Agatha Raisin and The Potted Gardener

out what was going on in London.

'You can come this weekend,' she said. 'I'll pick you up in Moreton-in-Marsh. Got a girl?'

'No, just little me, sweetie. Still microwaving everything?'

'I'm a proper cook now,' said Agatha severely.

'I'll get the train that gets in about eleven thirty,' said Roy. 'See you then. Any murders?'

Agatha thought bitterly of Mary Fortune.

'Not yet,' she said. 'Not yet.'

Two

Agatha was surprised to receive a handwritten invitation to drinks at Mary's for Friday evening. It had been pushed through the letter-box the day after the horticultural society meeting.

She stared down at it as if it were some species of poisonous insect. She then walked up to her bedroom and surveyed herself in the mirror. Her figure had thickened with all the food she had eaten on her travels, comfort food to combat the loneliness. She looked decidedly matronly. She put the invitation down on the dressing-table and took one of her best dresses out of the wardrobe and, quickly slipping off the old sweater and trousers she was wearing, tried it on. To her relief it seemed to look the same, although it felt tight, but when she twisted round and surveyed her back, it was to see with dismay two rolls of fat above the line of her knickers. How could she go to Mary's and compete with her in any way? That was the trouble about being in one's fifties.

Unless one's figure was firmly kept in check at all times, it suddenly began to sag alarmingly and develop nasty rolls of fat.

She changed back and decided to put off accepting the invitation until she had thought clearly what to do. In the meanwhile, she would drive into one of the cheap supermarkets in Evesham and get food for the weekend, picking up some fresh fruit and vegetables from the open-air stands on the A44.

At the supermarket, she decided to have a cup of coffee in the cafe before shopping. She found that although she had brought cigarettes, she had left her lighter behind, so she went up to the cigarette counter and asked for a cheap lighter. 'These,' said the middle-aged assistant, 'are electronically controlled.'

'What does that mean?' asked Agatha.

'See, it clicks down without much pressure.' She beamed at Agatha. 'Very good for the elderly who have trouble with their thumbs.'

Agatha glared at her. 'I hate you.'

'Madam, I just said - '

'Never mind,' snarled Agatha, 'I'll take it. How much?'

'Eight-five pee. But - '

Agatha slammed down the right money, picked up the lighter and stormed off. Was this what happened at fifty-something when you didn't wear make-up? Getting mistaken for a geriatric?

Come on, sounded the voice of logic in her head, she didn't mean you. Oh, yes, she did, shrieked her bruised emotions. She got herself a cup of coffee at the self-service counter, winced away from the cream cakes and sat moodily down at the window and glared out at the carpark.

There is something very lowering about drinking coffee in a British supermarket while surveying the car-park. Trees surrounded it, wispy, newly planted trees which must have looked very neat and pretty when made out of green sponge on the architect's model. Agatha could almost imagine herself placed in the cafe window on the model, a small plastic Agatha. It was a dusty, windy day. Discarded wrappings spiralled up and a thin film of greasy rain began to blur the windows. Agatha sighed heavily. It would be very comfortable to forget about the James Laceys of this world and give up, become fat and contented, leave the skin creams alone and let the wrinkles happen. She would not go to Mary's. She would be sensible.

But there would be no harm in getting the bicycle out and taking some exercise.

Mary Fortune stood surveying her guests on Friday. She had a plentiful supply of drinks of all kinds and had cooked hot little savouries to go with them. But people weren't staying, and an awful lot of them had looked around and asked, 'Where's Mrs Raisin?' And Mary had replied sweetly that as Mrs Raisin was expecting a guest at the weekend, she was staying at home to make preparations. Jimmy Page, the farmer, said he thought he had seen Agatha heading for the Red Lion, and an irritating woman, Mrs Toms, said, 'Might just drop down there and thank her for that present,' and Mary began to feel that some of the departing guests were following suit. As a further irritation, James no longer looked at her with that glowing, shy sort of look but fidgeted about. Normally he would have kept at her side and then stayed behind to help her clear up. Mary was puzzled. From what she had seen of her, Agatha Raisin was a stocky, plain, middle-aged woman who had had a charm bypass, so James could not possibly have transferred his attentions to her. But it was almost as if this Agatha Raisin belonged to the villagers and the village, and she, Mary did not. And, sure enough, James did not stay.

Agatha waited the next morning at Moreton-in-Marsh station for the arrival of Roy Silver. She wished in a way he were not coming, perhaps because Roy with his waspish camp manner did not fit into the comfortable ways of Carsely. But James Lacey could find nothing, well, romantic in the fact that Agatha had a man staying for the weekend. Roy was far too young, still in his twenties.

When Roy came sailing off the train dressed in black denim and talking into a mobile phone, Agatha's heart sank. Roy, satisfied at last that the few people on the station platform had noticed the young executive at work, rang off and approached Agatha.

'What have you been doing to yourself?' he asked by way of greeting. ''O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt...' Shakespeare, Aggie. Got a word for everything.'

'Taught you well in the reform school?' rejoined Agatha, who hated literary quotations.

'Honestly, darling,' went on Roy cheerfully, 'not like you to go to seed.'

'I put on a bit on my holidays,' said Agatha, 'but I'll soon take it off.'

'Go on a diet. I'll join you,' said Roy eagerly. 'The fruit diet's the thing. Eat nothing but fruit for three days, and I am here for three days.'

'Don't you have to be at work on Monday?'

'Got an extra day owing to me and I've got a proposition to put to you.'

'Oh, Roy, I didn't know you cared. Put that case of yours with the Costa del Sol labels in the back,' snapped Agatha, 'and let's get a move on.'

'Righty-ho. Tell you about it when we get to your place,'

Roy chattered along about the fruit diet, which he seemed determined they should both go on. Agatha drove steadily up through Bourton-on-the-Hill, noticing gloomily that there were still houses for sale, a sign that the recession was not disappearing as fast as the politicians wanted the public to think. She then turned down the long winding road which led to Carsely. There had been a heavy frost that morning, which had not yet melted. White trees leaned over the road and the whole countryside seemed still and frozen into immobility.

'Are you sure you want to go ahead with this diet?' she asked when she had ushered him into the cottage. 'I've got lots of goodies for the weekend, and I'm a fair cook.'

'Let's do it, Aggie. Just think how slim you'll look.'

And Agatha thought of Mary Fortune and heaved a little sigh. 'All right, Roy. Fruit it is.'

She said a longing mental goodbye to the lunch of grilled steak and baked potatoes she had planned. That wasn't fattening, she thought, forgetting about all the sour cream and fresh butter she was going to put on the potatoes.

'Like to go along to the pub for a drink?' she asked hopefully. On Saturdays the bar of the Red Lion was covered in little dishes of cheese nibbles and pickled onions.

'Can't have alcohol or coffee,' said Roy cheerfully. 'We'd better go out and get some fruit.'

'I have fruit,' said Agatha, pointing to a full bowl of apples and oranges.

'Not enough, sweetie. Must get more.'

As they approached her car parked outside in the lane, Agatha was tempted to tell Roy to forget about such a ridiculous diet. But Mary's car drew up outside James Lacey's and Mary got out wearing her favourite green. Mary