'I'll be there, with the money.'
'Iris'U be there as well, with me. She'll point the old bat out to us. Sure I can't speak to Aggie?'
'No, she's too ill. See you tomorrow.' James replaced the receiver and went upstairs. 'Who was that?' called Agatha. James knew that if he told Agatha the truth, she would insist on coming. 'Just some reporter from the
The next day, when Agatha finally crept downstairs, it was to find a note from James on the table saying he had gone to police headquarters in Mircester. James did not want there to be any danger of Agatha following him to London.
Agatha trailed into the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee. The cottage seemed quiet and sinister without James, and it still smelt of burnt wood and paint from the fire. The temporary chipboard door erected by the carpenter to make do until James's insurance claim went through seemed a flimsy barrier against the outside world.
She let her cats out into the garden after feeding them. Her legs felt like jelly. She had another cup of coffee and two cigarettes, each of which tasted vile, and then crawled back to bed.
James approached Temple tube station with a feeling of excitement. If only there would be something, somewhere in Jimmy's things that might give him a clue. He was worried about leaving Agatha alone. It was ten minutes to twelve when he arrived at the tube station. On impulse, he phoned Mrs. Hardy and asked her if she would phone Agatha or pop round and see if she was all right. Mrs. Hardy answered cheerfully that she wasn't doing anything else and would be happy to look after Agatha, and, reassured, James put the phone down.
He turned round to see Roy and his formidable detective waiting for him. Roy made the introductions.
'Now where is this woman?' asked James, looking around. 'What if she doesn't show?'
'She'll show,' said Iris. 'Just think of all the booze one hundred pounds will buy her.'
'Aggie should be here,' said Roy. 'How is she?'
'Pretty poorly,' said James. 'Look, I didn't tell her about this or she would have come racing up to London and she's not fit.'
'There she is,' said Iris.
A small woman in layers of shabby clothes was shuffling into the tube station. Her eyes were sunk into her head and she had no teeth. She was bent and aged-looking and her hands clutching two plastic bags were twisted and crippled with arthritis.
'Hallo, Lizzie,' said Iris briskly. 'Give us the bag.'
'Money first,' said Lizzie. 'I want a thousand pounds.'
Before James or Roy could say anything, Iris said, 'Well, that's that, Lizzie. We'll take our hundred pounds and go. I doubt if there is anything in there worth even a fiver.'
And James saw from the look in Lizzie's eyes that she had already gone through the late Jimmy Raisin's effects and agreed with Iris.
''Ere, wait a minute.' A claw-like hand clutched at Iris's sleeve. 'You got the money?'
Iris nodded to James, who took out his wallet and extracted five twenty-pound notes. Lizzie's eyes gleamed.
'Bag, Lizzie,' prompted Iris.
'The money,' said Lizzie.
'Oh, no. Is this the right bag?' Iris took it from her. 'I'll just have a quick look in here first. It could be nothing but old newspapers.'
Iris looked inside and fumbled around. All Jimmy's worldly goods seemed to consist of a few photographs, a corkscrew, some letters, and a battered wallet.
'All right,' said Iris.
James handed over the money. 'I hope you are going to buy yourself some food with this.'
Lizzie looked at him as if he were mad, seized the money and stowed it somewhere under her layers of clothes, and then shambled off.
'Let's go somewhere and look at what we've got,' said James.
'We'll go to my office,' said Iris. 'But you're going to be disappointed. Seems to be nothing but scraps of paper and a few photographs.'
They took a taxi to Iris's office in Paddington and, once there, tipped the contents out on the desk.
There were love letters from various women, damp and crumpled and stained. Jimmy had probably kept them to gloat over. There was a photograph of a thin girl with small eyes and heavy dark brown hair. That was in the wallet and the only thing it contained. James said, 'By God, it's our Agatha as a girl. You can hardly recognize her.' There were various other photographs of women, and then one of Jimmy on a beach. A middle-aged blonde woman in a swimsuit was rubbing oil on his back. She was thin and muscular. Her face was turned away from the camera. 'Damn, I wish we could see her face,' muttered James. 'I bet that's Mrs. Gore-Appleton.'
'Let me see those other photos again.' Iris bent her head and went through them. 'There,' she said triumphantly. 'That's the same woman.'
James found himself looking at a hard-faced blonde with a thin, aggressive face.
And then, as he stared down at that face, he found himself becoming sure he had seen it before. Agatha had changed amazingly from the days of her youth. People changed. Women changed in middle age, often put on weight.
And suddenly he knew who it was. Let the blonde hair grow out and put on a few stone and you had Mrs. Hardy. Yes, the mouth was the same, and the same hard eyes.
'Oh, my God,' he said, 'and I've told her to look after Agatha.'
'Who?' screeched Roy.
'Mrs. Hardy. That's Mrs. Hardy, our next-door neighbour.'
'I told Agatha it was probably her all along,' said Roy.
James phoned home. No reply. Then he phoned Mrs. Hardy. The engaged signal. Beginning to sweat, he phoned Bill Wong and talked urgently.
NINE
AGATHA finally decided that if she had a bath and dressed, she might feel better. She soaked for a long time in the bath and then, returning to her room, dressed in a warm sweater and slacks, looking forward to the day when she could return to her cottage and blast the central heating as much as she wanted. James had his central heating system on a timer so that the radiators pushed out two hours' heat in the morning and two in the evening, which Agatha thought mean.
The phone rang. It was Mrs. Hardy. James had said Agatha was ill. Did she want food made or anything?
Agatha was suddenly anxious to get out of the house, even for a short while. 'I'd like a cup of coffee,' she said. 'Be along in a minute.'
She let the cats in from the garden, fed them and, putting her cigarettes in her handbag, went out and headed for next door.
It was only when she was inside and ensconced in the kitchen that Agatha regretted having come. All Mrs. Hardy's remarks about the village and the villagers came back into her mind. Also, Agatha began to suspect that Mrs. Hardy not only found her an object of pity but slightly amusing. There was a mocking glint in Mrs. Hardy's eye when she looked at Agatha, although her voice was kind as she gave her a cup of coffee and said, 'Here. That's some of the good Brazilian stuff from Drury's. You look truly awful. Are you sure you should be out of bed?'
'Yes, I actually feel better than I look,' said Agatha. She cast a proprietorial look about the kitchen. Soon the whole cottage would be hers again.
'What's Mr. Lacey doing in London?' asked Mrs. Hardy.
