democratic up in the Highlands, and - '
'Oh, spare us tales of Brigadoon,' said Jessica. 'We all know you come from Glasgow and probably some slum at that.'
'You bitch!' shouted Kelvin. 'Go yoursel'. I'm sick o' you.' He stormed out. There was an uneasy silence.
Mary Trapp stood up on her large feet. 'You know, Jessica,' she said, 'no one appointed you leaderene of this group or whatever. If you're determined to make trouble, I'm not going.' And to Jessica's dismay, there was a murmur of assent.
Jessica went into her favourite speech on equality and feminism, quotes from Marx and Simone de Beauvoir. Her eyes flashed. She looked magnificent, but she was heard out in a stony silence.
'All right,' she finished, glaring around at them. 'I'm going. And I'm going to walk right across that field!'
Agatha Raisin waved goodbye to Roy with a feeling of relief, glad that she had ordered him a taxi and that she did not have to drive him to the station. She was sick of the sight of him. She had been enjoying a pleasant chat with James on the Sunday evening and Roy had sidled into the pub, smiling ingratiatingly all round, and then had monopolized her, telling her how much Pedmans wanted her back while James's attention had been claimed by other villagers. Agatha fervently hoped she would never see him again.
She felt quite stiff and sore after her ramble but was convinced that her skirt was a tiny bit looser around the waist. She resolved to diet, or rather, instead of going on a formal diet, to eat fewer calories.
Then, to get closer to James again - although she would not even admit to herself that that was her motive - she decided to get really involved with the Carsely Ramblers. They needed to be organized, have meetings, stick up posters announcing their forthcoming rambles, and so on. There was no need for them to confine their walks to around the village. They could use their cars to go farther afield, have a meeting-point at some pleasant country pub, and start walking from there.
Agatha drove down to the second-hand bookshop in Moreton and found an old book on various rights of way. Then, fired with enthusiasm, she returned to the village and knocked boldly on James's door.
'Oh, Agatha,' was the unwelcoming greeting. 'I was just getting a good run on my book. But come in.'
Agatha felt she should really say something like, 'Oh, well, in that case, I'll come back later,' but she had been away so long and James had been writing that wretched piece of military history for so long that she was sure a short interruption would not matter.
'I had some ideas for the Carsely Ramblers,' said Agatha eagerly as he stood back to let her in.
'Such as?' he asked, switching off his computer. 'Coffee?'
'Yes, please.' She followed him into the kitchen.
'I thought,' said Agatha, 'that we might get a bit more organized. You know, maybe take our cars and go somewhere farther afield and start from there.'
'I suppose we could do that,' he said on a sigh. 'As a matter of fact, Agatha, I was thinking of dropping the whole thing.'
'Why?'
'I'm not really the organizing type.'
'I can do all that for you. All you have to do is show up.'
'Do you take milk and sugar?'
'Black, no sugar,' said Agatha, thinking he might at least have remembered how she liked her coffee.
They carried their mugs through to the book-lined living-room. She lit a cigarette and looked round for an ashtray. He rose and went back to the kitchen and returned with an old saucer which he put down next to her. Why was it non-smokers always made one feel so guilty? thought Agatha. Hardly anyone had an ashtray in the house any more.
The smoke from her cigarette rose to the beamed ceiling and hung there. James's eyes followed it as if measuring pollution.
'So what had you in mind?' asked James. A car slowed down in the lane outside. He looked hopefully towards the window, as if longing for some interruption.
'Like I said, we could go farther away for our rambles and maybe I could work out some posters and put one up in Harvey's and one on the church notice board. We get a few tourists and they might like to come along. Then I thought we should have membership cards and charge a fee.'
'I don't know about a fee,' said James. 'I mean, what would the fee be for? Landowners don't charge the public for using rights of way. That,' he added pedantically, 'is why they are called rights of way'
'A fee would pay for membership cards. People like having membership cards.'
'I don't. Look, Agatha, I really should get on. Why don't you go ahead and see what you can organize and then let me know about it?'
Agatha looked pointedly down into her coffee-cup as if indicating that she had had hardly time to drink any, but then she put the cup down and made her way to the door. James walked after her, switching on the computer again on the way.
Well, that's that, thought Agatha gloomily, letting herself into her own cottage. Sod ramblers. A car drew up behind her and she turned round to see Detective Sergeant Bill Wong smiling at her from the driving seat.
'Welcome back,' he cried, getting out, his features creased in a smile.
'Come in,' cried Agatha. 'We'll have coffee and you can tell me all about crime. I've just been to James's but got turfed out after about two minutes.'
'Oh, is that still going on?'
'Is what still going on?'
'Your deathless love for James Lacey.'
'Don't be silly. I used to have a little crush on him, but that's long gone.' Agatha walked into the kitchen and put on the kettle. 'We have a rambling group in Carsely now. James was running it. All I suggested was that it could do with a bit more organization.'
'Not one of those militant groups, Agatha?'
'No, no. Quiet little walks, but maybe better publicized and with membership cards and things like that.'
'I'm sure you'll do it. So how was London?'
'Dire.'
'No fun being back in harness?'
'None at all. Glad to be home. The reason I got so interested in the rambling thing is I badly need to lose weight.'
'Don't we all,' said Bill mournfully, looking down at his own chubby figure.
'So how's crime?'
'Quiet since you left. Usual wife beatings, drunks on a Saturday night, burglary, stolen cars and general mayhem. A few murders but nothing exotic.' He looked at her with affection. 'You're longing to play detective again, Agatha. Don't. Take my advice and stick to rambling. Nice quiet pursuit. Rambling never leads to murder!'
Three
Jessica sat moodily on the end of the bed on Monday evening and said to her lover, Jeffrey Benson, who was propped up against the pillows, 'I don't know what came over that little twit, Deborah. Or the rest of you, for that matter.'
Jeffrey scratched his hairy chest. 'Come on, Jessica. I'm all for fighting nasty landowners, but when one of the breed is civil enough to send us a decent letter and issue an invitation to tea, then I'm prepared to meet him halfway. And if you plan on clumping over his precious field, then you can bloody well go alone.'
'I didn't think you would let me down like this, after all we've been to each other.'
'Don't use emotional blackmail on me, Jessica. You were the one who said that all we had going for each other was sex. The trouble with you feminists is that your idea of equality is to adopt the nastier characteristics of the men you despise. Maybe I should take up with Deborah. She's showing some good old-fashioned female characteristics.'
