Agatha Raisin and The Wellspring of Death

'I think it's a good idea,' put in Mary. 'I mean, who wants droves of Americans?'

'What's up with Americans?' demanded Andy Stiggs. 'Damn this tie. You've had the right idea, Fred.' He took his off and then his blazer.

How different the dream always is from the reality, marvelled Agatha. In her dream about the garden party, she stood there gracious in her pretty gown with the lightest of breezes fluttering through the flowers in her hat. James, in white shirt, blazer and cravat, would be bending over her, smiling in admiration. But James was sitting on the grass with the others, eating cold salmon and drinking champagne and apparently concentrating solely on getting to know these councillors better.

'Oh, these Americans. Everything always so quaint and pretty. Pah.'

'I thought American-bashing was desperately unfashionable these days,' said Agatha. 'I mean, the ones that get this far are usually pretty sophisticated and seem to know more about the Cotswolds than the locals.'

'So brash and vulgar.' Mary glanced at Agatha. 'Like to like, I suppose.'

'Oh, shut your face and eat your food,' said James, and to Agatha's surprise, Mary laughed and threw him an almost flirtatious look.

'What have you got to do with this water business?' Andy Suggs asked James.

'It's Agatha's business. I am here to lend her moral support.'

Angela looked narrowly from Agatha to James. Then she said, 'Well, it can't be romantic support. Agatha's affair with Guy Freemont is the talk of both villages.'

To her fury, Agatha felt herself turning dark red. 'I am not having an affair with Guy Free-mont,' she said.

'It's all right, Agatha,' said Mary. 'Angela's just being catty. Guy Freemont's much too young for you.'

'Listen, the lot of you!' Agatha put her plate and glass carefully on the grass. 'The idea of this garden party was to mend fences, to get you to be friendly towards each other again. It was a great mistake. You're always like this, murder or no murder--nasty, carping, vicious and bitchy. How so many like people should end up on one parish council beats me.'

She stood up and marched into the house and up to her bedroom, where she sat on the edge of her bed and stared bleakly into space. The words about herself and Guy burnt and hurt. Had they not been said in front of James, they would not have mattered much.

Her bedroom door opened and James came quietly in. 'You're a miracle, Agatha.'

'What?' Agatha looked up at him in a dazed way.

'Your outburst has drawn them all together. Come down and sit quietly with me in a corner of the garden and let them get on with it. And listen. They're starting to talk about the murders.'

'James...'

But he was already clattering down the stairs. Feeling bruised in spirit, Agatha joined him in the garden. They sat together on the grass, a little way away from the others.

'How much champagne did you order?' asked Agatha. James had said he would take care of the drinks.

'I ordered a bottle a head, but the catering company brought along a lot of extra bottles, which is just as well. They seem to be demolishing rather a lot.'

'It's that waiter. He's never stopped pouring the stuff.'

'I think champagne is rather like your fish and chips, Agatha. Everyone likes the idea but few actually enjoy the taste. Listen!'

'So Robina says to me, just that evening before she was killed.' Fred Shaw was flushed and slightly tipsy. 'She says, 'Fred,' she says, 'I wish to God I had never let them go ahead taking the water'. 'Why?' asks I. 'You was all for it'. 'Well,' she says, says she, 'I've been getting these here threatening letters and all I want now is a quiet life.''

'Did she plan to say something like that in her speech?'

'Maybe. I asked the police what was in them typewritten notes but they won't tell me.'

'Better ask Bill Wong,' whispered James.

'Did any of us actually know which way Robert was going to vote?' asked Bill Allen.

A shaking of heads. 'You were close to him, Mary,' said Angela. 'He must have said something.'

Mary shook her head. 'Not to me. Jane?'

All eyes turned to Jane Cutler. She had been relatively quiet since the start of the party. The sun shone on her immaculately groomed hair and on the strange smoothness of her face from which old, suddenly tired eyes looked out.

'He said he liked to keep people guessing. I got quite irritated with him. Said there was no reason for him to go on like the secret service.' She turned to Fred Shaw. 'You said Robina's notes were typewritten. Who told you that?'

'The police.'

'That's odd,' said Jane.

'What's odd? Yes, I will have some more.' Angela held up her glass.

'I never remember Robina having a typewriter. I mean, she was the sort of woman who prided herself on not being able to do anything manual at all. Does anyone remember her having a typewriter?'

There was a shaking of heads.

'She could have got someone to type out her notes for her,' suggested Jane.

'I got the impression from the police they were just notes, not a full typed speech,' said Fred Shaw.

'I don't know why you're all going on about whether her notes were typed or not,' said Angela Buckley. 'I mean, was she murdered because she typed? Ridiculous.'

Fred Shaw's eyes gleamed. 'But don't you see, if she had something in her original hand- written notes to say she had changed her mind about the water, someone could have typed out different notes to throw us off the scent.'

'And who else would want to do that but the water company?' said Mary Owen. 'I've been against this water business from the start.'

'Oh, we all know that,' sneered Angela. 'So much so that you paid a bunch of hoodlums to make trouble. So much for your bloody so-called concern for the environment, Mary dear. Bringing louts into the village. They were going to cement the spring. Our spring, Mary, not just yours!'

'I didn't know what they were really like,' said Mary.

'Oh, yes, you did!' Angela's eyes were blazing. 'You saw damn well what they were like at the first protest, but you kept on paying them.'

'As I told the police, I simply contributed money to what I thought was a worthy cause. I did not know they would demonstrate.'

'Save Our Foxes, Mary? Save Our Foxes! Come on. Do the police know you're a member of the Cotswold Hunt?'

'I handed in my resignation a year ago.'

'And told us all it was because you were too old!'

'I told you no such thing. I did not think it necessary to explain my reasons to a trollop like you. I saw the error of my ways and contributing to Save Our Foxes was a way of making amends.'

Jane Cutler tittered. 'How odd. I simply cannot imagine you as having one sensitive bone in your body, Mary. You would make a good murderess.'

'Ah, but I have an alibi,' Mary flashed back. 'Which is more than you can say for yourself.'

'The guilty ones always have a cast-iron alibi.'

'Ladies, ladies.' Bill Allen held up his hands, red and powerful in the sunlight. 'Peace. We've all had our differences over the years but we've all stuck together through thick and thin. It's a lovely day and there seems to be a lot more champagne. So let's just bury the hatchet and enjoy ourselves.'

'I'll kill that waiter,' muttered Agatha to James. 'This is going to cost a fortune.'

'Worth every penny. I'll pay for the champers.'

The councillors began to gossip together about safe village topics. Agatha and James seemed to be