'A red Peugeot. I didn't get the number plate.'
'There's one ahead in front of that truck.' James passed the truck. The Peugeot in front of them accelerated into Agde and headed straight for the very long jetty which thrust its way out into the sea.
The Peugeot went straight along at breakneck speed and in front of their horrified eyes, as James stamped on the brakes, the fleeing car went straight off the end of the jetty and into the sea.
'They did a Thelma and Louise,' said Toni in a horrified voice, 'and all over a bunch of stupid Christmas lights.'
People came running out from the town headed by two gendarmes. 'And now,' said James, 'the questioning begins.'
_______
They were all locked up in the cells for the night and then the next day questioned over and over again, having been accused of reckless driving, terrifying two old ladies and causing their deaths. At last James persuaded a gendarme to get in touch with Interpol.
Then detectives arrived from Marseilles and the questioning began again.
Finally they were allowed to return to their hotel. Agatha took a pocket mirror out of her handbag and stared at the ruin of her face in dismay. Bags were sagging under tired, red-rimmed eyes and two little hairs had sprouted on her upper lip.
She glanced sideways at James. He looked as handsome as ever with his blue eyes in his tanned face and his thick dark hair showing only a little grey at the sides.
Why was it, she wondered bitterly, that a woman in her fifties had to start the long, long battle against loss of looks and a spreading waistline while men, provided they didn't develop a gut, could age graciously?
Toni looked tired as well, but in a graceful, waiflike way.
Agatha opened her handbag and applied lipstick just as the car began to bump over the cobbles of the street leading to the hotel, and put a red smudge up under her nose.
The press were waiting outside the hotel, cameras at the ready. 'Drive on,' shouted Agatha.
James obeyed her and said, 'What's happened?'
'I've smeared my face with lipstick. Find someplace where I can repair my make-up.'
'Agatha, don't be silly. We're all exhausted and--'
'Do as she says!' Toni leapt to Agatha's defence.
James drove up a farm track and waited in angry silence while Agatha cleansed her face with moist tissues and then carefully applied foundation cream, lipstick and eyeliner.
Back at the hotel, they posed briefly for photographs before escaping indoors.
In England, three people were having different reactions to Agatha's adventures in France. Simon was wistful. He would have loved to have been there with Toni. Roy Silver felt obscurely that Agatha might have let him in on the adventure. What publicity! Charles Fraith was thoughtful.
He found himself thinking a lot about Agatha. He had taken a pretty girl out to dinner the evening before and had found himself bored with her conversation.
Now, Agatha was never boring: infuriating, rude, pushy, but never boring.
He ambled into the drawing room, where his faded aunt was knitting a sweater in a violent shade of purple.
Charles sat down next to her. 'Do you remember Agatha Raisin?'
'Hard to forget her,' said his aunt. 'Never out of the newspapers.'
'What would you think about her coming to live here?'
'Good gracious, Charles. Wasn't that last marriage enough for you? Besides, she's old and can't have children.'
'I was just thinking of asking her to live here to see how it goes,' said Charles.
'Just so long as she doesn't interfere with the running of things,' said his aunt. 'But will she
Gustav was Charles's gentleman's gentleman, a sort of truculent Swiss Jeeves.
'Gustav will just have to find a way of getting on with it.'
Gustav, listening outside the door, was already thinking of several ways of ousting Agatha. He had always disliked her. Gustav was a snob. He thought the word 'common' was too mild a word to describe someone such as Agatha Raisin.
Had Agatha come straight back from France, Charles might have dropped the idea, but the French judiciary moves in a slow and ponderous way and all he could remember as the weeks passed was what fun and adventures they had enjoyed.
He phoned Agatha from time to time, but her phone was always switched off and the hotel said that Mrs. Raisin and Mr. Lacey and Miss Gilmour were not taking calls. Agatha had driven into Marseilles and bought herself a new mobile phone with which she kept in communication with the office. Somehow the press had got hold of her old mobile phone number. Agatha had never thought the day would come when she would flee from publicity, until a series of photographs magnifying every wrinkle had made her feel she could not bear another interview. Then she had come down with swine flu, which meant the whole hotel was quarantined while Agatha lay in bed in her hotel room and wondered if she was going to die.
At last interest in the case died away, Agatha recovered and they were told they could go home. To Agatha's dismay, James said he would carry on through France, writing up bits and pieces for his travel books.
Just before she had been struck down with swine flu, Agatha had felt that she and James were getting on a close footing, and although she lectured herself about how useless it was to go back to the old obsession, she could almost feel it closing in on her. Then she fell ill and all she heard from James were occasional shouts from outside her bedroom door asking if she was feeling better.
_______
Agatha found her parking fees at Birmingham airport were incredibly steep. She paid up, muttering curses under her breath, and then drove first to Mircester, where she dropped Toni off, and then set out for Carsely.
So much for global warming, thought Agatha, as fine snow began to fall, dancing hypnotically in front of the windscreen as she drove down into Carsely.
With a sigh of relief, she let herself into her cottage. No cats. Of course, they were at her cleaner's home. She went upstairs and unpacked and changed into a loose housedress before going downstairs to make a pot of coffee.
She lit up a cigarette and coughed and gagged. I must give up, she thought. The dreaded cough. I always swore if I got a cough I would stop. But she smoked the cigarette anyway and drank a strong cup of black coffee.
The doorbell rang. Agatha went to the door and called out, 'Who is it?'
'Mrs. Bloxby.'
Agatha flung open the door. 'I am so glad to see you.'
'The bush telegraph told me you had been sighted returning home, so I decided to bring you a casserole for your supper. All you have to do is heat it in the oven.'
'Come in. How good of you!'
'What adventures you have been having?' said the vicar's wife. 'And how very strange that so much murder and distress should have been caused by Christmas lights. Giles Timson did a very powerful service at Christmas, lecturing the villagers of Odley Cruesis on worldly things and how it was a spiritual festival. Then he said that Santa Claus did not exist and the villagers were furious and the newspapers called him a villain for destroying the dreams of children. Mrs. Timson has left him.'
'Really? Why?'
'Her car broke down outside Mircester just after you left. She called the nearest garage and while she was waiting for the repairs, she got talking to a man called Joe Purrock, the garage owner. Evidently they hit it off right away. He is a widower. I believe Mrs. Timson's appearance has quite changed. She has blond hair now and a permanent tan and wears really ankle-breaking stilettos but she seems very happy. They went to the Maldives for Christmas. Poor you. I don't suppose you had much of a Christmas.'
