'I don't, but Ma would kill you. Come out into the back garden and have one there'
They followed him out into the garden. James let out a gasp. It was beautifully laid out. A cluster of cherry trees at the bottom raised white-and-pink branches to the evening sky. A wisteria just beginning to show its first leaves coiled over the kitchen door. 'This is my patch' said Bill. 'Makes a change from policing'
James marvelled that Bill, who obviously had such an eye for beauty, could see nothing wrong with his parents' home. Agatha wondered how Bill could have such admiration and affection for such a dreary couple and then decided she admired him for it.
James was becoming happy and animated as he discussed plants and Agatha thought again of her own neglected garden and decided that if this investigation fell through, then gardening might be a subject they would have in common. By the time they returned to the dreadful lounge for more horrible coffee served in doll's cups which Mrs Wong called her best 'demytess', the three were at ease with each other.
'I like to return hospitality' said Bill to James. Tm always dropping in to Agatha's for a coffee, but she's never been here. Now you know the road, you're welcome to come any time'
'Have you moved here recently?' asked James.
'Last year' said Bill proudly. 'Dad's got this dry-cleaning business in Mircester and he's really built it up. Yes, we're moving up in the world.' His good nature seemed to transform his home into the palace he thought it to be and Agatha and James thanked Mrs Wong very warmly for her hospitality before they finally left.
'It will be a cold day in hell before I go back there again' said Agatha, as they drove off.
'Yes, I'm still hungry. I cut up that beef and pushed it under the vegetables to make it look as if I'd eaten it' said James. 'We'll stop somewhere for a drink and a sandwich.' He said this almost absent-mindedly, as if to an old friend, taking her acceptance for granted, and Agatha felt so ridiculously happy, she thought she might cry.
Over beer and sandwiches, they decided to continue their investigations the next day. 'What about Miss Mabbs?' asked Agatha suddenly. 'Look, we know Bladen was a womanizer. Miss Mabbs was that pallid female who worked as receptionist. What of her? She must have known all about the operation on that horse. I wonder where she is now?'
'We'll find her tomorrow. You can smoke if you like.'
1 feel like an endangered species' said Agatha, lighting up. 'People are becoming so militant about smokers.'
'They're puritans' said James. 'Who was it said that the reason the puritans were against bear-baiting was not because it gave pain to the bear but because it gave pleasure to the crowd?'
'I don't know. But I should give it up.'
'Bill said an odd thing when we were leaving' said James. 'He said, 'Don't go about stirring up muck or you may promote a real murder.' '
'Oh, he was joking. He's a great one for jokes'
Chapter Five
Agatha would have been most surprised if anyone had called her a romantic. She considered herself hard- headed and practical. So she did not realize the folly of wild dreams and fantasies.
In her mind, since she had said goodbye to him the evening before, she was married to James Lacey, and most of her dreams had been of a passionate honeymoon, and the lovely thing about dreams is that one can write the script, and James said beautiful and loverlike things.
So Agatha, next morning, forgot all her plans of being cool and detached. James had said he would call for her around noon and that they might have a bite to eat in the pub before trying to find out what had become of Miss Mabbs.
Agatha decided to make a romantic lunch. So when James turned up on her doorstep, he shied nervously before an Agatha in a low-cut blouse, tight skirt and very high heels, who was glowing at him. He fidgeted nervously in the hall as she waved a hand in the direction of the dining-room and said she'd thought they may as well have lunch at her place.
Through the open door of the dining-room, James saw the table set with fine china and crystal and candles burning in tall holders - candles in the middle of the day!
Panic set in. He backed out of the door. 'Actually, I came to
Agatha could practically hear the ruins of her dreams tumbling about her ears, brick by brick. Red with shame, she blew out the candles, put the china away, went upstairs, scrubbed off her thick make-up and put on a comfortable old dress like a sack, thrust her feet into slippers and shuffled back down to stare at the soaps on television and try not to brood on her gaffe.
She had had a nearly sleepless night and so she dozed off in front of the television set with the cats on her lap, waking an hour later at the sound of the doorbell.
She hoped he had come back - if only he would come back! - but it was Mrs Bloxby, the vicar's wife, who stood there.
'I was just passing,' said Mrs Bloxby, 'and wondered whether you remembered that the Carsely Ladies are having a meeting tonight.' For a moment, something unlovely darted through Agatha's eyes. She was thinking, Screw the Carsely Ladies.
'I do hope you will come' said Mrs Bloxby. 'Our newcomer, Mrs Huntingdon, is going to be there, and Miss Webster, who has the shop. We expect quite a crowd. And Miss Simms is bringing along some of her home-made cider, so I thought we would have cheese and biscuits with that'
Agatha realized Mrs Bloxby was still standing on the doorstep and said, 'Do come in'
'No, I'd better get home. My husband is wrestling with a tricky sermon'
So this is what life has come down to, thought Agatha gloomily; another evening with the ladies. Even the knowledge that Mrs Huntingdon was going to be there could not give Agatha enough energy to change out of her old dress.
But on her way to the vicarage, she remembered that Josephine Webster, she of the dried-flower shop, she who had admired the vet, was to be there. There was no James Lacey, but there was still the interest of amateur detection.
The vicarage sitting-room was full of chattering women. Mrs Bloxby handed Agatha a tankard of cider. 'Where is Miss Webster?' asked Agatha.
'Over there, by the piano'
'Of course' Agatha studied her with interest. She was a neat woman of indeterminate age, neat fair hair crisply permed, neat little features, neat little figure. Talking to her was Freda Huntingdon, who had not bothered to dress up either, Agatha noticed. Agatha did not want to interrupt their conversation. She took another pull at her tankard and blinked. The cider was very strong indeed. She found Miss Simms next to her. 'How did you get such powerful stuff?' she asked.
Miss Simms giggled and whispered in Agatha's ear. 'Let you into a secret. I thought I would spice it up a bit' She waved her own tankard towards a firkin on a table. 'So I poured a bottle of vodka into it'
'You'll get us all drunk' said Agatha.
'Well, some of us need cheering up. Look at Mrs Josephs. She's looking better already. I thought she was going to go into mourning for that cat of hers forever'
Agatha sat down beside Mrs Josephs. 'Glad to see you looking better,' said Agatha politely.
'Oh, much better,' said the librarian in a tipsy voice. 'Revenge is mine'
'Really?'
'I am to get what is rightfully mine'3
Agatha looked at her impatiently. 'What do you mean?'
'Silence, ladies,' called Mrs Mason. 'Our meeting is about to begin'
'Call on me at ten tomorrow,' said Mrs Josephs loudly, 'and I'll tell you all about Paul Bladen'
'Shrth!' admonished Mrs Bloxby.
Agatha waited restlessly while the proceedings dragged on. But before they were finished, Mrs Josephs suddenly got up and left. Agatha shrugged and approached Miss Webster. 1 saw you at Paul Bladen's funeral' she said.
'I didn't know you were a friend of his' said Miss Webster.