'And I suppose from DNA samples you identified any traces of blood on it as Francie's?'
Jimmy snorted. 'Don't talk to me about DNA. Do you know there's a back log of one hundred thousand cases? The police are having to drop cases because the evidence is not coming up in time for the court case. Good thing she killed herself. Saves the public purse all that money for a trial and for lengthy imprisonment. We'd never have suspected her. I kept feeling sure it was Janine's husband.'
'What happened about that business with the Ferris wheel?'
'Nothing or you might have been called back for some court case. They all stuck together and swore blind it was a faulty piece of mechanism. Isn't life odd, Agatha? If you'd come back here before I met Gladwyn, I would have hated you, would have had nothing to do with you. But now I'm really in love, it all seems like a miracle and all I can think is that it's because of you that these nasty murders got solved and because of you, I was able to talk to Gladwyn about my feelings and emotions.'
'You are a very forgiving man,' said Agatha, wondering whether she were as mad as Jennifer, Mary, and Harry. How could she have possibly believed that she could just walk back into his life after the way she had treated him?
Gladwyn came in bearing a tea tray and a plate of homemade cakes.
'What brought you to Wyckhadden?' asked Agatha politely.
'It was about a year after the death of my husband,' said Gladwyn. 'I wanted to make a new start in a new place where there weren't any memories. I sold up in Merthyr Tydfil and moved down here. I've always liked the sea. Oh, did Jimmy tell you about the coat?'
'Yes, and I'm glad you're wearing it.'
'I'll show you.' Gladwyn went out and returned after a few moments with the mink coat wrapped round her. The furrier had done a beautiful job. Agatha felt a lump in her throat. She remembered the days when fur was fashionable, walking down Bond Street in that very coat, feeling like a million dollars, a younger, ambitious Agatha with the world at her feet, and no silly yearnings for love to clutter up her mind.
'It looks marvellous on you.'
'I can't take it on our honeymoon,' laughed Gladwyn.
'Where are you going?'
'Benidorm, Spain.'
'It'll certainly be hot.'
'Come and see the nursery,' said Gladwyn.
I must get out of here before I cry, thought Agatha desperately.
She followed Gladwyn through to a small bedroom. The walls were decorated with stencils of bluebirds and teddy bears. A new cot stood by the window and beside it a box full of fluffy toys.
'Gladwyn did all the painting and decoration herself,' said Jimmy. 'There's nothing she can't do.'
Agatha looked at her watch and let out a stagy exclamation of surprise. 'That time already! I must fly. I'm meeting someone.
'I'll just go to the bathroom,' said Jimmy, 'and then I'll see you out.'
Agatha walked towards the door. She and Gladwyn stood on the step. Gladwyn turned to her and said in a low voice, 'If you ever come back here again, you old bitch, I'll strangle you. Leave my Jimmy alone. What he ever saw in an old frump like you, is beyond me.'
Jimmy came up and joined them. Agatha wanted to hurl insults at Gladwyn, but restrained herself.
She shook hands with Jimmy, nodded to Gladwyn, and on stiff legs walked down the garden path. She got into her car. They were standing side by side on the doorstep.
Agatha waved. Jimmy turned and went inside. Gladwyn gave Agatha a two fingered sign, turned and followed him.
Agatha drove around the comer, stopped the car and leaned against the wheel, breathing heavily. Why had she been such a fool? Face up to it, she told herself fiercely, Jimmy has been very, very lucky. You would have driven him mad within a week.
She released the hand brake, let in the clutch and drove slowly and carefully back to the Garden.
She went up to her room and took off the linen suit. It was unlucky. She would never wear it again. She changed into a dark red blouse and velvet skirt and went down for dinner. The hotel now boasted a maitre d' who told her that as the hotel was so busy, he had placed her at a table with two other ladies. The two other ladies turned out to be Jennifer and Mary.
'Why, Agatha,' said Jennifer, 'it
'You know about that?' Agatha shook out her napkin.
'Yes, Harry and Mary and me have all been invited.'
'Why?'
'Well, you see, he got a lot of kudos for solving those murders...'
'I solved them.'
'Anyway, he asked the three of us. Isn't it fun?'
So Harry knew all about the wedding, thought Agatha, and yet he said nothing. Does everyone want to hurt me?
'How's everything?' she said.
'We're really thinking of moving to Eastbourne. This hotel's not the same and Mr. Martin has put the rates up.' Mary leaned forward. 'The food's not the same either. You'll see.'
Mary was proved right. The portions were considerably smaller.
'Martin's a fool,' said Agatha. 'Oh, why should I bother. Why is it that when places get popular, they stint on the food and raise the rates?'
'He's got a lot of new staff to pay,' said Mary. 'I say, we're going to a dance on the pier tonight. Want to come?'
'Why not?' said Agatha.
But when she went up to her room after dinner, she suddenly began thrusting all her clothes back into her suitcase. She carried it down to the desk and paid her bill. 'Family troubles,' she said to the surprised receptionist. 'Got to go.'
As she drove out of Wyckhadden, she repressed a superstitious shiver. Janine had cursed them all. Daisy and the colonel were dead. Which one next?
She drove along the promenade, now hung with fairy lights. And coming along arm in arm were Jimmy and Gladwyn. Gladwyn was wearing the mink coat. I hope some animal libber murders her, thought Agatha fiercely. Why can't I get away with being unpolitically correct? People even swear at me for smoking.
How weary and how lonely and how long the road back to Carsely seemed.
When she finally let herself into her cottage, she checked her answering service. No one had phoned, no Charles, no James, no one from the village.
She went wearily to bed surrounded by cats.
'So,' said Mrs. Bloxby, sympathetically the next day. 'It was a disaster.'
'Total humiliation,' said Agatha who had called the following day to tell the vicar's wife all about it.
'It wouldn't have worked, you know,' said Mrs Bloxby. 'He wouldn't ever have trusted you and every time you had a marital quarrel, Charles's name would be thrown in your face. It's this craving for excitement that emanates from you. You'll always stir things up.'
'Not any more,' said Agatha. 'I'm weary. I'm settled. Me and my cats.'
'I hope so. There's a meeting of the ladies society here tomorrow.'
'I'll come. I'll help you with the catering.'
'That is good of you.' Mrs. Bloxby then prattled on about village affairs and the latest fund raising project. At last Agatha rose and took her leave.
'Has that awful woman gone?' asked the vicar, popping his head round the study door.
'You're very hard on her, Alf,' said Mrs. Bloxby. 'She's got a good heart.'
The vicar kissed his wife on the top of her head and smiled down at her fondly. 'You love everyone.'
'And you forget that's supposed to be part of your job.'
