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M Beaton: There Goes The Bride

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M Beaton There Goes The Bride

There Goes The Bride: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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Agatha's former husband James is engaged to be married to a beautiful, young woman and Agatha has been kindly invited to the wedding. To take her mind off this, Agatha decides she has fallen for Sylvan, a Frenchman she met at James' engagement party. To distract her still further she decides upon a holiday and flies to Istanbul, where unfortunately she bumps into James and his fiance not once but twice – convincing him she is stalking them. So when the bride is murdered on her wedding day, naturally Agatha is Suspect Number One – but then matters are turned on their head when the dead bride's mother engages Agatha to take on the case of her murdered daughter! And very soon Agatha's own life is in danger while she tries to solve the mystery of the corpse bride while fighting off (halfheartedly) the advances of a very attractive and determined Frenchman!

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Roy Silver had also been interviewed, saying he had seen and heard Clarice in the Ivy talking in French, and had urged Toni to check up on her. The Warwick Castle adventure was reported on the inside pages. There was a head and shoulders photograph of Agatha taken some time ago, scowling at the camera. Reports of the fake Charlotte’s suicide had been taken from eyewitnesses amongst the tourists.

Like all people who don’t really quite know who they are, Agatha considered her job to be her identity. Now she felt totally diminished.

She went up to her bedroom, undressed and showered and then crept under the duvet.

She fell down into a dream where she was trying to get into the office in the morning but her keys would not work. She phoned Toni, who said they had all decided for the health of the agency it would be better if she retired.

Chapter Eleven

AGATHA WAS AWAKENED by the harsh ringing of the phone beside the bed. It was Mrs Bloxby. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Raisin?’ came her anxious voice. ‘I have called at your cottage several times but you did not answer the door.’

‘I’m in bed,’ said Agatha. ‘I’ll be round to see you as soon as I get dressed.’

‘Actually, I’m outside.’

‘I’ll be right down.’

When Agatha opened the door, Mrs Bloxby looked at her worriedly. Agatha had not removed her make-up properly before going to bed and melting mascara had left black rings under her eyes.

‘Come into the kitchen,’ said Agatha. ‘I need a black coffee and a cigarette.’

Before sitting down at the kitchen table, Agatha switched on a recently installed extractor fan in the window before lighting a cigarette.

Mrs Bloxby watched her friend sucking smoke down into her lungs and said anxiously, ‘Don’t you ever worry about lung cancer?’

‘From time to time. I’ll stop next month.’

‘Why next month?’

‘Because I need a holiday. Toni can run things,’ added Agatha bitterly.

Mrs Bloxby saw the newspapers spread out on the table. ‘You must be very grateful to Miss Gilmour,’ said the vicar’s wife.

‘I should be, I know. But she’s made me feel like a rank amateur.’

‘Think of all the cases you’ve solved.’

Agatha took a gulp of black coffee. ‘So what? That was then. This is now.’

‘You have had several bad frights and yet you refuse to go for counselling. You should get some help.’

‘I’m all right,’ said Agatha. ‘I need to get away and think. I might give up the agency altogether.’

Mrs Bloxby looked appalled. ‘And put all your staff out of work in the middle of a recession!’

‘Well, maybe that is a bit extreme. I’ll be all right when I get away for a break.’

‘Have you ever heard about taking yourself with you? You can’t get rid of your problems by running away.’

‘Spare me the psychobabble.’

Mrs Bloxby gathered up her handbag and stood up. ‘I’m off. Call me if you need me.’

Agatha was appalled when she realized she had been rude to her best friend. Then she thought, oh, what does it all matter? Nobody needs me. I must get away.

Two weeks later, Agatha sat in a café opposite the Blue Mosque in Istanbul feeling like a new woman. She had been to beauty salons, hairdressers and masseurs. Her hip had not ached once. The weather was sunny and mild. She had plenty of books to read and was in the grip of Eric Ambler’s Journey Into Fear.

