She opened the door, blinking in the strong sunlight, and focused on the wrathful face of Henry Freemantle.
'We want you to leave our wives alone,' he said truculently.
'What on earth are you talking about?'
'That pub is for men.'
'Apart from the delicious Rosie?'
He reddened. 'I'm warning you.'
'See this door?' said Agatha. 'Take a good, close look at it.'
She slammed it in his face.
What time-warp have I landed in, she thought angrily, but she felt hung over and shaken. Once more she toyed with the idea of packing up and going home. She fed the cats and let them out into the garden and went back to bed and immediately fell asleep, not waking until noon.
She showered and dressed, feeling much better. A good walk was what she needed. This glorious weather would not last forever.
She walked out on the road leading past the police station and the manor lodge. The air was sweet with the scent of pine. A hill wound upwards. She reached the top and paused in amazement. The road before her dipped down to flatland as far as the eye could see. An enormous sky stretched out over her head. She walked down and along the straight ribbon of road. She walked until she came to a broad lake bordered by reeds. A light breeze ruffled its glassy surface, which mirrored the small puffy clouds in the blue sky above. She sat down on a rock. Behind her, a stone plover called. Agatha did not know the name of the bird, only that the sound made her feel lonely and isolated.
But then the bird fell silent and after a time the loneliness ebbed, leaving her enfolded in a strange feeling of peace. She lit a cigarette and then promptly stubbed it out. Cigarettes tasted foul in fresh air. The old Agatha would have chucked the unsmoked cigarette into the lake. The new Agatha put it in her pocket, not wanting any passing duck to gobble it up.
A skein of geese flew far overhead. Agatha sat dreaming about not much in particular, soothed by the lapping of the water and the breeze rusting through the tall reeds.
At last she rose and stood up. She felt slightly stiff and all her ease left her. She was suddenly sharply aware of being middle-aged. Was it worth all the effort to keep age at bay with exercise and anti-wrinkle creams? There was always the temptation to let it all go, let the hair grow in grey, let the chin sag and come to terms with age.
She looked towards the horizon, shading her eyes. There was a black line of cloud and thin wisps of cloud were streaming out from it like the fingers of approaching winter. The air had become cold. Diminished now by the grandeur of the spacious landscape, Agatha headed homewards, glad as she walked back up the hill again and found herself enclosed on either side by the whispering pine trees, the bleak immensity of the flatland behind her now blotted out. Her stomach rumbled, reminding herself that she had not eaten anything.
She was walking up to her cottage when she came across Lucy Trumpington-James. 'I've been looking for you,' she said abruptly. 'What's all this about your birthday party in the pub? You might have told me.'
'Come in,' said Agatha, leading the way up the garden path and remembering at the same time that her car was still parked outside the pub. She unlocked the door. 'I'll let you into a secret, Lucy. It wasn't really my birthday. I was just trying to cheer up the local ladies. Their husbands had deserted them to gawk at the charms of Rosie Wilden.'
Lucy followed her into the kitchen and sat down at the kitchen table. 'That trollop.'
'Are you sure she's a trollop? She seems kind. She can't help it if she's pretty.'
'Oh, yeah? Well, I think she's having an affair with Tolly.'
'Have you asked him?'
'Yes, but he denies it, of course.'
'So what proof do you have?'
'Rosie makes her own rose perfume. Sickly stuff. I came back from the hairdresser in Norwich and the smell of the stuff was in our bedroom, and Tolly had changed the bed and washed the sheets. When did Tolly ever wash sheets? He said some woman from the hunt committee had been round and had used our bathroom, which is off our bedroom, to repair her make-up. He pointed out that Rosie gives the perfume all round the village.'
'And the sheets?'
'He says this woman took a drink up with her and spilt some on the bed.'
'Oh, dear.'
'I asked for her name and he went into a fury and said I was always picking on him and he wants a divorce.'
Agatha plugged in the electric coffee percolator. 'But I mean, wouldn't divorce be a good idea? Then you could move back to London.'
'I need proof. I need good, solid proof that he's been messing about and then I can take him to the cleaner's.'
'Don't you have any money of your own?'
'No.' A bitter little no.
'What did you do before you were married?'
'I modelled. Not top-flight or even the second landing. Catalogue stuff, TV ads for sanitary towels, that sort of thing.'
'How did you meet Tolly?' Agatha took down two mugs and took out the milk and sugar.
'At an Ideal Home Exhibition. Me and another model were hired to wear bath towels and decorate his stand. He took me out for dinner, and that was that.'
Agatha poured two cups of coffee. 'Help yourself to milk and sugar.' She lit a cigarette.
'Mind if I have one of those?' asked Lucy.
'Sure.' Agatha pushed the packet forward. 'I thought you didn't smoke. Couldn't see any ashtrays in that house of yours.'
'Tolly won't let me. He used to smoke sixty a day.'
'Oh, one of those. How long have you been married?'
'Five years.'
'Five years? Were you married before?'
'Not me.' Lucy shrugged. 'Always waiting for Mr. Right. Anyway, the reason I called is this. I want you to get proof for me of his philandering. You said you were a detective. I've got some money squirrelled away. I'll pay you.'
'It's not the sort of thing I like to do,' said Agatha slowly. 'Messy and dirty business.'
Lucy surveyed her impatiently. 'What else have you got to do in this God-alive place where they believe in fairies?'
'I'm writing a book.' Agatha had forgotten until then about her book. She was suddenly eager to get back to it.
'Think about it,' urged Lucy. 'I'm desperate.'
'I tell you what, I'll ask around,' said Agatha. 'A few of the women here seem bitter about Rosie.'
If I did a bit more investigating, thought Agatha, it would be good for the book. It's based on this unlovely couple anyway.
Her mind returned to the fairies. 'Any children in this village?' she asked.
'A few. Not many young couples, so the others have children who are grown up and married and living elsewhere. There isn't a council house estate here, so no young mothers. Betty Jackson, over in the cottage beyond the estate agent's, has four, but like all kids these days, after they get bussed back from school, they're usually stuck in front of the television set.'
'I wonder how whoever it is gets in houses so easily to take stuffy'
'A lot of people don't lock their doors, or they leave the key under the doormat or on a string hanging through the letterbox. Forget about fairies, Agatha. Try to get something on Tolly.'
After she had left, Agatha decided to go back to writing her book. Determined not to read a word of it until she had completed one chapter, she ploughed on. It was only when the light started fading outside that she
