Agatha Raisin Kissing Christmas Goodbye

Phyllis's voice cut across the laughter. 'I didn't tell Agatha it was my birthday,' she said.

Agatha recovered, mopped her eyes and apologized while they all looked at her suspiciously.

Then just as they were all, with the exception of Phyllis, grimacing over their elderberry wine, eight-year-old Jennifer piped up. 'My gran,' she said, meaning Sadie, 'says it's not worth giving you anything good cos you're out to screw the lot of us.'

There was a shocked silence. Then Jennifer's mother, Lucy, said, 'The dear child was only joking. It's that dreadful state primary school she goes to. If she went to a private school, she wouldn't speak like that.'

Phyllis rose to her feet. 'I'm tired,' she announced. 'We will meet at six o'clock for high tea.'

'Oh, Mother,' groaned Sadie. 'No one, but no one, has high tea any more.'

'I do,' said Phyllis firmly.

'Wanna go home!' screamed Jennifer.

'A very good idea, darling,' said her mother, Lucy.

Jennifer's grandmother, Sadie, chimed in. 'Yes, do go, my darlings. She's not going to leave us anything no matter how long we stay here.'

'Good idea,' echoed Annabelle. 'I'm leaving as well.'

'Come on,' Charles said to Agatha, 'let's go for a walk.'

Outside, Charles looked at the sky. 'I think the Indian summer's finally coming to an end. What an awful lunch.'

'You mean dinner,' Agatha corrected him. 'At least with Annabelle, Lucy and the horrible child gone, it will mean fewer people to watch. That leaves Sadie, Sir Henry, Fran, Bert, Jimmy and Alison. And I can't see one of them as a potential murderer.'

'Let's suffer it all until tomorrow. Or do you want to leave now?'

'Phyllis is paying me for the whole weekend. Don't abandon me, Charles.'

'Of course not,' said Charles, who was already planning to get a friend to phone him with some urgent news that would give him an excuse to leave.

'I think they all might still be in the dining room,' said Agatha. 'It might be a good idea to listen. That's the dining room over there. I can see Sir Henry pacing up and down and waving his arms. The windows are open. If we stroll nearer and stand behind those laurel bushes, we should be able to hear everything.'

They made their way cautiously forward until they were screened by the bushes. Sir Henry's well-articulated voice reached their ears. 'I have tried to reason with her. Cutting off her own flesh and blood.'

Bert said, 'What about you pleading with her, Jimmy? You were always her favourite.'

Jimmy's voice reached Agatha and Charles, loaded with venom. 'Favourite?' he spat out. 'Chained to that bloody shop. How are your bunions this morning, Mrs Smith? Pah! And now they all hate me because she's selling up here. I'll soon be in debt. I asked her to help me out and she said it was up to me to run a successful business.'

Sadie chimed in. 'I happen to know she's changing something in her will.'

There was a startled silence.

'She told me,' said Sadie. 'She enjoyed telling me. She's going to alter it next week. She said she'd been on the phone to her solicitor the day before she spoke to me. She's going to leave it all to build a technical college in Daddy's name. She's going to start the building of it as soon as she sells this place, and if she dies, she's making sure the building goes on. And she's leaving the college to the state, so we can't even sell it.'

Alison, Bert's wife, snarled, 'If only she would drop dead.'

'I'm going for a lie-down,' said Sadie. 'Oh, Miss Crampton, yes, you can clear the table now.'

There came a scraping back of chairs. Charles and Agatha moved away.

'Gosh and double gosh,' said Agatha. 'They sound murderous.'

'They sound like a lot of bores,' said Charles. 'Relax. Nothing's going to happen.'

'You're right. I'll get the dreadful high tea over with and clear off in the morning. Will you be free for Christmas dinner?'

'Aggie, it's October.'

'I know, but I am going to have a really splendid old-fashioned Christmas.'

'Your last Christmas dinner was a disaster. What's with you and Christmas?'

'I want to have one Christmas the way it's supposed to be.'

'It never is, Aggie. Grow up. People are under stress. They drink too much, they fight, they decide they've always hated each other. You're a romantic.'

'And what's wrong with that? It's all sex, sex, sex these days.'

'Love usually comes along disguised as lust or because of delayed gratification like Brave New World.'

'I'll show you,' said Agatha. 'Just turn up for my Christmas dinner, that's all.'

'Aha, there's more to this than meets the eye. Where's James?'

'Travelling. But I'm sure he'll be home for Christmas.'

'And standing under the mistletoe?'

'I'm going in,' said Agatha crossly. 'Oh, was that a spot of rain?'

Charles looked up at the sky. 'Feels like it.'

'I thought the weather would break with a magnificent thunderstorm,' said Agatha.

'And Phyllis would slump dead over the dining table to crashes of thunder, her dead face lit by flashes of lightning?'

Agatha gave a reluctant laugh. 'Something like that.'

'Stop writing scripts. Life is so often boring and predictable.'

A sullen company shuffled back into the dining room at six o'clock. Outside the windows, rain was falling steadily. They took their places as ordered by Phyllis, who took her customary place at the head of the table. Apart from Agatha and Charles, the remainder consisting of Sadie, Fran, Sir Henry, Bert, Alison and Jimmy slumped into their chairs. High tea was already laid out. An urn with cups, milk and sugar stood on the sideboard. A large cake stand in the centre of the table held thin slices of white buttered bread on the bottom layer, teacakes on the second, scones on the third and ersatz-cream cakes on the top.

In front of each person was a plate containing two thin slices of shiny ham, peas, chips, as well as a bowl of peculiar-looking salad.

Agatha poked at the salad with her fork. 'What's in this?'

'My own creation,' said Phyllis proudly. 'Parsley, grated parsnip, grated carrot, grated turnip and lettuce. Have the others gone home?'

'Yes, Mother,' said Jimmy. His face in the grey light from the rain-washed windows looked pale.

'Their loss,' said Phyllis. 'Dig in. I've sent the village women home. No use paying people to serve you when you can serve yourselves.'

Phyllis made several attempts at conversation but no one replied. Agatha, unable to bear the following silence, started talking about the weather, saying that although the gardens needed the rain, it was all very depressing. Her voice tailed off as no one seemed to be paying attention.

After another long silence, Fran suddenly picked up her bowl of salad and threw it into the empty fireplace. 'Sod you, Mother, and your bloody rabbit food and your cheap ways. You're about to disinherit your own flesh and blood!' She burst into tears and ran from the table.

To Agatha's surprise, Phyllis's eyes gleamed with amusement. 'You asked for that,' said Bert.

'We'd better get out and find a pub this evening,' muttered Charles to Agatha. 'I can't eat any of this muck.'

Jimmy half-rose from the table. 'Mother, I want to sell the shop!'

'It's in my name, son. You'll get the title deeds when I'm dead.'

In a bitter little voice, Jimmy said, 'And when will that be?'

Phyllis looked shocked and hurt for the first time since Agatha had met her.

She rose to her feet and stumbled. An odd expression crossed her face. She tried to take a step and fell over on the floor. Jimmy rushed to help her to her feet.

'I'm tired, that's all,' said Phyllis. 'Help me to my room.'