from Ancombe are getting first priority.'
'I hope this won't mean bad publicity.'
'I think it will mean some violence and I hope the police can control it. You see, most of these protesters come from the towns and they do not seem to understand country life. I am talking about the genuine protesters, usually serious and mild-mannered people. But they often find their protests are hijacked by thugs looking for a punch-up.'
'I'd better be there,' said Agatha.
'Do be careful.'
'I will.'
After the vicar's wife had left, Agatha sat down to bring her expenses for the water company up-to-date, knowing of old the horror of leaving expense accounts to the last minute. Then she opened her handbag and took out the bill from the French restaurant. She neatly typed into her computer, 'To entertaining Mr Guy Freemont, ninety-two pounds, plus ten pounds gratuity,' and grinned as she ran it off on the printer.
Guy Freemont and his brother were sitting discussing business two days later when their accountant, James Briggs, came in.
'Yes, Briggs, what is it?' asked Peter.
'There is an item on Mrs Raisin's expense account I thought you might like to consider?'
'What's up with the old bat?' demanded Peter. 'Charging us for clothes or make-up, or what?'
'It's this.' James Briggs placed a list of figures in front of the two brothers. 'Everything seems in order except that I find it odd that she has put in an expensive restaurant bill for entertaining Mr Guy Freemont.'
Peter tapped it. 'What's this, Guy?'
'I did invite her out for dinner, but forgot my wallet.'
'Again? Let it go this time, Briggs.' When the accountant had left, Peter said wrafh-fully, 'She's a good PR. Don't screw her around until we get this water safely launched.'
'I forgot my wallet,' said Guy. 'That's all.'
Agatha had learned that the protest was to take place at eleven o'clock on Saturday morning. She was there in good time. Other people were gathered around. Mary Owen came straight up to Agatha. 'You're not going to get away with this,' she snarled.
'Oh, sod off,' said Agatha. 'Is this protest your idea?'
'No, but it goes to show that people all over Britain are not going to sit back and see the life of the country ruined.'
Agatha shrugged and moved away, only to bump into Bill Allen. 'You'd better be careful,' he said in his odd, strangled Savoyard voice. 'You have stirred up deep feelings.'
'Are you threatening me?'
'Just a warning, Mrs Raisin.'
A silence fell on the crowd as eleven o'clock came and went. Agatha suddenly saw James's tall figure at the edge of the crowd. She longed to join him but was frightened of being snubbed. And yet he had phoned her. She was just edging her way towards him when someone shouted, 'Here they come!'
A small procession was heading towards the spring. At the front were gentle-faced middle-aged people, but behind them came burly young men with tattoos, camouflage jackets, earrings, and trouble written all over them. Five policemen were standing in front of the spring.
The onlookers cleared a way for them. A woman with a face like that of a worried sheep turned to face the crowd and took out a sheaf of papers.
'We are here,' she said in a wavering voice, 'to protest against the commercialization of this spring. Our village life must be protected.'
'Where do you live?' shouted Agatha.
The woman blinked, opened and shut her mouth, then held on to her notes more firmly and went on. 'As I was saying, we must protect--'
'Where do you live?' demanded Agatha again.
'Shut your face!' shouted one of the tattooed young men.
'No, I will not shut up,' yelled Agatha. 'Does this woman know anything about village life? Or did you all come from Birmingham or London to make trouble?'
The tattooed man began to work his way towards Agatha. He had thick lips and a beetling brow. Agatha wondered whether to flee. But the police were there. And James--James, who had miraculously appeared at her side.
'I think she should answer the question,' came Jane Cutler's voice. 'These protesters look as if they come from the slums of Birmingham. They are strangers to the country, and to the bath, from the smell of them.'
'That's torn it,' muttered James.
The truculent young man had reached Agatha. 'You shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you.'
James moved in front of Agatha. 'You'll get nowhere with your protest uttering threats.'
In time, James saw the bulletlike head moving forward to head-butt him and jumped to one side. Several women screamed. The police moved forward.
A scrawny woman wearing, of all things, a flak jacket, grabbed hold of Jane Cutler and pulled her hair. Jane screamed like a banshee. The police wrestled the woman to the ground. Sirens sounded in the distance as police reinforcements began to arrive.
Agatha's would-be assailant was trying to land a punch on James. James was dodging and weaving, knowing that these days if he landed a punch on the man himself, he could well end up in court for assault.
The spokeswoman for the demonstrators was now crying helplessly. Agatha saw Mrs Bloxby go up to her, say a few words and then begin to lead the weeping woman away.
Police swept into the crowd. They grabbed the young man who had been trying to hit James and carried him off. 'Pigs!' he was screaming.
And as he was dragged backwards, his burning eyes looked straight at Agatha and he shouted, 'I'll fix you.'
'Come along,' said James, taking Agatha's arm. 'We need a drink.'
'Where? Here? In the village?'
'No, let's go back to Carsely.'
The Red Lion was quiet and they found a table in a corner next to the log fire which had been lit, for the day was cold.
'Bill Wong told me you had better success with Jane Cutler than I had.'
'So he told you?'
'Why not? I hope we are not going to work against each other.'
'I don't think I'm going to be working on this at all,' said Agatha. 'I've got to go up to London next week. Got a lot of journalists to see.'
'Oh, so I'm on my own?'
'For the moment. It certainly looks that way.' Agatha wondered what on earth had prompted her to say such a thing. Had she kept her mouth shut, they could have gone on discussing the case.
'I'll see what I can do,' said James. He looked at her thoughtfully. 'Just a friendly word of advice, Agatha. Don't take this the wrong way.'
Now, Agatha knew as well as anybody that when someone says, 'Don't take this the wrong way,' the best thing to do is to stop them saying anything, but something inside her seemed to have pressed the 'destruct' button that morning, so she said, 'Go on.'
'I think you are making a spectacle of yourself with that young man from the water company. This new taste in young men is a bit sad. There was Charles in Cyprus and now this one. It doesn't matter if the man is wealthy; toy boy is the label stuck on him if he consorts with a woman as old as you.'
Agatha's face had turned a muddy colour with hurt.
She stood up, knocking her chair backwards as she did so. 'Damn you,' she said in a choked voice.
