M Beaton - Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist

He came back with the coffee and put it down in front of her. “Why so grim, Aggie?”

“I heard myself being described last night as your aunt.”

“Had to. If she was going to actually meet you, I would have had to say you were my sister. You’re too glam to be an aunt.”

“You’re soft-soaping me.”

“A little bit. Cheer up. Where did you go?”

Agatha told him about her conversation with Trevor.

“Still think he did it?” asked Charles.

“I wouldn’t like to think so now, funnily enough. It was an awful story. Poor Maggie. It was those gloves he mentioned. I kept thinking about his first wife and her whole nice, orderly life being shattered.”

“People think high tragedy belongs to the Greeks and Shakespeare, but mark my words, Aggie, it’s alive and well in the suburbs of England.”

“I still think he did it,” said Agatha, “and I think he’s on the point of cracking up and confessing.”

“And you want to be the one to whom he confesses?”

“Not any more, Charles. I’m sick of the whole thing.”

“Good girl. Let’s go to The Dome for a swim in the pool and have lunch. Let’s not bother speaking to any of them any more.”

“What about the press?” asked Agatha.

“We can’t let the press run our lives. ‘No comment’ and a smile will get rid of them. Cheer up, I have a feeling it will soon all be over.”

IT seemed odd to be going for a swim, just as if nothing had happened, as if she and Charles were tourists like the other tourists. The day was warm and humid, just as the weather had been when Agatha first arrived.

At least she had now such a healthy tan that she had only bothered to put on a little lipstick. “Will the sea still be nice and warm?” she asked.

“Shouldn’t think so,” said Charles. “Not any more. But it will be refreshing.”

They got their tickets for the pool at the hotel reception desk. When they emerged into the sunlight, the first thing Agatha saw was Olivia, George, Trevor and Angus sitting at a table in the bar.

“Ignore them,” said Charles cheerfully.

But once they had changed, their path took them right along past the party. Charles went straight by without a glance, but Agatha gave a weak smile and got bleak looks in return.

The water was almost cold, but once she was in, became pleasant. She swam around energetically, trying not to think of the others sitting in the bar. Charles called to her that he was going to swim in the sea instead. Agatha waved and said she would keep to the pool.

Then, as she emerged up the steps, it was to find George Debenham. He appeared to be waiting for her.

“What do you think of this latest business?” asked George.

Agatha sat down next to him. “I’m so bewildered and scared I don’t want to think about it.”

“I wish we were all out of here and back home,” said George. “There’s a maniac on the loose.”

“Do you think it’s one of us, or some local madman?” asked Agatha.

“It must be some local madman,” said George. “It can’t be one of us.”

“Trevor has quite a temper,” volunteered Agatha.

“Yes, but he’s understandably broken up about the death of his wife. I think someone’s out to get rid of us all.”

“I gather from Trevor that his son, Wayne, is very bitter about Trevor divorcing Wayne’s mother, who committed suicide,” said Agatha. “He’s one with a good reason to hate Rose.”

“I’m sure the police have thought of that.”

“If Trevor told them,” pointed out Agatha. She hesitated and then said cautiously, “I was surprised when you and your wife befriended Rose and her party. Not your sort, I would have thought. You made that pretty plain on that yacht trip.”

“Oh, you can’t be stuck-up on holiday,” he said vaguely. “It seemed like fun at the time to get together. And then, after it happened, we couldn’t really abandon Trevor and Angus.”

“Have you and Olivia been married a long time?” asked Agatha.

“Years and years.”

“How did you first meet?”

“It was at a party in London. I was in my early twenties. I had just finished university and Olivia was training as a nurse. We hit it off right away.”

“And what about Harry?”

“Friend of the family, and a good friend, too.”

“Wasn’t it odd of Harry to suddenly want to go off to the beach? Did he seem worried about something?”

“No, in fact he was in good form, excited and happy. I pointed out our swimming-costumes were in the car, but he said he liked the sea and wanted a walk along the beach.”

“Do you think he might have been going to meet someone?” asked Agatha.

“He only knew us. He hadn’t talked to anyone else that I know about. We were always together.”

Agatha hesitated and then said, “Didn’t you ever get fed up with Harry always tagging along? I mean, this holiday. Wouldn’t you rather Harry had stayed at home?”

“Harry was paying for this holiday. He was very generous.”

That made Agatha think of George’s debts. She itched to ask him if Rose had held out the promise of money, but decided not to.

“I suppose there’s nothing we can do now,” he went on impatiently, “but wait for the bone-headed police to decide to let us all go.”

“I don’t think they’re bone-headed,” said Agatha slowly. “I think Pamir is very thorough.”

“He questions and questions without getting anywhere. I’m sick of questions. The hotel is at least keeping the press out. They’re absent this morning because Pamir is giving a press conference in Nicosia.”

Charles appeared and stood looking down at them with a quizzical expression on his face. “Join us for a drink,” said George, looking up.

And that was a mystery, too, thought Agatha as they followed George to the bar Charles had grossly insulted them, she herself annoyed them, and yet they continued to be friendly, in the odd way they continued to be friendly to Trevor and Angus.

Olivia was not wearing a swimming-costume but a sundress. She was knitting a sweater, her fingers moving quickly. “I didn’t bring any warm clothes,” she said to Agatha. “I got some wool to make myself a sweater. We were wondering whether to go to the British High Commission and ask for help to get us all home.”

“I think they’ll want us to stay until the murders have been solved.”

Olivia stopped knitting. For the first time she looked lost and miserable. “I don’t think they’ll ever find out who did it. We’ll be here for years and years.”

“They can’t keep us much longer,” said Charles.

Angus said, “Puir auld Harry. He was in better form yesterday than I have ever seen him.”

“It’s amazing you didn’t spot him on the beach,” said Charles.

“We were looking for someone walking along by the sea,” explained George. “We weren’t looking for anyone lying down with a newspaper over their face. I pointed out to Pamir it was a Turkish Cypriot newspaper, not an English one.”

“And what did he say?” asked Agatha.

“That there are rubbish bins on the beach and one of us could have taken it out and covered Harry with it,” said Olivia. “I’m getting burnt. I’m going to go up to my room to get some sun-cream. Come with me, Agatha. I feel the need for some female company.”

“Wait till I change,” said Agatha. “I won’t be a minute.”

When she emerged from the changing cubicle, Olivia was waiting for her. They walked together into the hotel. Tourists were checking in, tourists were checking out, all holiday-makers, all free from suspicion of murder, thought Agatha.