M Beaton: There Goes The Bride

Their room was large and pleasant with a low-beamed ceiling, flowery wallpaper and two comfortable beds. There was even a desk with a plug for Internet access.

‘What time is this party?’ asked Agatha.

‘It’s at eight o’clock this evening. Buffet supper thrown in, so we don’t need to bother about food.’

‘How did you find all this out?’ asked Agatha.

‘I phoned up for directions and found out about the buffet supper.’

‘I wonder if James hoped I wouldn’t attend,’ fretted Agatha. ‘I’ve a good mind not to go.’

‘Don’t leave me on my own,’ said Toni.

‘I thought that by this time you wouldn’t be afraid of anything,’ said Agatha.

‘Not when I’m working,’ said Toni. ‘But the English middle classes frighten me when I have to meet them socially. I feel they can see right into my council estate soul.’

Toni had hardly any time to have a shower and change. Agatha monopolized the bathroom and then covered her bed in dresses and trouser suits, worrying over what to wear. At last she settled for a blue-and-gold evening jacket with a short black velvet skirt and high heels.

Toni was wearing a short white chiffon dress and gold leather high-heeled sandals.

Agatha felt a pang of envy. Oh, to be young and wrinkle-free again!

Both were nervous when they set out – Toni hoping she did not make some social gaffe or other and Agatha dreading that James would confront her over her visits to the battlefields.

‘I’ll lie!’ she said out loud.

‘About what?’ asked Toni.

‘Never mind.’

The village of Downboys was built around a cross-roads. In the centre was an old pub, a church and a small grocery store. It seemed a very gloomy sort of place. Although the evening sky above was still cloudless after a sunny day, the trunks of the trees were black with damp.

‘Let me see,’ muttered Toni, squinting down at a piece of paper on her lap. ‘I turn left at the crossroads, then a few yards and a right turn into a cul-de-sac and their house is the villa at the end. I can hear music. They must have hired a band. This is it. Damn! The drive’s crammed with cars. We’d better park here and get out and walk.’

They walked up the drive towards the sound of the jaunty music. ‘Isn’t it still usual to have a stag party for the man the night before and a hen party for the women?’ grumbled Agatha.

‘I thought it was,’ said Toni.

The Bross-Tilkingtons’ villa was large and Victorian. The front door was standing open. They walked in. A young man wearing nothing more than a bow tie and a leather apron asked them for their invitations.

‘I didn’t know this was fancy dress,’ said Agatha.

‘I’m from Naked Servants,’ said the young man, smiling. He studied their invitations and then said, ‘Go through the house and out through the french windows. The party is in the marquee on the lawn.’

‘God, how naff!’ muttered Agatha. Am I getting old, Toni? That vision didn’t rouse a single hormone.’

‘Cheered me up,’ said Toni. ‘I’m more at home with vulgar people. And a semi-naked servant is definitely vulgar.’

Agatha hesitated. ‘Maybe I’ll go back to the pub and drive back later and pick you up.’

‘Not like you,’ said Toni, taking her arm. ‘Let’s face the music.’

They walked out through the french windows towards a huge striped marquee on the lawn.

There was another nearly naked young man at the entrance. He took their cards and bawled out their names but his voice was lost in the sounds of a medley from Mary Poppins being belted out by a brass band.

‘Food and tables,’ said Agatha. ‘Let’s grab something to eat and drink and sit down.’

‘Don’t you want to circulate?’

‘No.’

‘I see Bill Wong over there. I’m going to talk to him,’ said Toni, ‘and then I’ll join you.’

Agatha decided to have a drink first. She ordered a gin and tonic and then carried her glass to a table in a corner and sat down. She was soon joined by the members of her detective agency staff – Phil Marshall, Patrick Mulligan and Mrs Freedman.

Phil was in his seventies, Patrick, early sixties, as was Mrs Freedman. Agatha, in her early fifties, instead of being glad of their company, felt obscurely aged by it, especially when the crowd of milling guests parted to show her the beautiful bride-to-be standing with her arm linked in James’s.

And then James saw her. He whispered something to Felicity and made his way to Agatha’s table.

‘I’d like a word with you,’ he said.

‘Sit down,’ said Agatha, trying to smile but feeling as if her face had been Botoxed.

‘In private – outside. Can’t hear myself think for that band.’

Agatha was about to protest, but at that moment the band launched into the music from The Guns of Navarone. She rose and reluctantly followed him outside.

He looked the same as ever, thought Agatha miserably – tall and handsome with his blue eyes and his thick hair going a little grey at the temples.

‘I can’t think of a more polite way of putting it,’ said James. ‘But were you stalking me?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Agatha defiantly.

‘Well, let me spell it out for you. I went all the way to Balaclava and saw you fleeing the hotel. Then I went to the ANZAC landings – and guess what? You were just leaving there as well. Were you chasing me?’

Agatha opened her mouth to lie, to give a furious denial, but then she thought, what does it all matter any more? He’s getting married.

‘You upset me at that engagement party of yours when you said I had never listened to you. I wanted to prove you wrong. I had a holiday due to me. I’d taken a tumble down the stairs and I think that must have addled my wits. I was going to stun you with my military knowledge.’

James began to laugh. Then he said, ‘Oh, Agatha, you are an original. Let’s take a stroll and talk about something else. You’re looking very well. How are things at -? Oh, what is it?’

One of the nearly naked young men had materialized beside them. ‘Mr Lacey,’ he said, ‘your fiancée wishes to speak to you.’

‘All right. Tell her I’ll be with her in a moment.’

‘Whose idea was it to hire the Naked Servants?’ asked Agatha.

‘Felicity thought it would be fun.’

‘And you were happy with that?’

‘Agatha, don’t needle me. I’ll tell you this,’ said James with sudden passion, ‘if I could think of a way to get out of this bloody forthcoming marriage, I would.’

‘Shoot her?’

‘Don’t be flippant. Stop creeping around us!’ The latter to a Naked Servant who had appeared beside James and was avidly listening.

‘I only came to tell you that Miss Felicity is wondering where you are,’ said the young man huffily.

‘I’m coming,’ said James wearily.

Agatha sadly watched him go.

AGATHA RETURNED TO her table. Charles, with Mr and Mrs Bloxby, came up to join her, followed by Harry, Toni and Bill Wong, and Agatha’s ex-employee, Roy Silver.

They put several tables together to form a sort of Cotswold party. The band was taking a break and so they were able to talk.

‘Mr and Mrs Bross-Tilkington look such an ordinary staid couple,’ said Mrs Bloxby. ‘I must admit the Naked Servants shocked me.’

‘It was Felicity’s idea,’ said Agatha.

‘Oh, dear,’ said Bill. ‘I wonder what James thinks of it all.’

‘There’s worse to come,’ said Toni.

‘Like what?’ asked Agatha.

‘At the end of the party they have a competition where we vote for the handsomest servant. Then that servant is raffled off.’

‘You mean, pimped off,’ said Agatha.