“Let me think. Let’s go for a drink.”
Soon, seated in a Worcester pub, they faced each other in silence. What does he think of me? wondered Agatha. Does he see me as a woman? That crack about lines round the mouth, does he find me ugly? Old? He seemed quite taken with Joanna Field. I wonder when he last had sex with anybody. I don’t think I fancy him. It’s just that I don’t like being treated like another fellow.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said at last, “that there is a way we might go on. That wig and glasses really changed your appearance. As long as you don’t appear in any of the same clothes you wore when you were masquerading as Pippa, we could get away with it. Listen to this idea. The television company has dropped the idea, but I became interested in Kylie’s death while helping Pippa. My next-door neighbour is a famous amateur detective. What could be more natural than us continuing the investigations?”
“Do you really think I look that different without the disguise?”
“Yes. It was a very heavy, large blonde wig, and the glasses were enormous. I’m sure we could get away with it.”
“So where do we go from here? I know. I’ve got this friend in Mircester police, Bill Wong. I could ask him to let us know how Worcester police are getting on. He’s got a friend over there.”
“That’s a start. I don’t think the police will get any further with Kylie’s bank account. I’ve a feeling the money was probably paid in in cash.”
“But they’ll check Barrington’s bank and see if he withdrew the money.”
“True. I wish there was some way you could get to know Mrs. Barrington. We can hardly go and interview her now. I wonder what her social life is like.”
“Let’s go back to Evesham and look up a phone-book at the post office. We can get Barrington’s home address from that.”
¦
Arthur Barrington turned out to live in a large villa in the Greenhill area of Evesham. “We’ll park near his house,” said John, “and watch to see if anyone who could be Mrs. Barrington leaves, follow her and hope she goes somewhere to get her hair done or have a coffee or something.”
Agatha’s stomach rumbled. “Don’t you ever eat?” she asked.
“I’m pretty hungry, but let’s do this first.”
They parked just before Barrington’s villa. It was a quiet, tree-lined street. John opened the glove compartment. “Good, I knew I’d a bar of chocolate in here.”
“Goodie, let me have it.”
“You can have half.”
They sat eating chocolate and looking at the house.
“What do you think about?” asked Agatha.
“You mean about Barrington?”
“No, not Barrington. Things. All we ever talk about is the case.”
“What d’you want me to talk about?”
“You, for instance.”
“What else is there to know?” he demanded impatiently. “I am divorced. I do not have any children. I write detective stories.”
“There are other things to talk about. Books. Movies.”
“Ah, books. You read
Agatha bit her lip. She did not want him to know that she had intimate knowledge of Birmingham slums.
To her relief, she saw a woman driving out of the entrance to Barrington’s villa.
“Look!” she cried. “That’s probably her.”
“We’ll follow carefully,” he said, switching on the ignition and letting in the clutch. “Don’t want her to know she’s being followed.”
“She won’t know she’s being followed,” Agatha pointed out. “It’s only in spy stories that they know they are being followed.”
Mrs. Barrington, if it was Mrs. Barrington, drove into Evesham and parked in Merstow Green. When she emerged from her car, they saw she was slim and blonde, with long tanned legs ending in trainers. She headed straight for the beauticians.
“It’s the Pilates class today,” said Agatha. “I forgot. I’ll run around the corner to that cheap shop in the High Street and buy leggings and a T-shirt.”
“I’ll get something as well,” said John. “Bit of exercise would do me good.”
“I don’t think there’ll be room for you. But we can try.”
Ten minutes later, Rosemary welcomed them both. “You’re in luck,” she said to John. “Two of my ladies didn’t turn up. But we’ve done the relaxation bit.”
¦
While they performed knee stirs, hamstring stretches and the diamond press – the last a pretty gruelling exercise – Agatha stole covert looks at Mrs. Barrington. She had dyed blond hair, worn long. She was very slim and had an even tan, that faintly orange tan which comes from a bottle. Her face was only faintly lined, a long face, a Modigliani face. Her concentration was fierce. The other members of the class groaned and chatted and laughed as they performed their exercises, but her face remained throughout a mask of almost narcissistic concentration.
Hardly the sort of woman to get on chatty terms with, thought Agatha. A lot of money had gone into keeping her slim and fairly unlined. Her leotard was an expensive one.
After the class was over, John stayed behind in the exercise room while the women went into the other room to change.
“I feel better after that,” commented Agatha to Mrs. Barrington. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Agatha Raisin.”
“Stephanie Barrington,” she replied with a cool look. “Now, I must go.”
Agatha watched helplessly as Stephanie put on her coat and headed for the stairs. Agatha struggled quickly out of her leggings and T-shirt and put on her street clothes. She rushed to join John in the other room and stopped in surprise. He was chatting to Stephanie, who looked quite animated and was saying, “But I’ve read all your books.”
Over her shoulder – her slim back was to Agatha – John gave Agatha a dismissive roll of the eyeballs.
She went reluctantly downstairs. Now what was she supposed to do? She couldn’t sit in the car. John had the keys.
She stood behind the shelter of the car and finally saw them emerge. They stood talking for a while on the pavement and then, to her relief, John headed towards the car-park.
“So how did you get on?” demanded Agatha impatiently.
“I’m giving her dinner tonight,” he said triumphantly.
“Where?”
“My place.”
“Can I come?”
“Bad idea. She wants to talk to me about writing a book. She won’t talk freely with you around.”
“When her husband knows who it is she’s meeting, he’ll put a stop to it. He’ll remember you from this morning.”
“He won’t know. She said he sneers at everything she does, so she’s not going to tell him.”
“Fancy you, does she?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Wouldn’t fancy her a bit, if I were a man,” said Agatha as they drove off. “Looks a cold fish.”
He grinned. “I am sure she has hidden passions.”
¦
That evening, Agatha fretted alone. She did not have a crush on John, and yet she resented his interest in other women like Joanna Field and now Stephanie Barrington. Of course, it had all to do with the case. She decided to visit Mrs. Bloxby.
Mrs. Bloxby listened carefully to Agatha’s adventures and then said, “You are very, very lucky the police did
