M Beaton - A Spoonful of Poison

“Perhaps I’ll be in Paris before then,” said Agatha hopefully. But Sylvan merely smiled and leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. As soon as he had gone, Agatha realized her feet were killing her and her head was itching.

“You know,” said Roy, appearing behind her, “a lot of your hair has fallen out.”

Agatha took out a compact and peered in the mirror. “I’ll sue that bastard,” she raged.

“How did you get on with that attractive Frenchman?”

“All right,” said Agatha, feeling like a fool. What must he have thought of her as she stood there, monopolizing him and losing hair right, left, and centre? Would she only be a joke to tell his friends about?

“Can you put me up for the night?” asked Roy.

“Yes, I’m taking a cab home. I’ve left my car in the square, but I don’t want to drive after all this champagne. Could we leave now?”

“I think you should circulate for a bit. You haven’t spoken to any of your staff.”

Agatha decided she had better do her social duty. She talked to Mrs. Freedman, Patrick and Phil. She moved on to Toni and Harry and asked them how they were getting on with the new agency and listened with only half an ear.

At last she decided enough was enough, collected Roy and said goodnight to James and Felicity.

At the cloakroom she collected her cloak and her bag with the flat shoes in it and slipped them on, groaning with relief.

Charles joined them. “I’m coming with you.”

“If you’re coming home for the night, it’s the sofa for you,” said Agatha.

Back in her cottage, Agatha said she was too tired to sit up discussing the party and took herself off upstairs.

As she changed out of her clothes into a nightdress and wiped off her make-up, she worried and worried that she had bored Sylvan. Had she talked too much? He had asked her about her work and she remembered she had gone on about it for a long time. But at least she would see him again. The tentacles of obsession were coiling once more around Agatha’s brain.

At one point in the night, she woke up with an odd feeling of dread. She thought of Felicity and James and was overcome by a wave of fear. Something was wrong. Something was badly wrong. Then she shrugged the feeling away.

It was those shrimp canapes and champagne, thought Agatha, and then fell asleep again, dreaming of Sylvan.