M Beaton - Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham

In a trembling voice, Harriet introduced Agatha and Roy.

“I see you’re busy,” said Agatha. “I think this red would be nice.”

“Too ageing,” said Roy and Agatha threw him a filthy look.

“We’ll be on our way,” said Agatha briskly. “I’ve left that payment in your handbag.”

…

“So what d’you think?” she asked Roy outside. “Reconciliation?”

“Poor woman. I hope so. What do we do now?”

“I’m tired of Portsmouth and we haven’t eaten. I suggest we drive home and stop off on the road and eat some lovely, greasy, cholesterol-laden food.”

“But we haven’t really got anywhere,” said Agatha, exasperated.

“Don’t know what else we can do. John’s dead, we don’t know where the wife is. But the police will know and they’ve probably interviewed her. I’ve a feeling we’re at a dead end, Aggie.”

Agatha was suddenly engulfed by a wave of weariness. Was she really interested in this case? Or was she always searching for something to take her mind off James-and now the humiliation of Charles?

Finally comforted by a large, greasy plate of sausages and chips, she slept fitfully on the drive home.

“Hope you haven’t had a visit from the murderer,” said Roy cheerfully as they drove up to Agatha’s cottage.

“I wish I’d left the burglar alarm on,” grumbled Agatha.

“I was only joking,” said Roy, suddenly nervous.

“We’ll go in and check and then go round to Doris Simpson and collect the cats.”

“You first.”

“Coward.”

Agatha walked up the path and then stopped short. Roy collided into her.

“What’s up?” he hissed.

“There’s a light on in the living-room.”

“Then we go and get a copper. Did you leave a light on?”

“No, honestly. Let’s get Fred Griggs.”

Following Agatha’s directions, Roy drove to the village police station. It was in darkness, but there was a light on in the flat above. Agatha rang the bell and waited while Fred Griggs lumbered down the stairs.

“Fred,’! said Agatha when he answered the door. “There’s a light on in the living-room of my cottage. Someone must be in there.”

“Sure you didn’t leave it on?”

“No, Fred. What if it’s this murderer waiting for me to come home?”

“I’ll just pop on my uniform. Wait here.”

Roy and Agatha waited for what seemed like an age until Fred reappeared.

“Haven’t you got a weapon?” hissed Agatha.

“Just my fists. Not even CS gas,” said Fred comfortably.

They drove him back to Agatha’s cottage. “Look at that!” exclaimed Agatha. “The light’s gone out.”

“Maybe you imagined it,” said Fred.

“No, I didn’t, did I, Roy?”

“Well, you did say you’d seen it, but maybe we imagined it,” said Roy.

“Can’t wait here all night.” Fred walked up to the door. “Your keys, Mrs. Raisin.”

Agatha handed him her door keys. Fred opened the door and Roy and Agatha crowded in behind him.

“Which way’s the living room?”

“Here.” Agatha pointed to the living-room door. Fred opened it and switched on the light.

“Look!” hissed Agatha.

A half-finished glass of whisky stood on a table and a newspaper was dropped on the floor.

“Not yours?” whispered Fred.

Agatha shook her head.

“Wait here.” Fred went off and looked in the dining-room and kitchen.

He came back. “I’ll just be taking a look upstairs.”

“I’m coming with you,” Agatha whispered back, not wanting to be left in the hall with only the weedy Roy for protection.

They followed Fred as he crept up the stairs. He opened Agatha’s bedroom door. Nothing and no one. Then the bathroom door. Sodden towels lay on the floor.

“I didn’t leave it like that,” muttered Agatha.

“Last room,” whispered Fred and opened the door of the spare bedroom. He fumbled and switched on the light.

Sir Charles Fraith lay in bed, fast asleep.

“Seen ‘im before with you, Mrs. Raisin,” Fred remarked.

“Oh,” said Agatha, weak at the knees with relief. “It’s only Charles. Just leave him.”

They backed out and went downstairs. “How did your boyfriend get in?” asked Fred with a grin.

“He’s not my boyfriend. Just a house guest. I gave him the spare set of keys. Look, Fred, it was very good of you. Roy’11 run you back.”

“I’ll walk. Nice night for it. Got a full house, hey?” Fred winked at Agatha, slapped her on the bottom and went off whistling.

“Bang goes your reputation, sweetie,” said Roy. “What a klutz you are! What’s with the baronet in the bed? You never told me about him. I mean, I didn’t know you were close”

“He’s just a friend,” protested Agatha. “He was staying here for a bit and then he left.”

“I’ve seen him recently.” Roy frowned. “Aha, he was in that restaurant in Stratford and with some girl and you never said a word.”

“Can we just leave the whole thing? I’m tired.”

“Have it your way. What’s the programme for tomorrow?”

“Nothing. I mean, what’s the point? We haven’t the resources of the police. I’m going to bed.”

“Come into the living-room a minute and let’s have a nightcap. We have to talk.”

“I told you, Roy, I’m dropping the case.”

“Dropping the case,” jeered Roy. “Hark at the great detective. I want to talk about us.”

Agatha’s bearlike eyes narrowed. “If you’ve come down here again in the name of friendship to twist my arm into going back into public relations, forget it.”

“I did come down here just to see you, but Mr. Wilson did happen to mention…” Mr. Wilson was Roy’s boss.

“I thought so,” said Agatha bitterly. “You’ll need to share a bed with Charles and I hope you’ll be very happy together.”

She made for the door. “I’m going to get my cats. I’ll run you to the station in the morning. Early train.”

“But, Aggie…”

“Good night.”

After Agatha had seen a still-protesting Roy off on the early-morning train, she returned to the cottage to find Charles sitting in the kitchen, wrapped in a dressing-gown and buttering toast.

“What the hell do you mean by creeping back here last night,” snapped Agatha. “I thought the murderer had broken in. I summoned the local bobby and he found you fast asleep.”

“That’s tunny.”

“It was not funny at all. So when you’ve finished your breakfast, please leave.”

Charles looked mildly at the flushed and angry Agatha.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

“You, you insensitive, self-absorbed little bastard. You have sex with me, bugger off and then tell me you’re in love.”

“Was in love. Was.”

“Then you couldn’t have been in love in the first place.”

“You’re probably right. Do sit down. I’ve made some coffee. It’s as hot as the steam coming out of your ears.”

Agatha’s rage subsided. She felt suddenly weary. She sat down.

“Did you not think, Charles, that your behaviour towards me was selfish and insensitive?”

“No, Aggie. I thought we had fun. Then I had these guests and there was this girl, eminently suitable.”

“That doesn’t sound like love.”

“It sounds like marriage. I really think I ought to get married. Get an heir and all that.” He waved a piece of buttered toast in the air. “But she didn’t even like me. Met some friend in a restaurant in Stratford and went off with him and left me flat. So I thought, I’d best get back and see what Aggie’s up to.”

“Just don’t come on to me again!”

“You, Aggie, were the one who crept into my bed.”

“For comfort, not sex.”