'How you doin', Tone,' said Pete. 'I hear you're a tec.'
'Right, Pete,' said Toni desperately, 'and I'm on a case.'
'Okay.' Pete slouched off.
'Ashamed of me, Toni?' asked George.
'I never liked him and it was the easiest way to get rid of him,' said Toni, feeling caught between two worlds. She wondered what Pete had been doing frequenting one of the smarter watering holes in Mircester.
They were not to be left alone. A hard-faced woman, elegantly dressed and expensively blonded, rushed up to their table and air-kissed George. 'Darling, where have you been?' she screamed above the noise of the pub. 'And who's this? Your niece?'
'This is Toni Gilmour, a friend of mine. Toni, Deborah Hasard.'
'Pleased to meet you,' mumbled Toni.
'I've left my drink on the bar. I'll just get it and join you,' said Deborah. The minute her back was turned, George hissed, 'Let's go before she comes back.'
They hurried to the door and out on to the street. 'Old girlfriend of yours?' asked Toni.
'No, just a terrible bore. I'll get you home. How's the new car?'
'I love it. I take it for runs in the country, just like a dog.'
'Perhaps you'll give me a run one day?'
'Sure. Here's my flat. Goodnight,' said Toni firmly, 'and thank you for the drink.'
Later that evening, Toni looked down from her window and saw a group of her ex-school friends, chattering and laughing and obviously heading for the disco at the end of the street.
I've left them behind, thought Toni, and yet I feel I don't belong anywhere now. And what am I going to do about George?
Mrs Bloxby called on Agatha that evening. 'I really feel you should take a rest after all you've been through, Mrs Raisin.'
'No, I'm all right. I wonder if the Tamworthys will ever sell that estate. I think they were born unlucky and that they're doomed to be unlucky.'
'Haven't you heard?'
'Heard what?'
'There was a little bit in the local paper. I brought it along.' Mrs Bloxby fished a newspaper out of her capacious handbag. 'Here we are. Olde English Theme Parks are making an offer. They want to turn it into a theme park.'
'What? Roundabouts and roller coasters and things like that?'
'No, they plan to turn it into an old English village with the locals dressed up in Georgian dress. The manor house will be demodernized and will serve old English teas. The great thing for the villagers is that they will live rent-free and be paid by the company to do things like spin wool and shoe horses.'
'That jammy lot,' howled Agatha. 'They don't deserve it.'
'Even Jimmy Tamworthy's shop is to be turned into an old-fashioned store.'
'I wonder if those poxy villagers realize they have to be nice to the tourists.'
'Maybe the tourists will think their sour faces are in period.'
'Well, I never want to see any of them again. Anyway, I've got more important things on my mind.'
'Such as?'
'Christmas.'
Chapter Twelve
Agatha's Christmas dinner was to be held on the eighteenth of December. In the days leading up to it, Toni had been taken off detective duties to prowl the shops with Agatha picking out Christmas decorations and choosing the perfect tree.
Mindful of the fact that her cats loved real trees but shied away from fake ones, Agatha reluctantly settled on a fake Douglas fir.
Then there was a trip to a shop in London which made fake holly that looked exactly like the real thing.
The seating plan caused Agatha a lot of headaches. She would put James on her left and Charles on her right. Then she changed her mind. Charles might do something to irritate James. She would give Patrick the honour of sitting next to her. Would the women of the Carsely Ladies' Society mind be relegated to the far end of the table in the sitting room? Mrs Bloxby must have pride of place in the dining room. Agatha hoped her husband, the vicar, would not be too sour. Then would Doris Simpson not expect a good place, and if she didn't get one, think it was because she was only a cleaner?
'Why don't you sort out the important people,' suggested Toni, who was seated at the kitchen table with Agatha, helping her with the plans. 'You could put Charles in the hall to host that table and Mr and Mrs Bloxby in the sitting room. Put Doris and her husband next to Charles. Is your ex going to turn up?'
'He sent me a letter. I got it last week. He said he would arrive on time. What about you, Toni? After all your work, I feel you should get to choose your place. Next to George?'
Toni hesitated. 'Is there going to be anyone young there?'
'There's Miss Simms. But you want a man. I've got it. I've invited my ex-detective, Harry Beam. You'll like him and he's not that much older than you.'
'Then you could put both of us in the hall with Charles and Doris and her husband and that would get rid of the least favourite place. You're going to have trouble with the fires.'
'Why? I want one log fire in the dining room and one in the sitting room.'
'But there's not much space once the tables are set up and whoever is sitting with their back to the fire is going to get scorched.'
'Rats! I'm beginning to regret the whole thing.'
'You could get those fake logs and have them burning when the guests arrive and by the time they have their welcome drinks, they'll have burned down.'
'Fake this, fake that. It's not really the way I imagined it. I must have real mistletoe. Where should I hang it?'
Well away from me and George, thought Toni. 'Why not above your chair at the head of the table?'
'Good idea. That'll stop me being kissed by a lot of odds and sods.'
'What are you going to wear?' asked Toni.
'Something sexy.'
Toni blinked. She thought women of Agatha's age should be past wanting to be sexy.
Toni said suddenly, 'But that table across the hall means they will have to edge round it to leave their coats, and then if they are going to stand around with their drinks before dinner, there won't be any room.'
'That's the curse of these small cottages,' mourned Agatha. 'I will not be defeated. I know: I'll have a marquee in the garden.'
'Won't that be cold?'
'No, not these days. They put in heaters. I'll have clothes rails for the coats and a bar. They can't go through the kitchen. I'll have some sort of canvas tunnel up the side of the house which will lead straight into the marquee.'
'This is all going to cost you a fortune,' said Toni. 'You could have hired a suite at the Hilton for less.'
'It's going to be Christmas in my home, and that's that.'
George Pyson was, at that moment, pacing up and down his mother's drawing room. 'Out with it,' she said at last.
'It's this girl.' George ran his hands through his thick hair. 'I'm keen on her but she's very young.'
'How young?'
