Agatha Raisin and The Murderous Marriage

worth going to London tomorrow to see this secretary?'

'Of course.' Agatha was now frightened that if they stopped their investigations, James would take off for foreign parts again. 'You'll feel better about it all in the morning.'

Helen Warwick was not at the Houses of Parliament but at her flat in a Victorian block in the Gloucester Road in Kensington. When she answered the door, Agatha could not believe at first that this lady could have been Sir Desmond's mistress. She was plump and placid, with light grey eyes and brown hair worn in an old-fashioned French pleat. She was wearing a tailored silk blouse and tweed skirt, sensible brogues, and no make-up. James judged her to be in her forties.

James explained, correctly this time, who they were and why they had come. 'You'd better come in,' she said.

The flat was large, rather dark, but very comfortable, with a fire burning brightly in the living-room. There was a large bowl of autumn leaves and chrysanthemums on a polished table by the window. The sofa and chairs had feather cushions. A good Victorian English landscape hung over the fireplace. It looked as if Miss Warwick had money and had probably always been well-off.

'I was shocked when I learned of Desmond's death,' said Helen. 'We were great friends. He was always so kind and courteous. I'm sorry his wife had to find out in such a dreadful way. What's all this about blackmail?'

So they told her all about Jimmy Raisin and Mrs. Gore-Appleton. 'I remember them,' said Helen. 'No, they didn't try to blackmail me. I'm the sort that would have gone straight to the police and they probably knew that. I didn't like them one bit. How they found out my real identity I do not know.'

'They probably looked in your handbag,' said Agatha.

'And saw the different name on my credit cards? I suppose so. Horrible people. In fact, now that I come to think of it, I can almost pin-point the day they found out.'

'Tell us about them,' said Agatha eagerly. 'Everyone else we've asked seems vague, even someone who slept with Jimmy.'

'Let me see...would you both like coffee?'

'No, thank you,' said James, anxious to hear what she had to say and frightened that if she went into the kitchen, she might change her mind about talking to them.

'Desmond and I joked about health farms at first. We weren't really interested in our health. We thought it might be an amusing place to get together. His wife might have found a visit to a hotel suspicious but Desmond had told her he was worried about his blood pressure. Jimmy Raisin was a wreck. We arrived on the same day. He was still stinking of booze, but after only a couple of days, he looked like a changed man. He was always oiling around us, my-ladying me to death and claiming to know all sorts of celebrities. He was the sort of man who calls celebs by their first name. He kept talking about his good friend, Tony, who had won an Oscar, and it turned out to be Anthony Hopkins. I don't suppose he even knew him. Mrs. Gore-Appleton was not much better. She was - what is it the Americans say? - in my face. She had an abrasive manner overlaid with syrup. You know, she paid me effusive compliments while all the time her sharp eyes watched me to see if I was swallowing any of it. Desmond finally told them we wanted some time to ourselves. The day after that - that would be about five days after we arrived - they began to throw us very knowing looks and then pass our table and give contemptuous laughs. I thought it was because Desmond had snubbed them. But they must have found out I wasn't Lady Derrington. What else can I tell you? I thought Jimmy Raisin was a wide boy, what they used to call a spiv. There was something seedy about him. I gathered from the newspapers that you had not seen him in a very long time, Mrs. Raisin. The Gore-Appleton woman was blonde and muscular, tried to be very pukka, but there was something all wrong about her. I tell you what. Let me get us all some coffee and I'll think some more.'

Agatha and James waited until she returned with a tray. There was not only coffee but home-made toasted tea-cakes. 'Did you really make these yourself?' James took another appreciative bite. 'These are excellent and the coffee is divine.' He stretched out his long legs. 'It's very comfortable here.'

Helen gave him a slow smile. 'Come when you're in town and have a free hour to spare.'

Agatha stiffened. This wretched woman suddenly seemed like more competition than any blonde sylph. She was suddenly anxious to get James away.

But Helen was talking again. 'You say he slept with some woman?' She laughed. 'I love that euphemism, 'slept with.' One does anything but.' She gave a warm creamy laugh and Agatha's bearlike eyes fastened on her with barely concealed hate.

'That would be a Mrs. Comfort, am I right?'

'How did you know?' said James.

'Oh, he was making up to her and the Gore-Appleton woman was egging him on. I heard him say, 'I'll get her tonight,' and Mrs. Gore-Appleton laughed and said, 'Have fun,' and the next morning, well, body language and all that, you know what I mean, don't you, James?'

'Oh, absolutely.'

I'll kill this bitch, thought Agatha.

'And that poor spinster lady, she was murdered,' said Helen with an artistic shudder. 'More coffee, James?'

Her tailored silk blouse had a deep V and she leaned forward, deliberately, Agatha thought, to reach for the coffeepot at such an angle that James could see two excellent breasts encased in a frilly brassiere.

James had another full cup of coffee and was helping himself to another tea-cake. Agatha groaned inwardly.

Helen suddenly looked at her. 'I remember now. You and Mr. Lacey here were to be married but Jimmy turned up at your wedding.' She laughed again. 'That must have been quite a scene. You'll be able to marry now.'

'Yes,' said Agatha.

'We haven't made any plans,' said James.

There was an awkward silence. 'We should go,' said Agatha harshly. 'Could you just wait until I finish my coffee, dear?'

Agatha, who had half-risen, sat down again. 'Lacey, Lacey,' Helen was saying. 'Are you any relative of Major-General Robert Lacey?'

'My father. He died some time ago'. 'Oh, then you must know...' And what followed was the sort of conversation Agatha dreaded, James and Helen animatedly talking about people she did not know.

At last, when Agatha felt she could not stand another moment without screaming, James got to his feet with obvious reluctance.

They took their leave, Agatha first, muttering a grumpy thanks, James after her, stopping to kiss Helen on the cheek and promising to see her again, giving her his card and taking one of hers.

Agatha fumed the whole way back to Carsely. She complained bitterly about harpies who sponged off men instead of going out to work. James tried to point out that as a secretary to a Member of Parliament, Helen did go out to work, but that only seemed to make Agatha worse. He left her at the cottage, saying he had to see someone, whereupon Agatha tortured herself with mad jealousy, imagining him driving back to London to spend the night with Helen. She finally went to bed and tried to read, listening all the while for the sound of his key in the door. At last, just after midnight, she heard him return, heard him come upstairs and go into the bathroom, heard him wash, heard him go to his own room without coming in to say good night to her, although he could surely see the light shining under her door.

She raised her head and banged her pillow with her fist, put out the light, and tried to compose herself for sleep. But sleep would not come as she tossed and turned, tormenting j herself with pictures of a world out there full of women all too j ready to snatch James away from her.

And then she stiffened. She heard a furtive noise from somewhere downstairs and then the clack of the letter-box, then a sound like water being poured. She pulled on her dressing-gown and ran down the stairs. She opened the door to the hall as a gloved hand threw a lighted match through the letter-box. In that instant Agatha leaped back into the living-room and screamed, 'James!' just as a sheet of flame reached i out for her.

He came hurtling down the stairs. 'We're on fire,' j shouted Agatha. She made to open the door again but he; pulled her back.