“Oh, Agatha, how kind!”
“I know you’re getting on in years, and if nothing happens to me in, say, the next five, I will cancel the codicil. You’ve done very good work for me, Emma.”
And then she added, “I’d better get home and pack a bag. I’m off to Paris with Charles in the morning.”
When she had gone, Emma sat with her hands tightly clenched.
Agatha and Charles flew to Paris on an early plane and took a taxi from Charles de Gaulle Airport to the couturiers in the Rue Saint-Honore. They handed over their cards and sat on gilt chairs in the salon and waited for Felicity.
At last a middle-aged woman entered the salon, holding their cards by the tips of her fingers.
“I am so sorry,” she said, “Mees Felicity is not here.”
“Where is she?” demanded Agatha, looking at the trim-figured Frenchwoman standing over her and wondering if there was such a thing as a bad figure in Paris.
“Mees Felicity is on the vacances.”
“When is she due back?”
“Pardon?”
Charles said in impeccable French, “Where has Felicity gone on holiday and when do you expect her to return?”
She replied in rapid French while Agatha waited impatiently.
Again Charles spoke and rose to go. “What was that all about?” demanded Agatha.
“She’s gone on holiday to somewhere in the south of France but she’s expected back tomorrow. She’s only been working with them a few months. Worked as a secretary before and they needed someone here with a knowledge of computers.”
“Rats,” said Agatha. “If we change our flights, we’ll lose the money on the return trip.”
“We could always get one of those el cheapo flights or Euro-star. Seems a shame to go back now we’re here. And we may as well double-check Laggat-Brown’s alibi.”
“Oh, all right,” said Agatha. “What hotel was he staying in? I’ve forgotten.”
“The Hotel Duval on the Boulevard Saint-Michel. May as well check in for the night. Won’t be too busy this time of year.”
“I’ll phone Emma and Miss Simms,” said Agatha, “and tell her we’ll be here another day.”
Emma felt she couldn’t bear it. She had to take some sort of action. She remembered that she had a container of rat poison she had brought from her old home. You weren’t supposed to poison rats or mice any more because of some European Union regulation. You were supposed to trap them and then hit them on the head with a hammer or something. First she had to get into Agatha’s house.
Agatha had told Emma to tell Doris to look after the cats for another day. Emma called on Doris Simpson and said, “I thought as I live next door, it would be easier for me to look after the cats and save you coming and going.”
“That would be great,” said Doris. “Ell come along with you and show you how to work the burglar alarm.”
In possession of Agatha’s keys, Emma said goodbye to Doris and went down to the shed at the bottom of her garden and took down the box of rat poison. She did not allow herself to stop and think about the enormity of what she was doing.
She went to Agatha’s cottage and let herself in. She went through to the kitchen where Agatha’s two cats, Hodge and Boswell, stared up at her. She shooed them out into the garden.
Emma took down a jar of instant coffee, tipped half of the granules of rat poison into it, being careful to wear gloves, and then screwed the lid back on.
She felt suddenly calm. She found tins of cat food and filled two bowls. After half an hour, she let the cats back in and then went back to her own cottage, forgetting to set the burglar alarm or to lock the back door. The deed was done.
The receptionist at the Hotel Duval said he remembered Mr. Laggat-Brown very well, particularly since the hotel had been closely questioned by the police. Mr. Laggat-Brown was a most charming man. He spoke French like a native. He gathered that the police had checked the airlines and that Mr. Laggat-Brown was known to have travelled back to England when he said he did.Agatha asked if he knew where Mr. Laggat-Brown had gone after he had checked into the hotel. He had been out for two hours.
The receptionist said that Mr. Laggat-Brown had said something about going to a reunion.
Unfortunately, they had only one room. Madame and Monsieur would have to share. Madame said angrily that they would look for another hotel. She did not want to find herself renewing her amorous relations with Charles and doubted her own strength of will if she found herself in bed with him. Charles told her to stop behaving like an outraged virgin. He spoke in rapid French and then said, “Aggie, stop wittering. It’s got twin beds.”
After they had unpacked, they had lunch in a nearby restaurant. After lunch, Charles said that he felt tired after the dawn start and suggested going back to the hotel for a siesta.
Agatha did not think she would sleep and was startled to find it was early evening when she woke up.
They both went out for a long walk along the Seine as night descended on one of the world’s most beautiful cities. The terraces of the restaurants were filling up with people stopping for a coffee or an aperitif after work.
“Look how slim everyone is,” marvelled Agatha, “and they all walk as if they’ve got books on their heads. They must teach them deportment in French schools.”
“The women look fabulous,” said Charles and Agatha experienced a pang of jealousy. “Let’s find a restaurant.”
“There’s quite a reasonable one at Maubert -Mutualite,” said Agatha. “They have snacks and things. We had quite a big lunch.”
The restaurant was crowded but they managed to find a table at the back. They ordered croques monsieurs and a decanter of the house wine.
Agatha became uneasily aware that someone was staring at her and looked across the restaurant. With a sinking heart, she recognized Phyllis Hepper, a public relations officer she had known in her London days. Phyllis was a famous lush.
To Agatha’s horror, Phyllis rose and came over to their table. “It’s Agatha, isn’t it?” she said.
“Phyllis,” said Agatha, relieved the woman appeared to be sober. “What are you doing in Paris?”
“I got married to a Frenchman.”
“This is Charles Fraith, Charles, Phyllis. Phyllis and I knew each other when I was working in London.”
Phyllis laughed. “I’m surprised you recognized me. I must have been drunk the whole time.”
“Well. ..”
“It doesn’t matter. I was a terrible drunk,” said Phyllis to Charles. “But I joined AA. I go to meetings, or reunions Al-cooliques Anonymes, as they call them here in Paris.”
“Your French must be very good.”
“Not yet. I go to the English-speaking ones at the Quai D’Orsay. Quite a lot of French people go as well. There was this terrible raggy old drunk came in, but he got it and now you wouldn’t recognize him. He looks so well and handsome. You must come and visit me. Here’s my card.”
Agatha said they were leaving the next day, but if she was ever back in Paris she would look Phyllis up.
After she had left, Charles said, “I thought it was supposed to be Alcoholics
“She must be very new in the programme. I met people like her in London. Just in, they wanted to tell the world.”
They finished their decanter of wine and Charles ordered another, saying it would help them sleep. They chatted idly about previous cases and then Charles asked suddenly, “What about Emma?”
“What about her?”
“I think she’s stalking me.”
