Palace. The only relic of the old days lay in the large brass key he handed to Agatha.
She took it from him silently. He unlocked the door for her. “See you downstairs in about—what—an hour?”
“Sure,” said Agatha. She wheeled her case into the room and shut the door on him.
She sat down on the bed and looked around at the dilapidated room. Rain rattled against the window and the wind moaned like a banshee.
Agatha wondered what to do. Common sense told her to ring down for a taxi and get the hell out of Snoth- on-Sea. Fantasy told her that the weather might change and the sun might shine and James and she would get married again.
Fantasy won.
But the one bit of common sense left urged her to get some warm clothes. In the main street, she had noticed a shop which sold country wear. Glad that she had worn a coat for the journey, she went downstairs. At least they had some umbrellas for guests in a stand by the door. She took one and battled against the wind round the comer and into the main street. In the shop, she bought warm trousers and socks, a green Barbour coat and a rain hat. Then she went into a department store next door and bought several pairs of plain white knickers to replace the sexy flimsy things she had brought with her, and a cheap pair of serviceable walking shoes.
She carried her purchases back to the hotel and changed into a sweater and trousers, warm socks and the walking shoes, and went down to the bar.
James was sitting at a table in the comer of the bar, looking out at the heaving sea. Piped music was playing in the bar. Agatha sat down opposite him and said, “I would like a stiff gin and tonic.”
James signalled to a waitress, who took the order with a look on her pasty face as if he had just insulted her. When her drink arrived—no ice and a tired bit of lemon—Agatha took a fortifying swig and opened her mouth to blast him.
But he disarmed her by saying ruefully, “I’ve made a dreadful mistake. I’m sorry. It used to be a magical place for me. It was so quiet and peaceful. This hotel used to be so grand with an orchestra playing in the evenings. Look at it now! Because I came here as a child, I suppose I only remembered the sunny days. I’ll make it up to you. We’ll only stay a couple of days and then we’ll move on somewhere. Go to Dover and take the ferry to France. Something like that.
“I checked the dinner menu. It seems pretty good. We’ll have another drink and go into the dining room. I’m hungry. You?”
Agatha smiled at him fondly. “I would love something to eat.”
The dining room was cavernous and cold. The chandeliers of James’s youth had been replaced by harsh lighting. There were very few guests. A large table at the window was occupied by a family, or what Agatha judged to be a family. A plump woman with dyed blonde hair and a fat face had a harsh grating voice that carried across the dining room. Beside her was a small, crushed-looking man in a suit, collar and tie. He kept fiddling with his tie as if longing to take it off. A young woman dressed in black leather was poking at her food and occasionally talking to a young man with a shaven head and tattoos on the back of his hands. An older man with neat hair and a little Hitler moustache was smiling indulgently all around. His companion was very thin, with flaming red hair and green eye shadow.
The woman with the fat face caught Agatha staring at them and shouted across the dining room, “Hey, you there! Mind yer own business, you silly cow.”
James half rose to his feet, but Agatha was out of her chair and across the room to confront the woman.
“You just shut your stupid face and let me get on with my meal,” hissed Agatha.
“Shove off, you old trout.”
“Screw you,” said Agatha viciously and stalked back to join James.
“Remember Wyckhadden?” asked Agatha. “It was a lovely place compared to this.”
“I would rather forget Wyckhadden,” said James coldly. Agatha blushed. Although she had been working on a murder case there, she had forgotten that James had found her in bed with Charles in Wyckhadden.
They had both ordered lobster bisque to start. It was white, lumpy and tasteless.
“I want a word with you.”
The shaven-headed man was looming over them. “This is mam’s honeymoon and you insulted her.”
“She started it,” protested Agatha.
“Look, just go away,” said James.
“Think you’re the big shot,” sneered shaven head. “Come outside.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Come outside or I’ll shove your face in here.”
James sighed and threw down his napkin and followed shaven-head from the dining room.
“That’s the stuff!” jeered fat face.
“If you harm one hair of his head,” shouted Agatha, “I’ll murder you, you rotten bitch.”
The manager hurried into the dining room. “What’s all this noise? What’s going on here?”
“Nothing,” said fat face.
Agatha hurried out of the dining room. James was just coming back into the hotel. “The rain’s stopped,” he said mildly.
“Are you hurt?”
“Not as much as the other fellow.”
They returned to their table. Shaven-head limped in nursing a fat lip. The family at the round table talked in urgent whispers, throwing venomous glances at Agatha and James.
The next course was chicken a la Provencal. It was rubbery chicken covered in tinned tomatoes.
Agatha threw down her fork in disgust. “James, let’s get out of here and find a pub or a fish and chip shop.”
“You wait here,” said James. “I’m going to have a word with the manager first. I’m not a snob, but that family from hell should never have been allowed to stay here. They’re terrorising the other guests.”
“In all the row, I didn’t notice the other guests.”
Agatha turned round. An elderly couple were eating as fast as they could, no doubt wanting to make a quick escape. A young couple with a small child had their heads bent so low over their plates, they looked as if they wished they could disappear into them.
“I’m not staying here with the family from hell,” said Agatha. “I’m coming with you!”
