Sir Charles was sitting up in bed at the end of a long ward. His head was bandaged and he looked very white. But he gave a wan smile when he saw them. 'Nice to see my saviours,' he said. 'Isn't it odd that if Deborah hadn't called you in, I'd probably be dead?'
'Very odd,' said James, depositing a bag of grapes on the bedside table. 'Why aren't you in a private room?'
'Why pay out money when I've been paying taxes all these years?'
James decided in that moment that Charles would not think of giving them any money at all unless they asked for it, so he said, 'You'll be getting our bill. Sorry, but it's going to be a bit steep. You see, in our race to rescue you, we damaged some of your neighbour's crops.'
'It's all right,' said Sir Charles. 'Just send it in. The land agent will see to settling it.'
'How are you feeling?' asked Agatha.
'I'm feeling more silly and stupid than anything,' said Sir Charles. 'Absolutely shiters, in fact.Gustav told me Deborah was creepy. She must have been totally deranged and I never even guessed it. Then my aunt said she was common and that put my back up. I don't like snobbery.'
'And yet in a way, it was Deborah's snobbery and ambition that drove her to murder,' said James.
'What's that supposed to mean?' Sir Charles peered in the bag and plucked off a grape from the bunch and began to eat it.
'Only that Deborah was determined to be Lady Fraith and run Barfield House,' explained James.
Sir Charles looked puzzled. 'But it's a nasty building, hardly an architectural gem, more like a glorified farm in a way. Still, it's rather lowering to think it wasn't my delicious body she was after. God, I was stupid. Took her to bed, you know. Awful. Like necrophilia.'
James had a sudden vivid memory of a fiery and passionate Agatha and blushed dark red.
'Sorry,' said Sir Charles, mistaking the reason for the blush. 'Always was a bit coarse.' He leaned back and closed his eyes.
'Get better soon,' said James.
'I will,' he said faintly. 'As soon as I can get up, I'm off to the south of France for a holiday.'
Agatha and James packed up and returned to Carsely that evening, James to his cottage, Agatha to hers. Agatha busied herself with household chores, fed the cats, watered the garden, and then went to the Red Lion, trying not to hope that James would be there. But there were only the locals, who talked to her with the sort of half-smiles which told Agatha that she and James going off together had been much discussed and that whatever Mrs Bloxby had said about them had fallen on deaf ears.
So I've got the reputation of being a fallen woman with none of the pleasure, thought Agatha, and was relieved to escape after a pub meal and get home and go to bed. Before she slipped her nightgown over her head, she stared in the mirror at a naked body which seemed to be slipping back into a sort of spinsterhood, which looked already to her jaundiced eyes as if it had never, ever been made love to.
She took a long time to get to sleep and awoke to find the sun high in the sky and the sound of her doorbell jangling through the house.
She put on her housecoat and ran to answer it, blinking up at the tall figure of James.
'I've got something I want to ask you, Agatha,' he said seriously. And then a voice from a car in the road called, 'Coo-ee!'
Agatha peered round him and saw getting out of a little red car her former secretary, Bunty.
'Hi!' said Bunty, walking up to join them. 'I was in the area and thought I'd pop in to say hello.'
'Come in,' said Agatha wearily to both James and Bunty. She led them into her sitting-room. 'I'll go and get coffee,' she said.
When she carried in a tray of coffee mugs, Bunty and James were laughing about something, Bunty's fresh young face glowing with health.
All at once Agatha felt so depressed, she thought she would be sick.
She could not bear to sit and watch James being charmed by this young girl, could not bear to have any more evidence that what she had experienced with him was simply a drunken one-night stand.
'I'm awfully sorry,' said Agatha, putting down the tray of coffee very carefully on the table, 'but I am feeling unwell. I'm sorry, Bunty, but I have got to go and lie down.'
'Can I get the doctor?' asked James, alarmed.
'No,' said Agatha. 'Entertain Bunty for me, would you, James?'
Agatha trailed back to her bedroom, threw her housecoat across the room and crawled back into bed and drew the duvet up over her ears. She was so depressed, she felt she hurt all over. She was nothing but a silly, middle-aged woman.
She dimly heard the door downstairs slam and a car driving off. They had gone. Maybe they had gone off together for a happy lunch in a pub. Maybe Bunty would ask her to their wedding.
A hand shaking her shoulder made her twist round and stare up.
'Agatha,' said James gently. 'What's the matter?'
With a great effort, Agatha forced herself to say, 'Just a headache, James. If I lie quietly for a bit, I'll be all right.'
'Would you like me to bring you some aspirin?'
'No, no. I'll be fine.'
He stroked her forehead. 'Poor thing. I'll leave you in peace.'
'What was it you wanted to talk to me about?' asked Agatha. 'The bill for Sir Charles?'
'Oh, that. No.' He gave a little laugh. 'Of all the times to pick. I actually came round to ask you to marry me, but you'd better get over your headache first before you even think about it.'
He turned to walk away.
Agatha sat bolt upright. 'Are you joking? What was that about marriage? I mean,
He came back and sat down on the edge of the bed. 'I know you probably like your independence. It hit me last night. We get on very well. The fact is, it all seemed a bit lonely without you. Agatha! What are you doing, Agatha?'
She had started to unbutton his shirt.
'Agatha, what about your headache?'
'What headache?' asked Agatha as she pulled him down on top of her.
An hour later, James said dreamily, 'I don't know why, but I seem to remember your telling me that you had walked out on your husband but not divorced him.'
Agatha felt a stab of cold fear in her stomach. It had all been so long ago. The last time she had seen Jimmy Raisin had been over thirty years ago, when she left him as he lay in a drunken stupor. He was bound to be dead by now.
She forced herself to laugh. 'No, you're mistaken,' she said. 'Jimmy died of drink ages ago.'
'So whose house shall we live in?' he asked. 'They're both the same size.'
'Yours, I think,' said Agatha, promptly forgetting about Jimmy. 'You're the one with the most possessions. All those books.'
'Did you hear about Mrs Mason?'
'Oh, her,' snorted Agatha. 'The cheek of it, telling Deborah I was a phony. What about her?'
'She's devastated about her niece. She's moved off to live with her sister, not Mrs Camden, another one in Wales, and she's putting her house up for sale. It looks as if the Carsely Ladies' Society will be looking for a new chairwoman. Interested?'
'No,' said Agatha lazily. 'My managing days are over.'
'So,' said Mrs Bloxby happily two days later, 'I am delighted that you and James are getting married in our church. It will be quite an event for the village. But I was saying to Alf the other day that for some reason I thought you were separated from your husband, not divorced.' Alf Bloxby was the vicar.
Again, that stab of fear in Agatha's stomach, but she decided to ignore it and said, 'Jimmy's been dead for years.' Then she began to worry. Would the vicar expect to see the death certificate? She would need to try to find out what had happened to Jimmy. The wedding was set in three months' time. She and James were seeing an estate agent that very afternoon to put Agatha's cottage on the market. She had come such a long way from the