Her jealousy of Toni, her shocks at the attempts on her life seemed to have sailed away down the Bosphorus. At one point, she glanced up from her book and became aware that a man at a table opposite was watching her. He was tall with hooded eyes, a beaky nose and a firm mouth. He had thick brown hair, beautifully cut, although his dark suit looked worn.

He smiled, and for some reason Agatha found herself smiling back. He rose and came to join her. ‘American?’ he asked.

‘No, English,’ said Agatha. ‘Are you a tourist?’

‘No, I live in Istanbul.’

‘Your English is excellent.’

‘Thank you. Is that a very good book?’

‘Excellent.’

‘Then I’ll leave you in peace to read it.’

To Agatha’s surprise, he did not go away, but sat down again. He lit a cigarette, leaned back in his chair and surveyed the passing crowds.

The muezzins began the call to prayer.

Agatha stopped reading. She was suddenly hungry. She picked up the menu on the table.

‘I’ll take you to lunch,’ said her companion.

‘Why?’

‘You interest me.’

‘Is this a pickup?’ demanded Agatha.

‘Meaning what?’

‘Are you trying to get off with me?’

‘I don’t understand that either. Would I like to get to know you better? Yes. Just lunch.’

‘Oh, all right,’ said Agatha.

They walked across the square, over the tramlines and into a dark cellar-type restaurant.

‘You’d better order,’ said Agatha. ‘My knowledge of Turkish food is pretty much limited to kebab.’

The meal was delicious, starting with a cheese pastry as light as a feather followed by lamb cooked slowly in the oven with raisins. Outside, the sunlit crowd flowed up and down.

He had asked Agatha what she did and her descriptions of her detective prowess took up much of the meal. And as she talked, she could feel her old confidence in her abilities returning.

She refused a dessert and settled for coffee instead but decided against drinking brandy because she had already drunk quite a lot of wine.

‘What do you do?’ she asked.

‘I’m a civil servant. I work for the government.’

‘Which branch?’

‘The tax office.’

‘And are you usually allowed such a lot of time off work?’

‘I’m taking a few days’ leave.’

‘Are you married?’ asked Agatha bluntly.

‘Was. Got divorced five years ago. You?’

‘Divorced as well. What is your name?’

‘Mustafa Kemal. And you?’

‘Agatha Raisin.’

‘That’s a funny name.’

‘What’s funny about it?’

‘Raisin. Those wrinkly dried grapes. No, don’t scowl. A pretty woman like you should not scowl.’

‘Tell me about the tax office,’ said Agatha.

‘There’s not much to tell. It is very boring.’

‘Did you ever think of getting another job?’

‘Not really. My family were so proud of me. My mother was a dressmaker and my father, a labourer. I was the first to go to university. Now I am too old to change.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Fifty-four.’

‘That’s not too old to change!’

‘Agatha, as far as jobs are concerned, it’s too old anywhere.’

After lunch he escorted her to her hotel and asked her if she would like to have dinner with him that evening. Agatha happily agreed.

She spent the rest of the day wrapped in rosy dreams of being married in Istanbul. No more detective work. No more feelings of failure. Mustafa obviously thought her a very attractive woman. She felt young again, full of anticipation.

And when he saw her in the foyer of the hotel wearing a black dress, slit up one side to reveal one shapely leg, and his eyes lit up with admiration, Agatha glowed.

He drove her up to the old fire tower which dominates the skyline of Istanbul. On the road there, Agatha, looking out of the car window, saw Erol Fehim, the man who had helped her before.

‘Stop the car,’ she shouted. ‘I think I’ve seen someone I know.’

But he did not seem to hear her and drove on. When they reached the fire tower, they climbed the stairs to the restaurant. They had a table by the window. The view was stunning. Down below, a fountain sparkled in the Golden Horn and there was a magnificent panorama of the palaces and minarets of the great city.

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