in court?"
"Didn't get that far. Good psychiatrist put the wind up the police."
"So what is she doing now?"
"Sadie and Sir Henry have bought a real manor house and are having a wonderful time"
"Do you miss Bert?"
"I did at first. It was more like losing a difficult child than a husband. But after I got this job I found I hardly ever thought of him. I still think of poor Jimmy. What a waste! He adored that nasty mother of his. I'd better go and get ready for the next tour."
She called over one of the waitresses. "Don't charge for this tea. See you, Agatha, and thanks for everything."
Roy and Agatha made their way back to the carriage. This time the driver jumped down from the box and bowed low as he helped them in.
Back in the village, the children were dancing energetically round the maypole, the morris men were leaping about, and Doris was spinning wool as if her life depended on it.
"Want to try the pub?" asked Roy.
"No, I want to get out of here. All this Olde Englishe rubbish is getting on my nerves."
Back at the cottage, Roy said, "You haven't looked at your mail."
Agatha flicked through the small pile she had left on the kitchen table and stopped at an envelope with a foreign stamp. She opened it up. It was from James.
"Dear Agatha," she read. "Am here in Arles as part of my travel research. Why not come over and join me? I am staying at the Hotel Maurice in the centre. Miss you. Love, James."
Agatha stared ahead for a long moment. She felt a pang of grief for her lost obsession. Then she brightened. There were other men out there. Lots of them!
And she would marry one of them--tall, rich and handsome--and she would invite James to the wedding.
"Not that I care any more," she said aloud. "Care about what?" asked Roy.
"About what he thinks."
"He who?"
"Never mind," said Agatha Raisin.
FB2 document info
Document ID: 22490ca0-16b5-434d-bb4c-69a59df54409
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 15.9.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.67, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
M.C. Beaton
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