supposed to be on a liner and there they was sat, in deck chairs and with travel rugs over their knees saying things like, 'Remember India, darling?'
'Sort of fake Noel Coward?'
'I s'pose. I wouldn't know. Anyways, Mrs. Barr suddenly turns to him and says, 'Reg, Reg, kiss me.' Well, that war en in the scrip' and what's more, the character Mr. Cummings-Browne was playing was called Ralph. He muttered something and she threw herself at him, his deck chair went over, and we all cheered and laughed, thinking it was the first funny thing that evening, but the playwright screamed awful words and tried to climb up on the stage and Mrs. Cummings-Browne closed the curtains. We could hear the most awful row going on backstage and then Mrs. Cummings-Browne came out in front of the curtains and said the rest of the play was cancelled.'
'So Mrs. Barr must have been having an affair with Cummings-Browne!'
'You know, I often wonder if that one did more than have a bit of a kiss and cuddle. I mean, take Ella Cart- wright; for all she looks like a slut, all she really cares about is getting money for the bingo. Now can I go back to work?'
The security firm arrived and Agatha paid over a staggering sum and then they began to fit lights and alarms and pressure pads.
'Going to be like Fort Knox here,' grumbled Doris.
Agatha went out and sat in the garden to get away from the workmen, but the sun was too fierce. The air of the Cotswolds is very heavy and on that day the sun seemed to have burnt all the oxygen out of it. She felt as isolated as if she were on a desert island, even with Doris working away and men bustling about fixing the alarm system. She moved her chair into a patch of shade. She would not make any rash decisions. She would see how quickly Mrs. Barr sold her house and try to find out how much she got for it. If the sale was a healthy one, then she would put her own cottage on the market. She would move back to London and start all over again in the PR business. She would try to lure Roy away from Pedmans. He was shaping up nicely.
Although the news bulletins said the tar was melting on the streets of London under the heat, she saw it under rainy skies with the pavements glistening in the wet, reflecting the colours of the goods in the shop windows. She had become used to the international population of London, to the different-coloured faces, to the exotic restaurants.
Here she was surrounded by Anglo-Saxon faces and Anglo-Saxon ways. The scandal of John Cartwright was over, she knew that. Already plans were being made for the annual village band concert, money to Famine Relief this time. Apart from sending money off to the distressed of the outside world, the villagers were not much concerned with anything that went on which disturbed the slow, easy tenor of their days.
Suffocating! That's what it was. Suffocating, thought Agatha, striking the arm of her chair.
'Someone to see you,' called one of the workmen.
Agatha went into the house. Bill Wong was standing at the front door.
'Come in,' called Agatha. 'Have they caught him?'
'Not yet. See you're getting every security system going.'
They've started, so they may as well finish,' said Agatha. 'Let's hope it adds to the price of the house, for I mean to leave.'
He followed her into the kitchen and sat down. 'Leave? Why? Anyone else been trying to murder you?'
'Not yet.' Agatha sat down opposite him. 'I'm bored.'
'Some would think you were leading a very exciting life in the country.'
'I don't fit in here,' said Agatha. 'I mean to go back to London and start in business again.'
His almond-shaped eyes studied her without expression. Then he said, 'You know, you haven't given it much time. It takes about two years to settle in anywhere. Besides, you're a different person. Less prickly, less insensitive.'
Agatha sniffed. 'Weak, you mean. No, nothing will change my mind now.
Why are you here?'
'Just to ask after your health.' He fished in the pocket of the jacket which he had been carrying over his arm when he arrived and which was now on the back of the chair. He produced a jar of home-made jam.
'It's my mother's,' he said awkwardly. 'Thought you might like some.
Strawberry.' 'Oh, how lovely,' said Agatha. 'I'll take it up to London with me.'
'You're surely not leaving right away!' 'No, but I thought while you were talking that it would do me good to take a short holiday from Carsely book into some hotel in London.'
'How long for?'
'I don't know. Probably a week.'
'So this means your life as an amateur detective is over.' 'It never really got started,' said Agatha. 'I thought the fuss I was causing was because there was a murderer in the village. But all I was doing was riling people up.'
Bill studied her for a few moments and then said, 'Perhaps you might find you have changed. Perhaps you will find London doesn't suit you any more.'
'Now, that I very much doubt,' laughed Agatha. 'I tell you what I'll do when I get back. I'll invite you for dinner.' She looked at him, suddenly shy. That is, if you want to come.'
'I'd like that ... provided it isn't quiche.'
After he had gone, Agatha paid Doris Simpson and told her she would be away the following week but gave her a spare key and got the head workman to instruct both of them in the mysterious working of the burglar alarms. Then she phoned up a small but expensive London hotel and booked herself in for a week. She was lucky they had just received a cancellation, and as it was, she had to reserve a double room.
Then she began to pack. The evening brought little respite from the heat and a good deal of nuisance. The news that all the lights outside Agatha's cottage went on when anyone passed on the road quickly spread amongst the village children, who ran up and down with happy swooping screams like giant swallows until the local policeman turned up to drive them away.
Agatha went along to the Red Lion. 'We all need air-conditioning,' she said to the landlord.
'Happen you're right,' he said, ' what's the point of the expense?
Won't see another summer like this in England for years. Fact is, maybe we'll get a bad winter. Old Sam Sturret was just in here and he was saying how the winter's going to be mortal bad. We'll be snowed up for weeks, he says.'
'Don't the snow-ploughs come around?'
'Not from the council, they don't, Mrs. Raisin m'dear. Us relies on the farmers with their tractors to try to keep the roads clear.'
Agatha was about to protest that considering what they paid in council tax, they ought to have proper gritting and salting lorries, not to mention council snow-ploughs, and was about to say she would get up a petition to hand in to the council when she remembered she would probably be living in London by the winter.
One by one, the locals began to drift into the pub. The landlord told them all he had put out tables in the garden and so they moved out there and Agatha was asked to join them. One man had brought along an accordion and he began to play and soon more villagers came in, drawn by the sound of the music, and then all began to sing along. Agatha was surprised, when the last orders were called, to realize she had been out in the pub garden all evening.
As she walked home, she felt muddled. That very afternoon, the burning ambition she had lived with so long had returned in full force and she had felt her old self again. Now she began to wonder whether she wanted to be her old self again. Her old self didn't sit singing in pubs or, she thought as she saw Mrs. Bloxby outside her cottage door under the glare of the new security lights, get visits from the vicar's wife.
'I heard you were leaving for London tomorrow,' said Mrs. Bloxby, ' came to say goodbye.'
'Who told you?' asked Agatha, unlocking her front door.
That nice young detective constable, Bill Wong.'
'He always seems to be about. Doesn't he have any work to do in Mircester?'
'Oh, he often calls round the villages,' said Mrs. Bloxby vaguely. 'He also said something very distressing about you leaving us for good.'
'Yes, I plan to go back into business. I should never have retired so early.'
'Well, that's a great pity for Carsely. We planned to make more use of your organizing skills. You will be back
