fusillade of knocks and kicks. Agatha let out a whimper. Then there was silence. She was just about to get up when something struck her living-room window and she crouched down again. She heard what she hoped was Barbara's car driving off. Still she waited.
After ten minutes, she got up slowly. She looked at the window. Brown excrement was stuck to it, along with wisps of kitchen paper. Barbara must have thrown a wrapper full of the stuff.
She went through to the kitchen and got a bucket of water and took it outside and threw it at the window, returning to get more water until the window was clean. She was going back inside when she saw Mrs. Barr standing at her garden gate, watching her, her pale eyes alight with malice.
Her rumbling stomach reminded Agatha that she had not eaten. But she did not have the courage to go out again. At least she had bread and butter. She made herself some toast.
The phone rang shrilly. She approached it and gingerly picked up the receiver. 'Hello,' came Roy's mincing voice. That you, Aggie?' 'Yes,' said Agatha, weak with relief. 'How are you?'
'Bit fed up.'
'How's Steve?'
Haven't seen him. Gone all moody on me.'
Buy him a book on village customs. That'll make his eyes light up.'
The only way to make that one's eyes light up,' said Steve waspishly 'is to shine a torch in his ear. I've been given the Tolly Baby Food account.'
Congratulations.'
On what?' Roy's voice was shrill. 'Baby food's not my scene, ducky.
They're doing it deliberately. Hoping I'll fail. Mre your line.'
'Wait a bit. Isn't Tolly Baby Food the stuff that some maniac's been putting glass in and then blackmailing the
They've arrested someone, but now Tolly wants to restore their image.'
Try going green,' suggested Agatha. 'Suggest to the advertising people a line of healthy baby food, no additlves, and with a special safety cap. Get a cartoon figure to Pr rrvote it. Throw a press party to show off the new varuial-proof top. 'Only Tolly Baby Food keeps baby safe,' that sort of thing. And don't drink yourself. Take any j utnalist who has a baby out for lunch separately.'
They don't have babies,' complained Roy. 'They give birth to bile.'
There are a few fertile ones.' Agatha searched her memory' There Jean Hammond, she's got a baby, and Jeffrey Corbie's wife has just had one.
You'll find out more if you try. Anyway, women journalists feel obliged to write about babies to show they're normal. They have to keep trying to identify with the housewives they secretly despise you know Jill Stamp who's always rambling on her godson? Hasn't got one.
All part of the 'I Wish you were doing it,' said Roy. 'It was fun working for you, Aggie. How's things in Rural Land?' Agatha hesitated and then said, 'Fine.'
This was greeted by a long silence. It suddenly struck Agatha with some amazement that Roy might possibly want an invitation.
'You know all that tat in my living-room?'
'What, the fake horse brasses and things?'
'Yes, I'm auctioning them all off in the name of charity. On the tenth of June, a Saturday. Like to come down and see me in action?'
'Love to.'
'All right. I'll meet the train on Friday evening, on the ninth.
Wonder you can bear to leave London.'
'London is a sink,' said Roy bitterly.
'Oh, God, there's a car outside,' yelped Agatha. She looked out of the window. 'It's all right, it's only the police.'
'What have you been up to?'
'I'll tell you when I see you. Bye.'
Agatha answered the door to Bill Wong. 'Now what?' she asked. 'Or is this just a friendly call?'
'Not quite.' He followed her into the kitchen and sat down at the table.
'You were at the Ancombe Fair, I gather,' said Bill.
'So?'
'You were seen in the beer tent waving a knife at Miss. Barbara James.'
'Self-defence. The woman tried to strangle me.'
'Why?'
'Because I believe she had been having an affair with Cummings-Browne and she learned my name and saw red.'
He flipped open a small notebook and consulted it. 'Photographer Ben Birkin of the Cotswold Courier snapped a picture and lo and behold, his camera case was snatched. No cameras taken but all the rolls of film.' 'Odd,' said Agatha. 'Coffee?'
'Yes, please. Then I had a call from Fred Griggs, your local bobby. He had a report that a woman answering to Barbara James's description threw shit at your windows.' 'She's mad,' said Agatha, thumping a cup of instant coffee in front of Bill. 'Quite mad. And you still claim the death of Cummings-Browne was an accident. I regret that scene in the beer tent. I'm glad that photographer lost his film. I've suffered enough without having my photo on the front of some local rag. Oh, God, I suppose they'll run the story even if they don't have the picture to go with it.'
He looked at her speculatively. 'You are a very lucky woman. The editor was so furious with Ben Birkin that he didn't want to know about two women fighting in the beer tent. Furthermore, it so happens that John James, Barbara's father, owns shares in the company which owns the newspaper. The editor's only interested in cramming as many names and pictures of the locals into his paper as he can. Luckily, there were several amateur photographers at the fair and Bill was able to buy their film. Do you wish to charge Barbara James with assault or with throwing what possibly was dog-do at your window?'
Agatha shuddered. 'I never want to see that woman again. No.'
I've been making more inquiries about Cummings-Browne,' said Bill.
'Seems he was quite a Lothario. You wouldn't think it to look at him, would you? Pointy head and jug ears. Oh, I've found the identity of the woman who was glaring at you at Warwick Castle.'
'Who is she?'
'Miss. Maria Borrow, spinster of the parish, not this parish, Upper Cockburn.'
'And was she having an affair with Cummings-Browne?'
'Seems hardly believable. Retired schoolteacher. Gone a bit batty.
Taken up witchcraft. Sixty-two.'
'Oh, well, sixty-two. I mean, even Cummings-Browne could hardly'
'But for the past three years she has won the jam-making competition at Upper Cockburn, and Mr. Cummings-Browne was the judge. Now don't go near her. Let well alone, Mrs. Raisin. Settle down and enjoy your retirement.'
He rose to his feet, but instead of going to the front door he veered into the living-room and stood looking at the fire. He picked up the long brass poker and shifted the blazing wood. Little black metal film spools rattled through the fire-basket and on to the hearth.
'Yes, you are very lucky, Mrs. Raisin,' said Bill. 'I happen to detest Ben Birkin.' 'Why?' asked Agatha.
'I was having a mild flirtation with a married lady and I was giving her a cuddle behind the abbey in Mircester. Ben took a photograph and it was published with the caption: 'Safe in the Arms of the Law'. Her husband called on me and I had a job to talk my way out of that one.'
Agatha rallied. 'I'm not quite sure what you are getting at. I found a pile of old unused film in my luggage and I was burning it.'
Bill shook his head in mock amazement. 'One would think all your years in public relations would have taught you how to lie better. Mind your own business in future, Agatha Raisin, and leave any investigation to the law.'
The squally rain disappeared and clear blue skies shone over the Cotswolds. Agatha, shaken by the fight with
