She went back in and up to his bedroom. The wardrobe door was open, showing nothing but empty hangers. And the she saw an envelope with her name on it on the pillow.
She opened it.
“Dear Agatha,” she read. “My investigations have taken me off to Turkey for some time. The rent here is paid for another month. I waited for you last night, but you did not come home, so it did not take much imagination to guess where you were. Goodbye. James.”
Agatha sat down on the bed and stared around the empty room. How on earth could James go to Turkey? All of them had been told not to leave the island
She should phone Pamir. In fact, she’d better phone Pamir, for sooner or later he would be round and wondering where James had got to.
She went downstairs. She fished in her handbag for her notebook, where she had written down Pamir ’s number.
When he came on the phone, she told him about James’s going off to Turkey. “Why should he go there?” demanded Pamir sharply.
In for a penny, in for a pound, thought Agatha. “He was annoyed with his old fixer, Mustafa. He wanted to get even with him for having cheated him over the rent of the first villa and so he was out to prove Mustafa was dealing in drugs.”
“He should have consulted us,” said Pamir. “We already told him Mustafa was being investigated.”
“How could he get off the island without your knowing?” asked Agatha.
“Easy. Turkey is only across the water. He could have got a fishing boat or a pleasure boat or a yacht.”
“Aren’t you going to do anything about it?”
“We will look for him, be assured of that. Be careful not to follow his example, Mrs. Raisin, or we shall be very angry.”
“I meant to come and see you anyway,” said Agatha. “I would like to go home.”
“As would the other suspects. Not yet, Mrs. Raisin.”
“When?”
“Soon, I hope.”
“If you find out where James is, will you let me know?”
“We will do our best.”
And that was that. Trapped in north Cyprus.
The phone rang. Agatha snatched up the receiver.
“James? Where the hell are you?”
“Not James. Charles.”
“Oh.”
“Are you off?”
“No, I’m not off. James is off. He’s disappeared to Turkey. Now what do I do?”
“Well, your suspects are off to Salamis today.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s over near Famagusta. In ancient times, it was one of the leading cities of Cyprus. They’re going swimming at Silver Beach first, which is next to it. Want to bring your bathing-suit and observe the murderers at play?”
“May as well. Nothing else to do.”
“Pick me up. Your turn to pay for the petrol. And bring a picnic.”
“All right. But no wine. I need a dry day.”
Agatha went first to the petrol station and then to the supermarket beyond. She bought bread, cheese, olives, a tin of salmon, lettuce, tomatoes, green peppers and some cakes and a bottle of local wine. She had already packed a carton with dishes and glasses before leaving the villa. Not a very exciting lunch, she thought, but if Charles doesn’t like it, he can buy me lunch.
Charles was waiting outside The Dome. “They left about an hour ago, Aggie, but from the conversation I overheard, they plan to make a day of it.”
Once more over the mountains and out on the Famagusta Road. “Give me your guidebook and I’ll tell you about Salamis,” said Charles as Agatha negotiated a hairpin bend.
“In my handbag.”
Charles fished it out. “What a lot of history. Let me see. According to legend, the city was founded by the Homeric hero Teucer when he was exiled by his father, Telemon, king of the Greek island of Salamis, on his return from the Trojan war around 1180 B.C. And so forth. Yawn. By the eighth century it was a major trading centre, became first city in Cyprus to mint its own coinage. Fell to the Persians. Defeated two hundred years later by Alexander the Great. Under siege after his death. Are you taking all this dry stuff in, Aggie? Watch that truck! Glorious place again under the Byzantines. Then shattered by earthquake and tidal wave. City rebuilt, renamed Constantia in honour of Constantius the Second, the reigning Byzantine emperor. Never fully recovered. Harbour silted up. Most of the city under thick cover of sand. Signpost to the place is about five miles north of Famagusta. You can read the rest for yourself. Bring your swim-suit?”
“I’ve got it on under my dress.”
“Well go for a swim, have our picnic and then look for the others. I don’t know if I really want to go trekking around ruins on such a hot day. It says here stout shoes, long socks and some sort of head-covering are strongly recommended. We can park at the site, but I would suggest we park on the beach first and then walk to the site if that’s where the others have gone.”
Silver Beach turned out to be a long stretch of gently shelving sand disappearing into the green-blue waters of the Mediterranean.
They undressed and went for a swim. Agatha turned over and floated on her back, feeling the sun warm on her face. The day was perfect. A world away from murder and mayhem. She wondered what Charles really thought of her and why he should bother to spend time with her. The fact was that Agatha had become so demoralized by her chilly relationship with James that she could not imagine any man wanting to spend any time at all in her company.
She rolled over and headed back for the beach, suddenly hungry.
Charles joined her, in swimming-trunks and with not a hair out of place, as she laid out what began to look like a very uninteresting picnic on a cloth on the beach.
“Don’t you tan?” asked Agatha, looking at his white, smooth chest.
“I never tan. I don’t know why. Thick English skin or something. What goodies do we have? Dear me. I hope you’ve brought an English can opener for that salmon, Aggie. The Turkish Cypriot ones don’t work.”
But Agatha had only a local can opener, which ran around the rim of the tin of salmon without piercing it at all.
“There’s bread and cheese and things,” she said defiantly. “And I got some cakes.”
“There’s a restaurant there.”
“Oh, all right,” grumbled Agatha. “I’ll pack all this up again and have it for supper.”
She then set about performing the tricky business of drying herself and slipping off her swim-suit under her dress and hauling on her knickers over wet and salty thighs. Charles wrapped a large beach towel around his waist and removed his swimming-trunks and put on his underwear and trousers and then a shirt without any of the struggles Agatha was enduring.
They put the unwanted picnic and swim-suits in the car and headed for the restaurant.
Charles ordered wine despite Agatha’s protests that sooner or later they would be stopped and breathalysed. “Not if we keep within the speed limit,” said Charles. “Anyway, we can have a sleep on the beach afterwards.”
“You forget why we came,” said Agatha. “To go look for the others.”
“Later. Let’s not spoil the day.”
Agatha ate kebab and looked out onto the beach. It was a tranquil scene. The water was crystal-clear. She wondered where they put their sewage. Then a sudden longing for James hit her like a wave. How could he go off, just like that? Had she ever really known him?
“He’ll probably turn up in Carsely sooner or later, after playing Lawrence of Arabia or whatever he’s doing,” said Charles, guessing her thoughts.
