M Beaton - Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist

Agatha told him everything and ended up by saying, “How could you leave me in this mess, James?”

“I always think you are well able to take care of yourself, Agatha. Besides it seemed more important to catch someone who was ruining thousands of lives with drugs instead of one murderer.”

“But you just left. You knew there had been two attacks on my life, and you just left.”

His voice softened. “You’re right, Agatha. I did behave badly. I’ll be back in a couple of days and make my peace with the police.”

“Oh, James,” said Agatha, forgiving him.

Charles walked into the living room and called in his clear, carrying voice, “What about some lunch, darling, and then let’s go to bed?”

Agatha flapped him angrily away, but the damage was done.

“Who was that?” asked James.

“Charles,” said Agatha weakly.

“I am glad you are being well looked after,” said James crisply. “You won’t need me.”

AGATHA and Charles fought their way through the press outside police headquarters the following day.

She had been dreading meeting George, but this time, only she and Charles were in the waiting room.

Not Pamir, but another detective took down Agatha’s statement. When she had finished, Agatha asked, “Has Mrs. Debenham’s body been found yet?”

“Mrs. Debenham was found, yes, still alive, just. She must have been a very powerful swimmer. Attempts were made to resuscitate her but she died on the road to Nicosia hospital.”

So she might not have been trying to drown but to escape, thought Agatha.

Agatha went outside and waited for Charles. He would have little to say. Simply that he had found her missing and had gone looking for her.

At last Charles came out. “Ready?”

“Ready,” echoed Agatha. “Let’s go to the airline office and book our seats home. I’ve got an open return, what about you?”

“The same.”

At the Turkish Cypriot Airline office near the Saray Hotel, they could not find anyone who could speak English and so were forced to go to a travel agent across the road.

“Tomorrow?” asked Charles.

But Agatha clung to hope. James had said two days. This was Monday.

“Saturday,” she said firmly.

“Saturday!” exclaimed Charles. “Sorry, Aggie, but I’m going tomorrow.”

“Suit yourself,” said Agatha bleakly.

Charles hesitated. Then he booked a seat for the following day.

“I think you should come with me,” he said, but Agatha was adamant. She had convinced herself that James would return.

Outside, great gusty clouds were blowing across the red roofs of Nicosia. They talked about the case on the journey back to the villa. Charles went off to begin packing.

Agatha realised that since James had left, the villa seemed to have accumulated a great deal of dust and the floor needed a wash.

She spent the rest of the day, cleaning energetically, stopping only for a sandwich and a cup of coffee, and at one stage to look in on Charles who was found in his room, fast asleep.

Agatha tried to fight down the miserable thought that James would not arrive after all, and that she would be better to go home on the same flight as Charles.

Then Charles emerged to suggest they should go out for dinner for the last time.

“There’s an advertisement out on the road for a restaurant called Rita On The Rocks,” said Charles. “Sounds intriguing.”

They drove west along the coast through Lapta and found the restaurant on the far side. It was open-air with a swimming pool and full of the sound of British voices. Rita herself, an attractive middle-aged Englishwoman, was moving from table to table greeting friends.

“So they found Olivia,” said Agatha bleakly. Charles gave her a nervous look. They had already talked and talked about Olivia, but Agatha kept returning to the subject as if she had not said anything about it before. He decided to humour her.

“Yes,” he said. “Maybe she thought to swim to shore after the heat was off and emulate James by bribing someone to take her to the mainland.”

“I suppose it was a miracle they found that knitting needle,” said Agatha. “She could have got rid of it where it would never have been found.”

“So you keep saying. You’re not cracking up, are you? Forget the murder, forget Olivia. I’m going to talk to you like your father, Aggie.”

“You’re too young, Charles.”

“Seriously. Give up chasing after James. Waste of time, waste of energy. You’re only going to get hurt again.”

“That’s my business.”

“This trip, you seem to have made your business my business, Aggie. Stop thinking that he really loves you. If he really loved you, he would not have gone off to Turkey for any reason and left you alone.”

“He had begun to think I wasn’t alone because of you,” said Agatha.

“You see!” He pointed a fork at her. “You’re already beginning to look for excuses for him and there aren’t any.”

“He said he would back in two days,” said Agatha stubbornly.

“I give up. Well, we’ve had some adventures. One day I will look back on all this and scream.”

A noisy group of British residents at the next table were practising their Turkish, having started lessons in Turkish in Kyrenia.

Conversation between Charles and Agatha became difficult because of the noise. They decided to have coffee at home, asked for the bill which Charles handed to Agatha who paid it, and then they left.

Back at the villa, they drank coffee, and watched a Brother Cadfael mystery broadcast by the local TV station which was mercifully in English and then decided to go to bed. Agatha said if Charles left his rented car outside Atlantic Cars in the morning, she would drive him to the airport.

“Last night together, sweetheart?” asked Charles as they went up the stairs.

“No,” said Agatha firmly, having visions of James arriving in the middle of the night to find them in bed together.

“Oh, well, I can’t say you don’t know what you’re missing because you do.”

“I’m too old for you, Charles.”

“Didn’t notice.”

“Thank you for that, but see you in the morning.”

Agatha slept uneasily. During the night, a car drew up on the road outside and she leapt from bed and ran down the stairs and jerked open the door. But it was only a late visitor leaving a neighbour’s house.

She drove Charles to the airport in the early light of dawn. He turned before going through security and said, “I’ll see you around, Aggie,”

“No doubt,” said Agatha.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?”

Agatha put her arms round him and kissed him. He turned away, and then turned back at the security gate.

“You’re too good for him, Aggie,” he said, and then he was gone.

With his going, hope sprang anew in Agatha’s breast. James would come, and they would talk, and during the days that followed with no murders hanging over them, they would grow closer together.

For the next two days, she dressed in her prettiest clothes and with full make-up on, she waited, rushing out of the villa door every time she heard a car coming down the road.

By Thursday, she had decided that if she wore just a comfortable T-shirt and shorts and didn’t bother about make-up, he would come. But Thursday came and went, then Friday.

She packed slowly, her heart heavy. She drove to Bilal’s laundry and told him she would leave the keys at his home on the road to the airport if he gave her the address, but that James would no doubt be back soon.

“Will you ever come back?” asked Bilal.