“Like a drink?” asked John.
“Gin and tonic.”
“I don’t have lemon or ice.”
“How British! I’ll drink it warm.”
While John went into the kitchen, Agatha sat down and closed her eyes, trying to conjure up an image of James and of the room as it used to be. She had nearly succeeded when John came back in. She opened her eyes and accepted a glass of gin and tonic. He carefully put two coasters down on the coffee-table.
“You live like a bachelor,” commented Agatha. “Neatness everywhere.”
“It’s the only way I can live. If I let it go for one day, then sloppiness sets in. There’s a police car just gone past.” He went to the door and opened it and looked out. “Bill!” he shouted. “In here.”
“I feel guilty every time I look at him,” grumbled Agatha.
Bill came in. He was on his own. “Was that you following us from Mircester?” he asked.
“We just happened to be in Mircester doing some shopping,” said Agatha defensively. “We saw the police car in front of us. I didn’t know you were in it.”
“I wasn’t. I was in the car behind you.”
“Anyway, now you’re here, what can we do for you?”
Bill studied Agatha’s face and noticed the way she dropped her eyes and reached for her drink.
“I think you pair have been up to something. I’ve never known you to let things alone before, Agatha.”
“It’s this engagement,” said John. “We’ve got so much to deal with. We don’t know whether to keep one of our cottages or buy somewhere bigger.”
“So you say. Have you heard anything?”
“Only that the villagers have been sharing views about Tristan and seem to be coming to the conclusion that he was rather nasty.”
“Give me an example.”
Agatha told him about Miss Simms. “Now, that
“Probably did it out of spite.”
“It still seems out of character. If he was out to fleece rich women, then he would be anxious to keep up his front of being sweet and charming. He must have known that Miss Simms would talk about it.”
“Unless,” said Agatha slowly, “someone or something frightened him and he’d decided to leave. That was why he wanted the church money. He probably hoped to get a cheque from me.”
“Or he decided to dump Miss Simms because you provided a possibility of good pickings.”
“But he asked Miss Simms out for dinner after he’d invited me. Did Miss Feathers say if he had received any calls during the night?”
“Not that she knows of, apart from the one from you.”
“Miss Simms must have been very flustered and excited about that invitation,” said Bill. “I wonder if she got the evening wrong. You had dinner with him on the Tuesday. I wonder if he said tomorrow evening and in her excitement, Miss Simms misunderstood him.”
“I’ll phone up the restaurant and see when he made the booking for,” said John.
“You’ll need an Oxfordshire phone-book,” said Agatha.
“I’ve got one. You two go on talking; I’ll phone from the bedroom.”
“So you’re really going to get married again,” said Bill, scrutinizing Agatha’s face.
“Seems like a good idea.”
“Women of your age often marry because they want companionship, or someone to go into pubs and restaurants with, or to mend fuses; but not you, Agatha.”
“I’ve decided I’ll never fall in love again,” said Agatha. “So I may as well settle for companionship. Can we talk about something else? Like is Miss Jellop’s sister going to stay in her cottage?”
“How did you know it was Miss Jellop’s sister?”
“The police car turned off in the direction of Dover Rise. Simple.”
“Now, why do I get the feeling that the pair of you found out that she was at police headquarters and waited outside and tailed her back here?”
“Because you’ve got a nasty, suspicious copper’s mind. Oh, here’s John.”
“Mystery solved,” said John, coming down the stairs. “Tristan booked a table for the Friday evening, not Thursday. The restaurant was quiet, so when Miss Simms turned up, saying she was waiting for a gentleman friend, but not giving any name, they put her at a table for two.”
“Another dead end,” said Bill. “I’d best be off. Don’t go bothering Mrs. Essex.”
“Who’s she?” asked Agatha innocently.
“As if you didn’t know!”
When Bill had left, John asked, “Are we going to bother Mrs. Essex?”
“Of course,” said Agatha.
“Better leave it a bit until we’re sure the police have gone. That’s Mrs. Bloxby just gone past the window. She’s probably on her way to your place.”
He opened the window and called, “Mrs. Bloxby!” She turned and smiled and then walked up to the door. John opened it and ushered her in. Mrs. Bloxby was looking so relaxed and cheerful that Agatha cried, “You look great. You must have heard some good news.”
“I haven’t heard any good news. But I’ve been in church and I have renewed my faith.”
Agatha felt embarrassed. She said, “Bill Wong has just been here.” She told the vicar’s wife about Miss Simms’s date, ending up with, “But I don’t see why he even asked her in the first place.”
“I think,” said Mrs. Bloxby slowly, “that perhaps he was not gay.”
“But by all accounts he said so himself,” exclaimed Agatha.
“He may have said that as one of his ways of rejecting and hurting people. Men who are very beautiful are naturally assumed to be gay. I must confess I made that mistake myself. Think, Mrs. Raisin, when you had dinner with him, did you ever think he might be gay?”
“No, I didn’t,” said Agatha. “He was exuding sexual vibes.”
“If he was as cruel as he seems to have been, it might have delighted him to lead both men and women on. To the men, he could imply he was gay and then reject them if they made any advances. To the women, he could say he was gay, and reject them that way. He liked manipulating people. He did at first imply that I was wasted on Alf, but, you see, that didn’t work with me, for I have never fallen out of love with my husband.”
Agatha felt a sour pang of jealousy which she quickly dismissed. Mrs. Bloxby deserved the rewards of a good woman. Maybe I should pray myself, thought Agatha.
They all went over what they knew about Tristan without getting any further.
When Mrs. Bloxby had left, John glanced at his wrist-watch. “Perhaps we should try Mrs. Essex now.”
They walked up through the village to Dover Rise. “If she was well off,” said John, “it’s a wonder she didn’t choose somewhere a bit more expensive to live. I think these used to be workers’ cottages at one time.”
“She was on her own and probably didn’t feel she needed anywhere larger. One of these terraced cottages costs nearly two hundred thousand pounds. Living in the Cotswolds is expensive. Everyone wants to live here. A lot of people who had second homes in the Cotswolds during the last recession opted to sell their London homes and commute from here. It’s only an hour and a half on the train from Moreton. If you live in Hampstead, say, it can take you all that just to get into the City.”
They stood at the end of the cul-de-sac and looked along it. “No police cars,” said John. “I can’t see a copper on duty either.”
“Why are they called coppers?” asked Agatha.
“It comes from an old acronym, COP, constable on patrol. Why are you playing Trivial Pursuits, Agatha?”
“Because I’m nervous. I expect Bill Wong to leap out of the bushes at me.”
“Looks all-clear.”
“I hate this business of being unauthorized,” Agatha burst out. “We look like a couple of Nosy Parkers.”
“The curse of the amateur detective,” remarked John cheerfully. “Buck up, Agatha. Where’s your stiff upper lip?”
“To quote the Goons, it’s over my loose wobbly lower one.”
