by M C Beaton
“Would you have believed him?”
Agatha coloured. “Probably not.”
“Have you see him?”
“No, only glimpses at police headquarters. He hasn’t phoned me and I haven’t phoned him. Heard from Sharon?”
“She’s walking out with a copper. Seems very happy.”
He probably doesn’t live with his parents, thought Agatha.
“Did James ever go out with Portia?” she asked. “He invited her out.”
“No, I gather he never did.”
“The thing that puzzles me,” said Agatha, “is that if Mary Owen and her sister were innocent, why did she go to such lengths to frighten me?”
“She’s a nasty bully. I almost wish it could have turned out to be her.”
There was a ring at the doorbell. Agatha went to answer it. Roy Silver stood on the doorstep. “Thought I’d drop down to see you,” he said cheerfully.
“Come in; Bill’s here.”
“Bill’s just going,” said Bill Wong, appearing behind Agatha. “I’ll see you later.”
“Gome in, Roy,” said Agatha. “What really brings you?”
“Came to offer a shoulder to weep on,” said Roy. “Read all about it in the newspapers.”
“I’m over the worst of it,” said Agatha. “How long do you mean to stay?”
“Just for the day Now tell me all about it.”
They sat over cups of coffee in the kitchen while Agatha told him a highly embroidered account about how she had begun to suspect Guy but had just been stringing him along.
“Fancy some lunch?” said Agatha at last.
“On me, Aggie. Let’s nip over to that pub in Ancombe and find out how the locals are taking the news.”
They drove to Ancombe. Leaves from the trees swirled down in front of them and the flowers were turning black with autumn frosts.
“I think I’ll take myself abroad somewhere for part of the winter,” said Agatha. “Can’t bear the cold and fogs.”
“Oh, I’d stick around. What about moving up to London?”
“Why?” demanded Agatha suspiciously.
“Just a thought.”
They were settled at a corner table in the pub when the whole of Ancombe Parish Council came in. It transpired that Andy Stiggs had just been made chairman. They made a jolly group.
“You’d never think they hated each other,” marvelled Agatha.
They all saw Agatha, but not one of them came over to say hello. They drank and toasted each other, their voices almost defiant with bonhomie.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Agatha when they had finished a not very appetizing lunch. “The very sight of that lot depresses me. I was so sure it was one of them.”
“I thought you suspected Guy.”
“Not at the beginning,” said Agatha quickly.
When they arrived back at her cottage, James was working in his front garden. He came along to meet them.
“How are you getting along?” James asked Agatha.
“I’m all right now,” said Agatha, fumbling for her house key. “I could have done with a friend right after it happened.”
“Well, you know,” said James easily, “I was really cross with you. You were a very silly woman. I told you it was Guy Freemont. But would you listen to me? No. He was obviously only having an affair with you so that you wouldn’t suspect him.”
Agatha found her key and unlocked the door. “Do you mind, James?” she said frostily. “We’re busy.”
He shrugged and turned and strode away.
Roy followed Agatha in. “It’s time you found someone who valued you,” he said.
“Okay.” Agatha heaved a sigh. She suddenly just wanted to be alone. “When’s your train?”
“I thought I’d get the four-fifteen.”
“I’ll run you to the station.”
“You know, Agatha, you’re wasting your talents. Pedmans has a new account.”
Roy worked for Pedmans. “Oh, yes?” Agatha’s voice was thin and suspicious but Roy ploughed on regardless.
“It’s this soft drink called Healthbuzz, and the boss said you would be the very one to handle it. Where are you going?”
“I am going to phone for a taxi for you,” said Agatha. “You didn’t come here to offer me any comfort. You came here because your boss ordered you to!”
She went and phoned for a taxi.
Roy left, still protesting that he had really only come out of friendship.
The phone rang a few minutes afterwards. It was James. “Look, Agatha,” he said, “it’s silly, quarrelling like this. Why don’t we meet for dinner?”
“AH right.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight.”
Agatha sat down on a little chair by the phone and put her head in her hands. Why did she not feel either happy or excited?
The phone rang again, making her jump.
“Charles here,” said an upper-class voice. Baronet, Sir Charles Fraith.
“Oh, Charles. How nice to hear from you,” said Agatha.
“I’ve been on my travels. What about a spot of dinner tonight?”
Agatha opened her mouth to say she couldn’t make it and then her face hardened and she found herself saying, “That would be nice.”
“Where shall we meet?”
“You will come here at eight o’clock and pick me up, Charles,” said Agatha firmly, “and when the bill for dinner is presented, you will not disappear to the Gents or say you forgot your wallet.”
“You know me of old,” laughed Charles. “See you at eight.”
Agatha rang off and then phoned James. “I’m sorry I can’t see you this evening,” she said curtly. “I had forgotten, I have another arrangement. Goodbye, James.” She firmly replaced the receiver.
So another dinner with someone younger, she thought, wearily dragging up the stairs to slap on anti-wrinkle cream.
James Lacey took up a position at the window of his cottage which overlooked the entrance to Agatha’s. At eight o’clock, he saw Sir Charles Fraith arrive.
Well, that’s that,, he thought bitterly. He had planned to explain to Agatha over dinner that he was tired of their quarrels and that he wanted them to get back together again.
But she didn’t deserve him, flirting around like a tart!
The fact that Agatha Raisin did not have telepathic powers, never crossed his mind.
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