by M C Beaton
‘Would you like some tea?’ asked Mrs Pyson after she had telephoned for help to move the furniture.
Toni looked trapped but she murmured, ‘Yes, thank you. Can I help you?’
‘No, I have help.’ Mrs Pyson rang a bell on the table beside her. A tall girl with Slavic cheekbones came into the room.
‘Tea,’ said Mrs Pyson. ‘And some of those biscuits, Svetlana, that I bought the other day at the church sale.’
When Svetlana had left, Mrs Pyson said, ‘I never really approved of the European Union, but I must say, with the influx of immigrants from Eastern Europe one can get all the help one needs these days. I believe you are a detective. How did you meet my son?’
As Toni talked, Mrs Pyson studied her. Clear voice. Practically no accent at all. Such a pity she was so young.
The tea arrived. ‘What do you plan to do with your life?’ asked Mrs Pyson. ‘I am sure all young girls want to get married.’
‘I shall never marry,’ said Toni.
‘Nonsense. Why?’
‘Careers last. Men don’t.’
‘So young and so cynical! So what do you plan to do?’
‘It’s difficult,’ said Toni. ‘Mrs Raisin gave me a break. She got me a flat, a car and she is paying me a good wage. And yet . . .’
‘And yet?’
‘I feel awfully grateful to her and to George.’
‘And it is weighing you down?’
Toni looked at her gratefully. ‘You see, I’ve been thinking how nice it would be to be a real detective.’
‘Aren’t you one already?’
‘Yes, but I mean join the police force. It’s awful knocking on doors and asking questions when I don’t really have any authority.’
‘Is that why you are returning the furniture? Because you do not want to be grateful to my son?’
Toni coloured up. ‘Something like that.’
‘Well, you must do what you want. I see two young men have arrived. We’d better go out and supervise the unloading.’
When Toni had left, Mrs Pyson sat down again, feeling sad. ‘Poor George,’ she said. ‘Why couldn’t he pick on someone his own age?’
Agatha left Patrick, Phil, Toni and Mrs Freedman to run the agency just before the day of her Christmas dinner. She was already feeling exhausted. So many trips to get just the right stuff. Up to London again to find Christmas crackers that had interesting things inside them instead of the usual paper hats and plastic toys.
Then, what to wear? Black was flattering to her middle-aged figure but surely too funereal. Tiny little skirts were in fashion and her legs were good. But women like herself dressed in too youthful a style ended up looking older. She settled at last on a black velvet skirt with slits up both sides and a cherry-red silk blouse with a plunging neckline. The skirt demanded high heels and her hip was getting worse.
But this one night must be the best and everything must be sacrificed for it. She bought a pair of high-heeled sandals in black patent leather.
Miss Simms, Carsely’s unmarried mother, was in a quandary. Her latest ‘gentleman friend’ had just told her he was going back to his wife. Miss Simms had told Agatha she was bringing him along. She desperately needed an escort. She chewed nervously at her false nails, remembered what they had cost and poured herself a stiff vodka and Red Bull instead.
There was a knock at the door. Miss Simms opened it. One of those young men who sell dusters and other household stuff round the doors started his spiel: ‘Here is my card. I am unemployed.’
Miss Simms didn’t listen. Instead she eyed him up and down. He was well built with thick brown hair and a square pleasant face. She interrupted him. ‘Come in for a drink. I’ve got a suggestion to make.’
Mrs Bloxby and her husband did not often row. But on the eve of Agatha’s dinner party they found themselves shouting at each other.
‘I’ve told you and told you,’ yelled the vicar, ‘that I will not go to the Raisin female’s party and that’s that. I have promised to lead the carol service at Ancombe.’
‘You knew all about this party,’ said Mrs Bloxby. ‘You only took on this carol service to get out of it.’
‘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 all-white 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.
