M Beaton - Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist

“Why not just return with me to Carsely?” asked Agatha as he drove out of Nicosia.

“I’m not yet ready for that,” he said and then drove on in silence.

At the Onar Village Hotel, the manager, Stefan, told them that the hotel housekeeper was leaving for Australia and would perhaps rent them her home. It was out at Alsancak, next to the Altinkaya fish restaurant.

They drove there to meet the housekeeper and her friendly family. It was a large villa near the beach and seemed to have every home comfort. To Agatha’s dismay, she heard James say he would take it for three months, perhaps longer.

The door opened and Bilal of the laundry came in with his English wife. “These are my friends,” said the housekeeper. “They will look after you.”

Bilal smiled. “So you found Mr. Lacey,” he said to Agatha.

James looked sharply at Agatha. “We’ve met before,” muttered Agatha, who somehow had no wish to tell James how she had run after him.

James agreed to move in the following day.

“What about Mrs. Raisin?” asked Bilal, his eyes bright and mischievous. “Loads of room here. No need to go on paying a hotel bill.”

Jackie, Bilal’s wife, a woman in her forties with intelligent eyes and a rosy tan that Agatha envied, said, “Yes, why don’t you move in as well, Mrs. Raisin?”

“I suppose so,” said James grudgingly. “Mrs. Raisin is only here on a short holiday.”

Agatha knew in that moment that if she said, yes, she would stay, James would hate it, would think she was crowding him.

“Thank you,” she said brightly. “I’ll check out of the hotel tomorrow.”

James gave a little sigh but settled down to arrange the rent and ask about local shops.

Agatha went upstairs. There was a big bedroom with a double bed. French windows opened up onto an upstairs terrace. Next to it was a single bedroom. Then, through a narrow bathroom and down wooden steps, there was another bedroom with a view of the sea and with a single bed under the window.

She would take this, she decided, and give James the double bedroom.

She went back downstairs by a back stair which led off her new room. There was a summer living-room which looked out onto a terrace and garden, and a winter living-room where the negotiations were taking place. The kitchen was vast. Looking out of the kitchen window, she saw the car-park of the restaurant through a screen of mimosa bushes.

Jackie joined her. “That’s a very good fish restaurant. The manager, Umit Erener, is a friend of ours.”

“I might try it.”

Jackie’s eyes twinkled. “Does Mr. Lacey always call you Mrs. Raisin?”

“Only in the company of strangers,” said Agatha stiffly. All the time she was thinking, I shouldn’t have said I would stay. I’ll have driven him further into his shell. “He’s old-fashioned.”

As she and James finally drove off. Agatha said, “I’ve selected that little single bedroom at the front of the house, you know, the one you have to walk through the bathroom to get to.”

He swivelled his head angrily and glared at her. “You WHAT?”

“I-I said I thought I’d sleep in that little room at the front of-”

“I thought that’s what you said, Agatha, but I can hardly believe my ears. I am renting this villa, not you, and yet you immediately take over and decide where you want to sleep!”

“I’m sorry,” said Agatha huffily. “I thought you would like the master bedroom.”

“Just stop thinking for me, will you?”

Agatha bit her lip. She had been about to say, forget it, she would stay at the hotel, but the whole reason she was there was to get him back.

Why do you want such a cold pig? sneered a voice in her head.

When he stopped outside The Dome, he said in a cold voice and staring straight ahead, “No doubt I shall see you tomorrow.”

Agatha cracked. “Oh, stuff you and your stupid villa,” she howled, tears starting to her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m still angry at being ripped off by Mustafa and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. See here, we’ll have dinner tonight. I’ll see you in the dining-room of your hotel at eight.”

Agatha gave a watery sniff. “See you then.”

The trouble was, she thought, when she stood out on her hotel balcony and watched the surge of the grey-black Mediterranean pounding on the rocks below, that being in a foreign country made her feel lost and vulnerable.

But they would have dinner together. In the evening, the tables were set out in the open air on the terrace. She would reserve a table at the edge overlooking the sea. She would put on her best gown.

She walked back in and studied her face in the glass. Oh, those treacherous lines around the eyes and round the mouth! She slapped on a face pack and settled down to wait for the evening ahead.

By five to eight, she was ready to go downstairs to the dining-room. She felt she had never looked better. Her hair was brushed and shining, her face smooth under carefully applied foundation, lipstick and mascara. She was wearing a low-cut red chiffon gown and high-heeled black patent-leather shoes. She felt sure she had lost inches already with the sauna-like heat.

Her mind wandered off into a dream. The blustery wind had stopped blowing. They would sit at that table she had reserved earlier, looking at each other across the candle-light. At the end of the meal, he would reach across the table and take her hand. An electric current would pass between them. Silently he would lead her up to her room and then…and then…

She jerked out of her dream with an effort. It was now eight o’clock and James was always punctual.

When she stood at the entrance to the dining-room, the noise hit her full in the face. It was Saturday night and a belly-dancer was performing. Everyone was clapping her and cheering and laughing.

And then she saw James. He was not sitting at the table she had reserved for them but at a table in the centre of the dining-room-with Rose, Olivia, Harry, George, Angus and Trevor. They waved to her and she went reluctantly to join them.

“We heard your fellah asking the metter dee for Mrs. Raisin’s table,” shouted Rose, “so we says, she’s a friend of ours. Come and join the party. Park your bum next to Trevor and we’ll have some wine.”

Agatha looked desperately at James but he was talking to Olivia. She tried to talk to Trevor, but the noise of the music was so loud that she gave up. How was Olivia managing to cope? Probably braying as usual.

The belly-dancer approached their table and Trevor asked her to dance on it for them, which she promptly did. But she was joined by Rose, who climbed up on the table as well and began gyrating beside the belly-dancer. Agatha closed her eyes to block out the sight, for Rose was wearing a very short, fringed skirt and no knickers.

At last, with a roll of drums, the belly-dancer swayed out of the restaurant and the music fell silent.

“That was a bit of all right, hey, James,” said Rose, batting her eyelashes at him.

“Not enough belly,” said James. “Too thin.”

“That’s why you like old Aggie,” shrieked Rose. “Good armful.”

Agatha’s glass of wine trembled in her hand. She was restraining herself from throwing the contents into Rose’s face.

James began talking to Olivia and George. It seemed they had friends in common, which left Agatha to talk to the common friends, namely Rose, Trevor and Angus.

“So what’ve you bin doing today, Agatha?” asked Rose.

“We went to rent a villa together,” said Agatha stiffly.

“Fast worker, Aggie,” said Rose.

“She isn’t the only one,” said Trevor, his voice thick with drink.

“I wasn’t talking about Agatha. I was talking about James,” said Rose. “How did you meet him, Agatha?”