“There’s James.”
“Is he still talking to you?”
“Yes.”
“Amazing. I wouldn’t.”
“I don’t want to talk about James,” said Agatha firmly.
He drove competently into the centre of Nicosia and managed to find a parking place near The Saray.
“What I can’t understand about this hotel,” said Agatha as they ascended in the lift to the restaurant, “is how they get away with only having two loos next to the restaurant. Only two public toilets for a hotel this size. How do they cope when they have, say, a wedding reception?”
“Don’t know. Maybe they piss off the terrace,” said Charles indifferently. “Here we are. Do you want a drink at the bar or will we go straight into the restaurant?”
“The restaurant, I think. I’ve been drinking too much.”
“The trouble is booze here is so cheap.”
“And cigarettes,” said Agatha. “It’s a smoker’s dream. Everyone smokes, ashtrays everywhere, even in the butcher’s.”
They ordered their meal and looked out at the lights of Nicosia.
The hors-d’oeuvre was a light flaky pastry filled with cheese, and the main course was lamb on the bone with salad and rice. Charles had ordered a bottle of wine and Agatha forgot her resolution not to drink. It was so easy to talk to Charles. But then she wasn’t in love with Charles.
“So who do you think tried to murder you?” Charles asked over coffee and brandies.
“Trevor,” said Agatha. “I’m sure it must have been Trevor.”
“I would have thought by three in the morning our Trevor would have been deep in an alcoholic stupor. Was there a strong smell of booze?”
“I was too frightened to smell anything. Besides, I had been drinking a lot myself. It’s like smoking. If you smoke, then you don’t much notice the smell of other people’s cigarette smoke.”
“Let me think. There’s friend Harry Tembleton, old but still quite powerful from a lifetime of shifting bales of hay or whatever. Now he said Rose was a slut. He’s devoted to Olivia. Could he have thought that George was about to stray and, loyal friend that he is, decided to eliminate the temptress?”
“Far-fetched.”
“The whole thing’s far-fetched. Apart from various flare-ups at the border between the Greeks and the Turks, this place is the safest in the Mediterranean. There have certainly been a few burglaries of British residents’ homes, but the police practically always find the culprits. They’ve got a big success rate. Only the tourists bother to lock their cars. So the very idea of the murder of a British tourist in a night-club is extraordinary. And yet Trevor is the obvious suspect. He needs money, Rose has money, she won’t give him any, his business is down the tubes, and she’s a flirt and he’s a jealous man. Must be Trevor. And I don’t think you’re going to have to use your investigative powers on this one, Aggie, because if it’s, Trevor, and considering the amount of alcohol he sinks, I think he’ll crack. Pamir will keep after us all with his endless questions.”
Agatha gave a rueful smile. “‘Could you go through it all from the beginning, Mrs. Raisin?’ He has incredible patience.”
“He’s waiting for one of us to s’p up and tell him something different,” said Charles. “And he thinks James might have tried to bump you off in a fit of passion.”
“James had an alibi.”
“I didn’t. Lucky James. Pamir implied that people like me suffer from inbreeding in the family and could be potty.”
“I sometimes think you’re potty myself, Charles. Why bother with me?”
“You amuse me.”
“Not very flattering.”
“You actually look good in that black dress.”
“Thank you. You must be the only man in this hot climate to wear a tie.” Charles was wearing a striped silk tie with an impeccable white shirt and a white linen suit. “Don’t you ever sweat?”
“Only when I’m making love to you, Aggie.”
Agatha sighed. “If only you were the right man. I’m at least ten years older than you, Charles.”
“I’ve always wanted to be a toy-boy.”
“And I’ve never wanted one.”
“What about that young Chinese policeman? I thought he was rather keen on you.”
“Bill Wong is a friend of mine. In fact, he was my first real friend.”
“But he’s only in his twenties. You can’t have known him long.”
“When I worked in London, before I took early retirement,” said Agatha, resting her chin on her hands, “I was too ambitious to have friends and I didn’t feel the need for any. I built up a successful public-relations business.”
“But surely public-relations involves getting on with people?”
Agatha laughed. “In my case, I think I was successful because I bullied and cajoled and threatened. When I moved to the Cotswolds, things changed. I no longer had my work as my identity. I met Bill on what I like to think as my first case. Then there came other friends.”
“life begins at fifty?”
“Something like that. What about you, Charles? No wish to get married?”
“This is so sudden.”
“Be serious.”
“Never found the right girl. Have no burning desire for children.”
“That’s sad.”
“Then we’re a sad pair, Aggie. You haven’t got children either.”
“No,” said Agatha sadly, “and now I never will. Wasted years, Charles.”
He ordered another two brandies and raised his glass. “Here’s to the wasted years,” he said solemnly.
“Are you sure you ought to be driving after drinking this lot?” demanded Agatha.
“They do breathalyse people here just like back home, but I shall drive home carefully. I don’t feel in the least bit tipsy.”
When they finally rose to leave, Agatha said, “I hope James is back. I don’t relish the idea of being in that villa on my own.”
His eyes twinkled maliciously. “We could spend the night here.”
“Forget it. Let’s just go.”
As they were driving out of Nicosia towards the Kyrenia Road, Agatha saw they were approaching the Great Eastern Hotel and she started to think about James. What was he up to?
And then, with a lurch of her heart, she saw him walking along the street with a girl on his arm, a girl with long brown curly hair, a short, short skirt and long, long legs. They were going in the direction of the town.
“That was James!” gasped Agatha. “Turn the car.”
“You’ll need to wait, Aggie, until the next corner. This is a dual carriageway.”
Agatha waited impatiently until Charles was able to swing round and head back. And then, in front of them on the deserted street and under the lights of the street lamps, they saw James. His arm was around the girl. Charles slowed to a crawl. James and the girl turned a corner into a side street. Charles parked at the side of the road.
“Out we get,” he said cheerfully, “and see where they’re going. Unless you want to confront them.”
“No,” said Agatha hurriedly. “This might be part of his investigations.”
“And very nice, too,” murmured Charles. “What investigations?”
“He wants to find out if his old fixer who runs a brothel is dealing drugs.”
James and his companion turned in at a block of flats in the side street. Charles and Agatha walked along and stood on the other side of the block of flats.
“Now what do we do?” asked Charles.
They gazed up at the block of flats. And then a light came on in one of the windows on the second floor, and like watching people on a stage set, they saw James and the girl.
The girl said something and laughed, and took off her short jacket.
