head as if on a film.
She started to run. Patrick, who had risen and was watching her through the windows, shouted, “Stop!”
“Stop what?” asked Agatha, lighting a cigarette.
Patrick ran for the door.
Deborah clutched her umbrella. The wind seemed to be buffeting from every direction. And then she saw James turning off into the shelter of a side street. He hadn’t even seen her! She ploughed on, water now swirling about her feet, deafened by the roar of the waves.
Patrick, shouting and yelling, watched in horror as a great gust of wind caught under the umbrella and dragged her to the edge of the sea wall. Ducking and weaving, he ran towards her.
One great grey wave curled over the sea wall and like some gigantic hand caught Deborah. One minute she was there and the next she had gone.
Patrick was no swimmer and he knew that even if he were, the waves would batter him against the wall. He retreated to shelter and called the emergency services. He felt sick.
Agatha looked up as Patrick, dripping wet, walked slowly into the dining room. “What’s up?” she asked.
“It’s Deborah. She’s gone.”
“Good riddance.”
“No, Agatha. I mean she’s really gone. A great wave dragged her over the wall and into the sea.”
“Have you phoned the lifeboat?”
“Called the emergency services. They’ll get everyone out.”
“This is terrible. I didn’t like the woman, but I certainly didn’t wish her dead.” Agatha had turned pale. She was beginning to feel this seaside resort had some sort of curse on it.
“I’d better go up to my room and dry myself,” said Patrick. “Here come the Hammonds.”
They came up to Agatha’s table. “Mind if we join you? It’s ages since we’ve had a chat.”
“Sit down,” said Agatha, “although I don’t feel much like chatting. Someone from our village, Deborah Fanshawe, has just been swept out to sea.”
“You mean the cracker with legs up to her armpits?” asked Cyril.
“Yes.”
“That’s awful. She’ll never survive.”
“I don’t know why you both stay here,” said Agatha. “I mean, what’s in it for you?”
“I’m not leaving here until I find out who murdered Geraldine.” Agatha glanced quickly at Dawn Hammond. Dawn was studying her fingernails as if she had never seen anything so interesting before.
“You must have been very fond of her,” said Agatha.
“We were going to get married before Charlie Black came along.”
“I liked that film,
“Now, then, precious,” said Cyril, giving his wife an oily smile, “you know I love only you.”
“So why can’t we get the hell out of here?” demanded Dawn.
“I’ve told you and told you,” snapped Cyril, the smile disappearing. “Her murderer is still at large.”
“It seems,” said Agatha, “that Charlie Black did work for Brian McNally, who I gather might be some sort of drug baron. As a favour to Charlie, he kidnapped me trying to find out where the rest of the jewels were. Maybe he hired someone to sweat Geraldine and things got out of hand.”
James came into the dining room. “Rain’s easing up,” he said.
“Have you heard the news about that Deborah woman?” asked Cyril.
“No, what?”
“Went out at high tide and was swept out to sea.”
“This is horrible. I’ll go round to the lifeboat station and see if there’s any news.”
“Better wait until the tide goes down,” said Cyril.
“I’ll go with you,” said Agatha. She realized in that moment how safe she had always felt with James at her side. Anything was better than sitting in this hotel wondering if someone was coming in to murder her.
The manager approached. “The press are in the bar. I kept them in there until I knew you’d finished your breakfast.”
“I’ll be off,” said James.
“You can’t go until the tide goes down,” said Agatha, “or you’ll be the next casualty. Please wait for me. I won’t be long.”
James seemed unaware of the Hammonds as he sat wrapped in misery. He could dimly hear Agatha regaling the press with stories of the brilliance of her detective agency. It was all his fault Deborah had come after him. He should never have phoned her.
At last Agatha came back carrying her coat. “The rain’s stopped,” she said. “Where is the lifeboat station?”
“Along at West Point. I know where it is.”
Watery sunlight gilded the heaving grey waves as they walked along, followed by the press.
“What are they doing, coming after us?” asked James.
“I told them about Deborah. It took their minds right off my lack of success.”
“Sometimes you horrify me, Agatha.” James walked on in moody silence.
At last they reached the lifeboat station. The slip was empty. “Still out looking for her,” said Agatha.
They all stood staring out to sea. Then one of the reporters who had been scanning the sea through his telescopic lens cried, “The boat’s coming back.”
They waited anxiously until they saw a little speck which grew gradually bigger and bigger. From behind them came the wail of a siren and then an ambulance drew up.
“She might be alive,” cried James. “Please God she’s still alive.”
The boat came nearer and nearer. “There’s a woman on board,” called the man with the lens. “She’s wrapped in blankets and drinking something.”
Much as she disliked Deborah, in that moment all Agatha could feel was admiration for any woman who could stay alive in such a sea.
The boat came ever closer. Now they could plainly see Deborah. An ambulance crew with a stretcher went down to meet the lifeboat.
Deborah was helped onto a stretcher while camera flashes went off all around.
As she was carried past James, she said, “Darling, I was coming to meet you.”
Agatha winced.
She then joined the press, who were shouting questions at the lifeboat captain.
He held up his hands for silence and said, “It is incredible that she is alive. She is obviously a very powerful swimmer. How she managed to swim away from the sea wall and not get sucked into the undertow is beyond me. Then the current got hold of her and carried her along the coast. The waves were so high we nearly missed her.”
Agatha’s one dismal thought was that she had no hope of competing with Deborah. First those legs and now a heroine.
James fell into step beside Agatha as they walked back to the hotel. “It’s not what you think,” he said.
“I was thinking of a large gin and tonic.”
“The thing is,” said James, “I was supposed to have dinner with her and rushed down here at the last minute. So I phoned to apologize. She must have taken it as a come-on.”
“You didn’t seem in any hurry to repulse her,” commented Agatha.
“How could I? She had come all this way. I’d better go to the hospital, I suppose.”
“Don’t forget to take flowers. Oh, good, there’s Patrick.”
Agatha chattered to Patrick on the road back. When they reached the hotel, James said, “I would like a word in private with Agatha, Patrick.”
“Right,” said Patrick. “I’m off to the police station.”
James turned to face Agatha, an apology hovering on his lips.
“Hey, there, you two,” called a cheerful voice. “I’ve just arrived.”
Charles Fraith came strolling out of the hotel.
