Agatha Raisin and The Wellspring of Death

should not have any passions and remembering the days of her youth when it was the lower classes who were supposed to be immune to the sensitivities of soul suffered by their betters. At one point in the journey, Roy's phone rang but he retreated with it down the carriage before Agatha's basilisk glare.

Bright yellow fields of oil seed rape slid past the carriage windows, and lilac trees heavy with blossom leaned down over railway embankments. With that now familiar feeling of coming home, Agatha gathered up her belongings as the train finally slid into Moreton-in-Marsh Station.

With Roy carrying his own weekend bag and Agatha's suitcase, they made their way to Agatha's car. The sky was blue and birds sang in the trees bordering the station car park. Flower baskets moved in the light breeze.

'When I'm as old as you,' said Roy, 'I'll move down here.'

Feeling ancient, Agatha drove off, negotiating the heavy traffic in Moreton and then swinging out along the A44 and up the long steep slope through Bourton-on-the-Hill and so down the winding road under tunnels of arched trees to Carsely.

James's cottage had an empty look, she noticed, and Roy suddenly said, 'Going to call on Lacey?'

'No. If you get the cases, I'll open the door.'

While Roy carried the bags in, Agatha petted her cats, who had been looked after in her absence by her cleaner, fed them and then let them out into the garden.

After they had unpacked, they settled down over coffee in the kitchen and Roy said, 'Well, let's begin. Who have we on this council?'

'For the water company, we've got Mrs Jane Cutler, Angela Buckley and Fred Shaw. Against, we've got Mr Bill Allen, Andy Stiggs, and the most vehement protester, Mary Owen. The woman whose garden the spring rises in is Robina Toynbee. We might try her first. She might have had threats. She might even know which way the late Mr Struthers was going to vote.'

'Aren't we going to eat first?'

'I'll take you to the pub.'

'None of your microwave specials?'

'I can cook now,' said Agatha defensively. 'I didn't know you were coming, so I didn't get anything in.'

When they entered the Red Lion, her eyes flew around the pub looking for James, but he was not there. 'Our Mr Lacey's taken off again,' said the landlord as he served their drinks and took their order for lunch.

'Oh,' said Agatha bleakly and then asked as casually as she could, 'Any idea where he's gone?'

'No, Mrs Darry saw him driving off.'

'How long will he be gone?'

'Nobody knows. He stopped at the shop to buy the newspapers and then he went to the police station and left his key with Fred Griggs and said he planned to be away for a bit.'

Agatha felt very low. Life had suddenly lost colour and meaning. Her fling with Guy Free-mont began to seem to her distinctly sordid.

She had again lost interest in any investigation. When they had finished their--typically English--pub meal of lasagne and chips, Agatha said, 'I'd like to go to Gerry's in Evesham first. It's that new supermarket.'

'Why?' asked Roy. 'One of the councillors work mere? I thought they were all pretty well-heeled.'

'No, it's just I have no food in the house and need you to carry the bags.'

'If you must. Do you know there is a circle in hell where I will probably end up which is one huge supermarket? The shopping trolleys always go sideways, the children always scream, I always have at least one item of shopping which doesn't have the bar code on it and so I wait and wait until someone goes and finds one with the bar code and the people in the lengthening crowd behind me hate me. Or when I get to the check-out at the Express Lane, Nine Items Only, three people in front of me have at least twenty items and I haven't the courage to protest. Or the woman at the till who knows everyone in the line except me indulges in long and happy chit-chat and when it gets to me she decides to change the roll of paper in the till. Or the woman in front of me watches all her groceries sliding along and stares at them without packing them, and then she slowly takes out her cheque- book and slowly proceeds to write a cheque and then insists on carefully packing her plastic shopping bags according to type of grocery. And then, when it's all over and I get to the revolving doors and see daylight outside, I suddenly find myself back at the beginning of the whole process.'

'Let's go anyway,' said Agatha, who had not been listening to him.

Gerry's was jammed with shoppers. Roy suddenly decided that he would do the cooking and so proceeded to look for esoteric herbs and spices. 'Keep away from the frozen food, Aggie,' he warned. 'I can see from the gleam in your eye that you're just dying to microwave something.'

'You, for a start,' said Agatha. 'Are we ever going to get out of here?'

When they eventually got to the check-out, the trolley which, yes, slewed to one side, was piled high. The line moved forward and soon the end was in sight, only one thin woman in front of them.

'Hazel!' cried this woman to the check-out assistant. 'I didn't know you did Saturdays.'

'Need the money, Gladys,' said Hazel, one fat red hand hovering over the first item.

'Isn't that a fact,' said Gladys. 'I put in for my hip operation.'

'You'll need to wait awhile.'

'It'll be worth it. My Bert said, he said, no creature should have to endure the pain I've had. But you know what the National Health Service is like. My turn'll come round when I'm in me grave.'

'Maybe this new government...' began Hazel, that hand still hovering.

'Oh, get on with it!' shouted Agatha loudly.

There was a sudden silence. Agatha turned to Roy for back-up but he had disappeared. The people in the line behind her avoided eye contact.

'Well, really,' said Gladys. But Hazel began to slide her groceries over the scanner at great speed while Gladys began to pack, darting angry little looks at Agatha.

Gladys was at last packed and served. She threw a fulminating look at Agatha and said in a high shrill voice, 'I'm sorry for you, Hazel. If I had to deal with some people I would go mad.'

'Bye, Glad. Love to Bert.'

And then Hazel proceeded to open the till and change the roll of paper.

Agatha was incandescent with rage by the time she had packed up the trolley and wheeled it out to the car park as it veered crazily to the left.

Roy was waiting at the car.

'Where the hell were you?' shouted Agatha.

'I went to get cigarettes,' said Roy shiftily.

'You chickened out. Oh, help me get this stuff in the boot.'

They drove round Evesham's new one-way system, so hated by the traders in Bridge Street, who felt they had been left high and dry ever since it had been turned into a shopping precinct.

At last Roy said meekly, 'Are we going to Ancombe?'

'We'll take this stuff home first,' said Agatha grimly. Oh, where was James?

As they unpacked, Roy felt he could not bear the angry silence any longer and said, 'It's not my fault James has left.'

'What?'

'Well, that's why you got so shirty with that woman in the supermarket.'

'Let me tell you this. I would have got shirty with that woman in the supermarket at any time.'

'Then why take it out on me?'

'Because you're a wimp!'

'I think I may as well go back to London,' said Roy in a small voice.

'Do that!'

'I'll go and pack.'

Agatha sat down at the kitchen table and buried her face in her hands. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. Why on earth should she still get so upset over a man who showed signs of actual dislike? Perhaps, she thought, brushing the tears away, it was because of her age, because after James there might be no one left out there to love.

She got to her feet and called up the stairs. 'I'm sorry I got ratty. Want a drink?'

Roy came down the stairs, all smiles. He was an ambitious young man and did not want to offend this prickly