'Believe it or not, Rosie came up to our table last night and went on about how nice it was to see ladies in the pub. Our husbands were so disappointed.'
'Your husband came here and threatened me.'
'He's got a lousy temper and he really did have a bad crush on Rosie. But now that's gone.'
'Good. So he and the others will stay home in the evenings?'
'No, they're going to find a pub in another village.'
'So we didn't achieve anything.'
'Oh, yes, we did. At least we know none of our husbands is going to have an affair with Rosie.'
Agatha thought about the husbands-Harriet's, tall, thin and pompous; Polly's, small round and pompous; Amy's, small and ferrety-and opened her mouth to say it was her considered opinion that none of their husbands had the slightest chance of bedding Rosie, but uncharacteristically held her tongue. She clung on to the fact that she would soon be leaving Fryfam and its fairies.
Instead she asked, 'What on earth do you do in Fryfam on a day like this?'
'There's always household chores to catch up on. Then there's church-cleaning duty. It's my day for the brasses.'
'Talking about cleaning, I'd better get someone for here,' said Agatha, thinking she'd better leave it as clean as she had found it.
'There's Mrs. Jackson. I'll write down her phone number for you if you've got a bit of paper.'
'Thanks.' Agatha found a piece of paper. Harriet was writing down the number when the bell rang again. When Agatha opened the door it was to find Polly there.
'Come and join us,' she said. 'Harriet's here.'
Polly took off a large yellow oilskin coat and sou'wester. 'Gosh, what a day! Such excitement!'
She followed Agatha into the kitchen. 'You'll never guess. There's been a theft up at the manor.'
'Never!' said Harriet. 'Oh, I know. Is it those lights again?'
'Yes, Tolly saw them at the back of the manor, but he was convinced it was kids playing tricks.'
'So what's been pinched?' asked Agatha, 'The usual piece of tat?'
'No,' said Polly. 'You'll never believe.... Any chance of coffee?'
'Right away,' said Agatha. 'But go on. What was nicked?'
'A Stubbs.'
'Never!' exclaimed Harriet.
Agatha did not want to ask what a Stubbs was and so betray her ignorance, but curiosity overcame her.
'Stubbs?' she asked.
'George Stubbs,' said Harriet. 'An eighteenth-century painter, famous for his paintings of horses. Must be worth a mint.'
'Where was it?' asked Agatha. 'Didn't see anything like that in their drawing-room.'
'It was in Tolly's study,' said Polly.
'So how did they get in?'
'That's the mystery,' said Polly, bobbing up and down on her chair in excitement. 'Before Tolly does the rounds, he locks up everything and sets the burglar alarm.'
Agatha poured mugs of coffee and bent down to ferret in a cupboard for a packet of biscuits. 'So what are the police doing?' she asked, straightening up and crackling open a packet of chocolate digestives.
'The CID and forensic people are all over the place. That lazy policeman, Framp, has been told to stand guard all night.'
'Seems a bit silly now the robbery has taken place.'
'That's what Framp says. Oh, Agatha, if the press come round, you mustn't say anything about fairies,' said Polly.
'Why not?'
'Because we'd all be a laughing-stock.'
Agatha put the biscuits on a plate and put them down on the table. 'So why do you believe in the things in the first place? I mean, surely you two don't.'
'There's odd things in this area. It's very old,' said Harriet.
'But, come on,' protested Agatha. 'Fairies!'
'So if you're so clever,' said Polly, 'what's your explanation?'
'Someone fooling about. Gets superstitious people scared, steals rubbish, then goes in for the kill. What's a Stubbs worth?'
'I've heard Tolly bragging it was insured one million pounds,' said Harriet.
'Blimey!'
'Lucy's freaked out,' said Polly with relish. 'She says she's clearing off to London to stay with a couple of friends.'
Another ring at the doorbell. 'I suppose that's Amy.' Agatha went to answer it as Harriet called after her, 'Can't be Amy. She's working.'
Agatha swung open the door. 'Charles!' she cried. She had forgotten all about telling Mrs. Bloxby to pass on her address and phone number to him.
Rain was trickling down from his well-groomed hair. In one hand, he carried a large suitcase. 'Can I come in, Aggie?' he asked plaintively.
'Yes, sure. Leave your stuff in the hall. I've got company, but they'll be leaving in a minute.' Charles dumped his suitcase and struggled out of his raincoat. 'What weather. It was sunshine all the way until I got to the county border.'
'We're in the kitchen,' said Agatha, hoping that a friendship with a baronet would cancel out her ignorance of George Stubbs.
She introduced Charles. Her triumph was short-lived. 'Your nephew?' asked Harriet.
'Just a friend,' snapped Agatha. Charles was in his forties and she was in her fifties-but a very well-preserved fifties.
'We must go.' Harriet and Polly got to their feet. 'I'll show you out.' Agatha's face was sour. It would be a long time, she felt, before she forgave Harriet for mistaking Charles for her nephew.
When she had slammed the door behind them, Agatha peered at her face in the hall mirror and let out a squawk of alarm. She did not have on any make-up and her hair was a mess.
'Be down in a minute,' she called to Charles. 'Help yourself to coffee.'
She darted up to her bedroom, and sitting down at the dressing-table, applied a thin film of some anti-aging cream and then a light foundation. Powder, lipstick, but no eye shadowtoo early in the day. She brushed her thick brown hair until it shone and then returned downstairs, where Charles was sitting on the kitchen floor, playing with the cats.
'You might have phoned first,' said Agatha.
'Came on impulse.' Charles jumped lightly to his feet and dusted himself down. He was such a clean man, thought Agatha. His shirt was immaculate, his trousers pressed, his shoes gleaming. Even naked, he never looked vulnerable but as if he were wearing a neat white suit.
'How long are you staying?'
'Depends,' said Charles, stifling a yawn. 'What goes on in this burg?'
'Lots,' said Agatha. 'Take your case up to the spare room. That's the one with the single bed.'
'Okay.'
Charles disappeared. I should have told him I was only going to stay another week, thought Agatha. Oh, well, a week of Charles will be enough. And I am not going to bed with him, ever again. But it certainly looks as if things in Fryfam are getting very interesting indeed.
When Charles came down again, he found Agatha looking at ready meals from the freezer. 'Back to the microwave, eh?' said Charles. 'Last time I saw you, you had gone in for real food.'
'This is real food,' snapped Agatha. 'Just because I don't cook it doesn't mean it isn't real. I bet you most of the stuff you get in those restaurants you go to is ready-made and supplied by some catering firm. I know a restaurant in Moreton-in-Marsh that's pulled in all sorts of awards and yet someone who worked there told me that everything from duck a l'orange to boeuf stroganoff comes in a boil-in-bag. What about haddock in a cheese
