'Well, you must do what you want. I see two young men have arrived. We'd better go out and supervise the unloading.'
When Toni had left, Mrs Pyson sat down again, feeling sad. 'Poor George,' she said. 'Why couldn't he pick on someone his own age?'
Agatha left Patrick, Phil, Toni and Mrs Freedman to run the agency just before the day of her Christmas dinner. She was already feeling exhausted. So many trips to get just the right stuff. Up to London again to find Christmas crackers that had interesting things inside them instead of the usual paper hats and plastic toys.
Then, what to wear? Black was flattering to her middle-aged figure but surely too funereal. Tiny little skirts were in fashion and her legs were good. But women like herself dressed in too youthful a style ended up looking older. She settled at last on a black velvet skirt with slits up both sides and a cherry-red silk blouse with a plunging neckline. The skirt demanded high heels and her hip was getting worse.
But this one night must be the best and everything must be sacrificed for it. She bought a pair of high-heeled sandals in black patent leather.
Miss Simms, Carsely's unmarried mother, was in a quandary. Her latest 'gentleman friend' had just told her he was going back to his wife. Miss Simms had told Agatha she was bringing him along. She desperately needed an escort. She chewed nervously at her false nails, remembered what they had cost and poured herself a stiff vodka and Red Bull instead.
There was a knock at the door. Miss Simms opened it. One of those young men who sell dusters and other household stuff round the doors started his spiel: 'Here is my card. I am unemployed.'
Miss Simms didn't listen. Instead she eyed him up and down. He was well built with thick brown hair and a square pleasant face. She interrupted him. 'Come in for a drink. I've got a suggestion to make.'
Mrs Bloxby and her husband did not often row. But on the eve of Agatha's dinner party they found themselves shouting at each other. 'I've told you and told you,' yelled the vicar, 'that I will not go to the Raisin female's party and that's that. I have promised to lead the carol service at Ancombe.'
'You knew all about this party,' said Mrs Bloxby. 'You only took on this carol service to get out of it.'
'I did not.'
'I talked to the vicar's wife over in Ancombe and she told me you were quite pressing about wanting to help. Her husband is taking the carol service and yet you offered to help when no help was needed.'
The vicar looked mulish.
'Let's put it this way. I'm not going.'
'Let's put it this way,' shouted Mrs Bloxby. 'I am tired, sick and tired of your selfishness. I wear myself out with parish visits which you should be making. You control the purse strings. When did I last have a new dress? When did we last have a holiday?' And with that, the vicar's wife burst into tears.
'Oh, I am so sorry.' The vicar's voice trembled. 'I never thought...'
He handed her a clean handkerchief and then wrapped his arms around her. 'Don't cry. We shall go to Agatha's and you can have a splendid new dress. And...and after all the Christmas services are over, why don't we take a short holiday, somewhere sunny?'
Mrs Bloxby detached herself from him and dried her eyes. 'Do you promise?'
'With all my heart. I do love you. You must know that.'
She gave him a weak smile.
'Now, what about a cup of tea?'
A frosty gleam appeared in his wife's eyes.
'I'll get it,' said the vicar hurriedly. 'I'll get it!'
Agatha's nerves were on edge. The great day had arrived, but the weather was unseasonably warm and there was no sign of James. The men were erecting the marquee in a depressing drizzle.
Toni, Doris Simpson and Mrs Bloxby arrived to help. The rooms were already decorated but Agatha had decided to put the tree in the marquee so they would all need to wait until the men were finished.
Toni, sitting at the kitchen table, wrote out place cards on stiff cardboard. She also wrote on the cards that a bus had been hired to take the Mircester guests home at midnight and that the same bus would bring them back the next day to pick up their cars. Doris had previously taken Agatha's cats to her home because Hodge and Boswell were spending too much of their cunning time trying to get at the huge turkey lying in all its glory on the kitchen counter.
Crates of champagne and wine had arrived. The caterers were supplying extra tables, tablecloths, plates and glasses.
At last the men came in to say the marquee was ready, just as Roy arrived from London in an allwhite suit with a sprig of holly in his lapel.
They carried the large tree, propped outside the front door, along the canvas tunnel at the side of the house and into the marquee. Then they returned to the house to go up to the spare room where the tree decorations were stored and carry them to the marquee as well. Roy had brought an overall with him to cover his precious suit. He whistled happily as he started by pinning a silver star on the top of the tree. 'I see you've got coloured lights,' he shouted down. 'Too naff. White lights are the new black.'
'Coloured lights,' insisted Agatha grimly. 'Oh, do get a move on!'
By five o'clock, Agatha got Roy to open a bottle of champagne. The chef was already busy in the kitchen, roasting the turkey and shouting at his assistants.
'Do you think a dinner will ever come out of this chaos?' moaned Agatha.
'It'll be all right on the night,' said Roy.
'This is the night, you cloth head.'
'No need to be a bitch, Aggie, just because there's no sign of your ex.'
'If James doesn't come, it's all the same to me,' protested Agatha, suddenly feeling sick at the thought he might not arrive and the waste of all this expense.
The guests were due to arrive at seven o'clock for drinks in the marquee, followed by dinner at eight.
Doris Simpson and Mrs Bloxby went home to change and Agatha and Toni retreated upstairs to do the same.
Roy shouted after them that he was going to write a large sign saying 'Agatha's Party' and put it over the entrance to the tunnel. 'Otherwise,' he called up the stairs, 'they'll be ringing the doorbell and you'll need to go out in the rain to show them where to go.' Roy thought happily of the snow machine resting in the small van he had hired. He couldn't wait to see Agatha's face.
Half an hour later, Roy called again that the barman had arrived along with the first guests, but where was Agatha?
At quarter past seven, Agatha made an appearance in the marquee and quickly scanned the guests. No James. Toni was wearing a simple black sheath with a broad scarlet belt round her slim waist. Her hair was brushed down on her shoulders. George Pyson was talking to her. Mrs Bloxby was resplendent in a pretty smoky- blue chiffon dress, smiling up at her husband, her face radiant. Now that's real love, thought Agatha wistfully.
Soon, with the exception of James, everyone had arrived. Agatha longed to postpone the dinner for a little longer but felt sure the temperamental chef in the kitchen would murder her.
Harry Beam was talking to Bill Wong's girlfriend, a tarty creature with thick make-up and a see-through blouse. Toni had started to talk animatedly to Bill Wong and ignore George, who was hovering behind her. Miss Simms had arrived accompanied by some knuckle dragger, as Agatha inwardly damned him.
Agatha encountered a glare from the chef, who had marched into the marquee, and reluctantly called out, 'Dinner is served.'
The guests oohed and aahed at the decorations as they searched for their places. Agatha noticed that Bill Wong was not sitting next to his girlfriend but next to Toni, and Harry Beam was now seated next to Bill's girlfriend. Agatha wondered if Toni had changed the place cards.
Everyone pulled crackers, the caterers poured wine and the first course of chestnut soup was served. Agatha was miserably aware of the empty place beside her. Then, just as the second course, smoked salmon, was
