M.C. Beaton: The Love from Hell

Every time she cycled, walked or drove back and came into Lilac Lane, her eyes always flew to James’s house. She was so used to seeing it standing there, closed and silent, that a week had passed and she was driving back from the market at Moreton-in-Marsh when she saw the door to James’s cottage standing open.

She cruised to a halt and got out of her car. Would he be wearing his robes? She rang the bell. James came to the door. He was wearing a coarse white cotton shirt and faded jeans.

“Agatha!” he said with genuine pleasure. “Come in. I was just about to call on you. Coffee?”

Agatha followed him in.

“Yes, please,” said Agatha, sitting down on the sofa.

“Only instant,” he called from the kitchen.

“Fine.”

James came back with two mugs and settled down in an armchair opposite and stretched out his long legs. His eyes in his deeply tanned face looked bluer than ever.

“What are you going to do with all your stuff?” asked Agatha.

“I’m hiring a van and taking the lot over to my sister. She’s got lots of space in her cellar. She says she’ll hang on to it all until she is sure that I really want to enter the order.”

“And you are really sure?”

“Oh, yes. We’ve a lot to organize. I’ll phone my lawyer and we’ll go along and start proceedings for a divorce. Then I think I’ll see an agent and rent this cottage. That’ll save me moving out all the furniture as well.”

“Why Melissa?” asked Agatha suddenly. “Why someone like that?”

“She could be very warm and understanding. As I told you, I thought you were having an affair. I was thrown by the idea that I was dying, that something was eating into my brain. I then began to notice it was all an act. I began to notice that she was very cunning and manipulative. You know I’m like you. I have to ferret. Can’t leave things alone. It was actually a doctor friend at Mircester Hospital – Melissa came with me on one visit – who tipped me off about her, and then I checked the psychiatrist’s files. I can’t tell the police about the doctor friend, because by rights, he shouldn’t have told me. When Megan attacked, and I stumbled off, I don’t think you can understand the deep shame I felt at betraying you, and with such a woman. I knew if I went to the police and charged Megan, then my affair with Melissa would be out in the open, and you would find I had lied to you. I remembered the monastery. It was a beacon, a sanctuary, leading me on. I would say I’m sorry for the way I have treated you, Agatha, but ‘I’m sorry’ seems so inadequate. The faults in the marriage were all mine. Old bachelors like me, set in their ways, should not marry at all.”

“It’s all right,” said Agatha. “It’s all over now. Do you want me to help you pack?”

“No, I’ll be all right. What I would really like right now is to walk along to the Red Lion for a pint. Like to come?”

“Of course. I’ll just unpack my groceries and I’ll join you.”

♦

As Agatha sat opposite him in the Red Lion, she examined her feelings rather in the way that someone who has sustained a bad fall examines herself for broken bones. She found she was feeling only relaxed and content. James told her stories about the monastery and how, when he had finally visited the local hospital for an X-ray, it was to find the tumour had gone.

“I thought the police were checking hospitals everywhere,” said Agatha.

“I think I was simply entered in the record books as Brother James.”

“Oh, that explains it.”

“I phoned the lawyer and he is free this afternoon,” said James.

“May as well get it started.”

♦

The weeks James spent in Carsely passed like a dream of good company and sunny days for Agatha. They had meals together, they walked and talked. The new thatch on James’s cottage was completed. He had asked the estate agent to consult Agatha before letting his cottage so that she could choose pleasant neighbours for herself.

Charles phoned several times, but Agatha told him to stay away until James had gone.

And then, just when it seemed as if this happy, dreamlike existence would go on forever, the day of James’s departure was upon them.

He packed a few things into his car, which he had reclaimed from the police station. He gave Agatha a warm hug and climbed into the car. “Don’t forget visiting days,” he called.

He drove off along Lilac Lane, turned the corner, and was gone.

Agatha walked briskly back to her cottage. She felt happy and well. She picked up the phone and dialled.

“Charles. Is that you? Remember you promised me dinner at the Lygon?”