old Roman military road. Ever since the Abbot of Westminster, who owned the land, decided to make use of the transport on the Fosse Way and a new Moreton was built in 1222, it has always been a favourite stopping place for travellers, the wool merchants of medieval times being replaced with tourists.
Agatha found a parking place after some difficulty. Even in the depths of winter, it is hard to find a parking place in Moreton, where the number of cars and the absence of people often puzzled Agatha. Where did so many car owners go? There wasn't enough work or enough shops to draw them all. Agatha went into the tourist information centre to see if she could pick up some pamphlets about rambling walks to take along on Saturday in order to show the Dembley Walkers she was a dedicated member. She read a tourist pamphlet on Moreton-in- Marsh to see if there was something about the old town she did not know. And there was. One pamphlet explained that the charter for the market had been granted by King Charles I in 1638. 'Some years later,' she read, 'he stayed at the White Hart Royal, which was a well-known Coaching Inn, and was part of the Trust House Forte Hotel Group.' Agatha had a brief and vivid picture of King Charles and his Cavaliers with their booted feet up on the hotel tables listening to the piped Muzak which was a feature of Trust House Forte Hotels.
After a look in a thrift shop, she went to the White Hart and ate a massive plate of lamb stew. She emerged later blinking into the sunlight, drugged with food, feeling the waistline of her skirt uncomfortably tight.
Was there something about women of a certain age, she wondered, that, when they wanted to attract a man, instead of getting on the exercise bicycle, they stuffed themselves with food?
For his part, James had had a bar lunch at the Red Lion and had endured a lot of sly teasing of the what- have-you-been-doing-with-our-Agatha variety. As he walked home, he wondered whether Agatha's reputation was being damaged and then decided it was not. Provided there was no truth in the rumours, they would soon die out.
He found he was anxious to get on with the investigation, and as he walked down Lilac Lane, he saw Agatha getting out of her car and hailed her.
'I think we'd better get going,' he said. 'I want to bump into Jeffrey as he comes out of the school as if by accident and take him for a drink. What about you?'
'I'll just knock on Alice's front door and say I've come to ask her advice about boots,' said Agatha, feeling lethargic and heavy and wishing she had not eaten so much.
She fell asleep in the car - they had used her car for the journey back to Carsely and James was driving it - and awoke to hear James saying in an amused voice, 'I didn't know you snored, Agatha.'
'Sorry,' she said. 'Had too much to eat at lunch.'
She wished she could always look and feel bandbox-fresh for him. She felt old and began to worry about those wrinkles on her upper lip. Surely they hadn't been there before she went to London. That's what PR did for you, she thought sadly. James had very good eyesight. When he looked at her, she could feel his blue eyes fastening on those wrinkles. How could a man want to kiss any woman with those nasty little wrinkles above her mouth?
Agatha did not know that James felt most at ease with her when she was quiet and crushed. She felt she had to be always 'on stage' for him.
He dropped her off near Alice's and went on to their own flat, leaving the car outside and setting out on foot for the school.
Children of all shades were tumbling out of the school gates. He still found it strange to hear Indian and Pakistani children calling to each other in broad Midlands accents. Although their faces did not have the pinched, white, unhealthy appearance of the native British, they held that flat, discontented look of the underprivileged.
He saw Jeffrey strolling out and drew back a little and then began to follow him. Finally James speeded up and crossed a busy street to the other side, crossed back again, and came face to face with Jeffrey and hailed him. 'Hot day,' said James. 'Care for a drink?'
'All right,' said Jeffrey.
James noticed Jeffrey no longer eyed him with suspicion. The reason for that soon came out when they were seated in a pub called the Fleece, Jeffrey saying he was tired of the crowd at the Grapes.
'You shouldn't let that wife of yours wear the trousers,' said Jeffrey, raising a pint of bitter. 'Cheers.'
James was about to protest but then decided that the role of hen-pecked husband was putting him in a sympathetic light. 'Oh, I don't know,' he said easily. 'I suppose when you've been married as long as we have, you get so you don't notice it. But I would have judged you to favour equal rights for women.'
'Equal rights, yes,' said Jeffrey moodily, 'but not domination.'
'Was Jessica like that, the dead woman?' asked James. And then added quickly, 'Sorry, I forgot you were close to her.'
Jeffrey shrugged. 'She was a convenient lay,' he said. 'But then, you never can tell with women. They say they're liberated, they say they only want sex, and the next thing they're pushing you around. What that wife of yours needs is a good punch in the mouth.'
'But if you advocate rights for women, then you shouldn't be advocating punches in the mouth,' said James.
'Why not? They consider themselves equal to men, then treat them like men. If a man gives you any lip, you sock him one. Why not sock a woman?'
'Apt to end up in prison,' said James.
'Then just walk away from it. I'll never get married.' Jeffrey flexed his muscles. 'Plenty of crumpet out there.'
James suddenly found himself disliking Jeffrey intensely. He had heard of such men but had never met one before, the type who claim to hold liberal views and underneath hold the same views as any American redneck. Liberal views on women as held by the Jeffreys of this world were simply a convenient way of talking some woman into bed and having sex without responsibility.
With a conscious effort, he forced himself to laugh, man to man.
'Who do you think murdered Jessica?' he asked.
'I think it was one of the women,' said Jeffrey. 'Our Jessica was bisexual. Alice was jealous of her because she was after Gemma. Then she messed about a bit with our Deborah, and God knows what she got up to with Mary. I mean, think about Mary. She was probably the last one to see Jessica alive. That business about having food poisoning! She could have made that up to give herself an alibi.'
'And do the police suspect you?' asked James. 'I mean, you being her lover and all that.'
'They probably still do. But I didn't do it, so they can ask all the questions they like. Do you know the filth even searched my flat? 'What are you looking for?' I asked them. 'A spade?''
'I'm surprised,' ventured James, 'that you don't think Sir Charles did it.'
A sneer marred Jeffrey's face. 'That sort don't even fart without asking permission from the police. Besides, he's got lots of people there to do the dirty for him. But I think it was a woman. Women are vicious.' He looked pointedly at his empty tankard, and James quickly ordered another.
'Oh, well, let's talk about something else,' said James. 'I'm thinking of settling in Ireland.'
'Which part?' asked Jeffrey sharply.
'The south, of course. I write books, or try to write books, anyway. My mother's Irish,' lied James. 'Do you know, if you're a writer you don't have to pay taxes?'
'Yes, grand country, so it is.' Jeffrey's Midlands accent had faded, to be replaced by a slightly Irish one.
'The only trouble,' said James, handing money over the bar for the drinks, 'is that writer friends tell me that the IRA come calling and tell the writer that since he's not paying taxes, he can jolly well pay towards the Cause.'
'And why not?' demanded Jeffrey truculently. 'Why should they live off the fat of the land and not pay for it?'
'I suppose you have a point,' said James, wondering what it would be like to punch Jeffrey in the mouth.
Agatha took a quick look around Alice's flat while Alice was in the kitchen making coffee. There was distinct evidence of two contrasting personalities. The bookshelves were divided between heavy political tomes and paperback romances. On the low coffee-table was stacked
Alice came back in carrying two cups of coffee. She smiled at Agatha. 'I'm glad you've come to me for advice
