M Beaton: Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham

“Oh, I’ll drink to that. I do need a friend.” His voice had a ring of sincerity for the first time. I wonder if I’ve been mistaken about him, thought Agatha.

He sat down and held his tulip glass in one slender hand. “You were asking how long I had lived here? About a year. I had been working in Portsmouth and I wanted a change of scene. I saw in the Hairdresser’s Journal that this business in Evesham was going for sale. When I first came to Evesham, I looked the place over. It seemed neither go-ahead, nor sophisticated. But there was something about the sheer laziness of the place which got to me. And I knew there were a lot of rich people in the surrounding villages. Well, the business took off almost from the beginning. Although I am thinking of moving on. I get restless after I’ve been in the same place for a bit.”

Agatha glanced around her at the heavy furniture and the dark wallpaper decorated with uninspiring scenes of the Cots-wolds, those sort of scenes, peculiarly lifeless, painted by local artists as if they had meticulously copied photographs.

“Did you take this place furnished?”

“Yes, I rent it. Not my taste. So how’s your muddled love life, Agatha?”

She manufactured a world-weary shrug. “That scene Charles threw was the last straw. I’m weary of James.” She looked down at the floor and wished she could blush to order. “I kept thinking about you, instead.”

“I’ve been thinking about you as well,” he said. “We could make a great team.”

She looked at him in surprise.

He put his glass down and leaned forward. “You wondered why I didn’t move to London. Well, I’ve been thinking about it. One of my customers told me about how successful you were at organizing things and about your public relations job. Oh, I know you told me, but it was only I thought of it later. I’ve enough money put by to take a lease on a place in the centre of town, Knightsbridge, Sloane Street, somewhere near Harrods. With my hairdressing skills and your public relations skills, I could be another Vidal Sassoon.”

If only I could believe he was not a blackmailer, thought Agatha quickly. But string him along anyway.

“Do you know, that could be very exciting. I miss London. And it would get me out of the mess I’ve made for myself down here. When do we start?”

“It’ll take some time to wind things up in Evesham. We could think about starting next year.”

He can’t have thought that tape recorder meant anything. Agatha stood up. “I really must be going. I’m sorry about your accident. When are you back at work?”

“Couple of days.”

“I’ll make an appointment when I know you’re going to be there.”

He surveyed her. “Garry did that to you, didn’t he?” She nodded. “You see, that’s the trouble. It’s so hard to get assistants with any flair. Good hairdressers are born, not made.”

He walked with her to the door. “When you come in for that appointment, we’ll fix up a date for dinner.” He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “We’re going to be a great partnership. I’m good at raising money, so funds won’t be any problem.”

“I’ve got some money of my own. I could help you.”

He swept her into his arms and kissed her passionately. “What did I ever do before I met you,” he said huskily.

Well, well, well, thought Agatha shakily as she made her way to her car. Perhaps I really was mistaken in him. He is rather a dish.

She decided to drive into Evesham and buy some groceries in case Charles wanted to come to dinner. She was tired of eating out. The villa was on the corner of a side road.

She drove round into the side road to make a three-point turn and so drive back into town. It was then she noticed Mr. John’s car at the side of the house, gleaming, unmarked.

Surely he could not have got it repaired in time. Did some jealous husband beat him up? Someone he had been blackmailing?

But that kiss still burned on Agatha’s lips and she found she was becoming inclined to think that there was nothing wrong with him, except perhaps that he was a bit of a philanderer.

As she drove back into town and to Tesco’s supermarket, she began to feel the first surge of excitement about his idea of starting a salon in London. She was a shrewd enough businesswoman to make certain it prospered. He certainly was talented, more talented than London hairdressers Agatha had gone to. She had only said that bit about putting her money into his business to get him on the hook and allay his suspicions that she was on to him.

But what if he was genuine? She could get out of Carsely and back into an exciting, busy life. James would return and found her gone. With work to do, she would not have time to think of him.

She wandered around the supermarket wondering what to get for dinner. Then she reflected it was silly to waste money on expensive food for Charles, who would probably prefer sausage, egg and chips to anything else.

She queued and paid for her groceries, all the time thinking of the hairdressing project as escape.

It was only when she finally entered her cottage and began to unpack her groceries that Agatha’s common sense began to reassert itself. Mr. John surely got women on the hook by being charming to them. And yet… and yet… If he had reason to suspect she was on to him, why offer her a business proposition where she would be working closely with him? He had not asked for any money. She had offered it. She phoned Charles and asked him for dinner, telling him she would let him know her news when he arrived.

The sad fact was that Agatha had become addicted to the state of being in love and was all too ready to transfer that love to someone, anyone, other than James Lacey.

Charles arrived just as the first crack of lightning split the sky overhead. “Let’s hope the weather’s broken at last,” he said.

“Do you mind if we eat in the kitchen?” said Agatha.

“Not at all. What delicacies are you going to microwave for me?”

“Sausage, egg and chips, all fried.”

“Good. I’d like a bit of fried bread as well.”

“You’ve got it. Go and make yourself a drink and get me a gin and tonic while I fry. I’ll tell you all about it over dinner.”

Agatha turned to the stove. There was another great crack of thunder and then all the lights went out.

“Blast!” she shouted to Charles, who was at the drinks trolley in the living-room. “I’ll light candles. Don’t fall over anything.”

She fumbled in the kitchen drawer for the candles she kept in readiness to cope with Carsely’s many power cuts. Charles came in holding a branch of candles he had taken from the dining-room table. “If you’re all right, I’ll go back and get the drinks.”

“Wait a bit. I’ve got a big torch in this cupboard under the sink.” Agatha found it and handed it to him.

He put the candles with the others on the kitchen table and retreated with the torch.

“Thank God this is a gas cooker,” muttered Agatha.

When dinner was cooked, they sat down to eat it in candle-light.

“Now,” said Charles, “what happened?”

Agatha told him about her visit, about the hairdresser’s

bruised face, about the business offer and how she had found

the car, unmarked, at the side of the house.

“So it does look as if someone might have beaten him

up. Good,” remarked Charles.

Agatha said, “I’ve been wondering if we’ve been

wrong… about the blackmailing, I mean. Maybe he’s just a

ladies’ man.”

“A successful one, too, by the look in your eyes. Agatha,

he’s after your money.”

“I offered it. All he was doing was offering me a job.”

“Which you wouldn’t dream of accepting.”