James’s face darkened. He muttered, “I’d better get to the hospital,” and strode inside.
“He was about to say something important to me,” raged Agatha when Charles joined her.
“If it was that important, he can say it later,” said Charles. “I’d forgotten what a ghastly place this is. Let’s walk somewhere civilized for a coffee and you can fill me in on all the details.”
In reception, James heard himself being hailed by the manager. “Come into my office and have a glass of champagne,” called Mr. Beeston.
“What’s the celebration?” asked James, following him into the remains of what had once been a grand office with stained-glass windows and a magnificent mahogany desk.
“The bosses who own this place have told me they’ve had a terrific offer for this hotel.” He popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and poured two glasses.
“I can’t think who would want it,” said James. “It’s about to be washed away any day now.”
“It’s going to be one of the grandest casinos in England. They’re going to build an enormous sea wall and have the entrance in Brighton Street.”
“Brighton Street?”
“The main street that runs parallel to the front.”
“I forgot the name of it. But there are shops there.”
“They’re buying them out.”
“I’m surprised the residents didn’t have something to say about it.”
“There’s a meeting in the town hall tonight. The councillors and the mayor are all for it. It’ll bring a lot of money into the town. I don’t think the residents will object. The casino bosses have promised to raise the sea wall and extend it along the front.”
“It’ll spoil the view.”
“Ever seen anyone in a casino looking
“But the people who live along the seafront. A large wall would cut off the light from their houses.”
“They’ll just have to realize it’s the wall or their houses falling into the sea.”
“Who are these bosses?
“Regan Enterprises. An Irish firm, I believe. Drink up. Happy days.”
So James drank, his mind working furiously. What if there was criminal money behind all this, money that needed to be laundered somehow? Why should this Brian McNally, who appeared to be a major player in the criminal world, turn up simply to do an old lag a favour by sweating the whereabouts of some jewels out of Agatha? Perhaps he had bigger fish to fry in the area. It was a long shot, but he was determined to go to that meeting.
“At what time is the meeting tonight?” he asked.
“Seven o’clock.”
“Might take a look-in?”
“More champagne?”
“No, I’ll leave you to it.”
James drove out to the hospital on the edge of town. He stopped at a florist’s on the way and bought a bunch of flowers. He must be firm with Deborah and tell her that when she had recovered she should return to Carsely immediately.
Because she had become a local celebrity, Deborah had been put in a private room. To James’s dismay, as he opened the door it was to find she was giving a press conference. He tried to back out, but Deborah saw him and called, “Come in, darling.” Camera flashes went off in his face.
“Is there a romance here?” asked one reporter.
“Maybe,” said Deborah with a flutter of eyelashes.
“No,” said James firmly. “I am here with my ex-wife to help her in a detective investigation. I’ll leave you to it, Deborah.”
He made a hasty retreat. It was only when he was outside the room that he realized he was still clutching that bunch of flowers. He gave them to a passing nurse and asked her to deliver them to Mrs. Fanshawe.
“I wish you hadn’t come back,” Agatha was saying for what seemed to Charles like the umpteenth time.
“We’ve been over this and over this,” said Charles, “and you never give me the real reason. The real reason is that you’re still besotted with James and you think I’m queering your pitch.”
“Well, he’s twice been about to tell me something important and the last time you butted in. I mean, you take off when you feel like it, leaving me in the lurch, so why can’t you just take off again?”
“Oh, all right. But not today. I’ll set out tomorrow. You’ve never asked me to push off before. There’s some villain around who thinks you know where some jewels are, and you still haven’t found out who murdered Geraldine Jankers. I thought you’d be glad of the extra help.”
“I’ve got James and Patrick.”
“Aggie, I thought you had grown out of James.”
“I have! But I want to hear what it is he’s going to say and he won’t say it if you’re still here!”
“In other words, I’m of use to you only when you feel like it?”
“That’s how you’ve treated me.”
They glared at each other angrily. Then Charles began to laugh. “Listen to us! You’d think we were lovers or something. Okay, Aggie, I’ll be off tomorrow.”
Back at the hotel, James waylaid Agatha as she walked in, looking excited. Charles went off to his room.
But James had no tender words to say or apology to make. He was full of what he had found out about the casino. Fighting down her disappointment, Agatha listened carefully. Then she said, “We’ll both go tonight. By the way, Charles is leaving tomorrow.”
“Why is that? Oh, never mind. I can’t wait to get to this meeting tonight.”
Up in his room, Charles switched on a small television set to watch the news. His interest sharpened as a picture of Deborah Fanshawe appeared on the screen. She was lying in a hospital bed looking very beautiful. Charles wondered how she had managed to find make-up to do her face or the lacy nightdress she was wearing when she had been taken straight to the hospital from the lifeboat.
A malicious smile curved his lips. He would get some flowers and go and see this beauty. That would irritate Agatha no end, and Charles felt like annoying her.
He went downstairs and asked for directions to the hospital. Betty, the receptionist, had just finished arranging flowers in a vase on the desk. Mr. Beeston’s voice sounded from the office, calling her in. Charles waited until she had left, picked up the vase full of flowers and went out of the hotel and round to the car park.
Deborah was beginning to get bored. She had slept a little after the press left and awoke feeling refreshed, but very annoyed with James Lacey. What on earth did he see in that charmless woman, Agatha?
The door opened and an expensively dressed man entered carrying a vase of flowers. He had fair well- barbered hair and neat features.
“Hullo,” he said. “I’m Charles Fraith. I heard all about your adventure and thought I’d drop in and see you.”
“Fraith? Do you live at Barfield House?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
Deborah gave him her best smile and said, “Please sit down.”
Sir Charles Fraith, she thought. Was he married?
“What brings you down here?” she asked.
Charles set down the vase of flowers on a side table. There was very little water left in it, most of it having slopped onto the floor of his car.
“I’m a friend of Agatha Raisin.”
Deborah’s face darkened.
“Anyway, she’s fed up with me,” said Charles, “so I might push off tomorrow. I say, you look great after all you’ve been through. Didn’t know the hospital ran to such glamorous nighties.”
“The staff here are very kind. One nurse lent me make-up and another drove round to the hotel to pick up this nightdress and a few things from my room. All for the press conference, of course.”
“So why
“I came to see James. He was running after me and I rather fancied him. But when I got here, he told me he
