She beamed around the audience and was greeted with a roar of applause.
When the vote was taken, the villagers were overwhelmingly in favour of the water company. Many of the villagers belonged to the group of incomers that Andy Stiggs had so despised.
Agatha found her hand being shaken warmly by the councillors who were in favour of the water company-- Mrs Jane Cutler, Mr Fred Shaw and Miss Angela Buckley. Angela Buckley, a strapping woman, gave Agatha such a congratulatory thump between the shoulder-blades that she nearly sent her flying off the platform.
'Mission accomplished,' whispered Guy in Agatha's ear. 'Let's get out of here.'
Outside the hall, Guy put his arms around Agatha. 'You were marvellous,' he said. He gave her a kiss full on the mouth. Agatha drew back and stared at him. He was so incredibly handsome and she had felt a definite buzz when he kissed her. She gave a sad little sigh. She had never liked the idea of a toy boy. Better to grow old gracefully.
'What did you write on that note to get the old bore off the platform?' asked Guy.
'I told him his fly was open.'
'Attagirl. Let's have a drink.'
Agatha was suddenly reluctant to take him home. 'Let's go to my local,' she said.
The Red Lion was crowded. The first person Agatha saw was James Lacey, standing at the bar. Agatha looked at his tall, rangy figure, his black hair going grey and handsome face, and felt a lurch in the pit of her stomach. A couple were just vacating a table over at the window, well away from the bar. 'Let's sit over there,' said Agatha quickly.
'I'll get you something,' said Guy. 'What'll it be? I know. Let's see if they have any champagne.'
Agatha was about to protest, to say that she would be happy with a gin and tonic but she saw James staring across at her and smiled up at Guy and said, 'How lovely!'
Guy returned to the table and within a short time the landlord, John Fletcher, came over, carrying the bottle in an ice bucket. The pop of the cork was a festive sound. Several locals stopped by the table to congratulate Agatha on her speech at the village hall. James was left with the company of Mrs Darry.
Agatha could not possibly be interested in that young man, he thought sourly. She was making a fool of herself, sitting there drinking champagne and flirting. She should remember her age! He desperately wanted to talk to her about the murder but did not know how to break the ice that he himself had caused to form.
He talked as civilly as he could to Mrs Darry and then abruptly left the pub.
An hour later, he heard a car drive up and stop outside Agatha's cottage. He rushed to the little upstairs window on the landing which overlooked Agatha's cottage. Agatha opened the car door. Guy Freemont was at the wheel. He could see that clearly because the light sprang on inside the car when Agatha opened the door. Guy put his hand on Agatha's arm and said something. He saw Agatha smile and say something in reply. Then she went into her cottage and Guy drove off. At least he hadn't gone in with her.
He waited the next day expecting Agatha to call him, to suggest they investigate the murder together, but nobody called at all. He went out and bought all the newspapers. The locals had given the meeting a good show and there was even a photo of Agatha on the front page of the
James began to feel restless and bored. He decided to investigate the murder himself.
After several tries, he managed to get Bill Wong on the phone, and finding he was off duty that evening, offered to buy him dinner. Bill agreed. His beloved Sharon had said she had to wash her hair.
James had chosen a Chinese restaurant, recently opened. The restaurant was quiet and the food good.
'I'm fascinated by this murder,' said James. 'Any idea who did it?'
'We're ferreting into backgrounds at the moment, and checking up on movements. You would think that somebody might have seen that body dumped at the spring, heard a car or something, but so far we've drawn a blank. It's funny, you sitting there being interested in a case. It would be quite like old times, except that you haven't got Agatha with you.'
'I assume she's too busy with her new job,' said James flatly.
'Is that what she said?'
'I don't know. I haven't spoken to her.'
'Why?'
'I really don't want to discuss Agatha. Do you think one of the members of the parish council might have done it?'
'They're all too respectable,' mourned Bill. 'Still, you never know. It's amazing what you find out about people once you start digging into their past. I can't really tell you what we've got so far because it's all confidential. If you want to know anything, you'll need to ferret around yourself, provided you don't get under the feet of the police.'
'I don't trust that water company,' said James. 'I don't like that younger one, Guy Freemont.'
Bill's eyes crinkled up in a smile. 'No, you wouldn't, would you?'
'Don't be ridiculous. I'm not jealous.'
'If you say so.'
'So who are they? Where did these Freemont brothers come from?'
'They had an import-export business in Hong Kong.'
'Oh, yeah? Drugs?'
'No, clothes. Cheap clothes going out and more expensive clothes for the rich coming in.'
'I bet they ran sweatshops.'
'Sure you're not jealous? So far we can find out nothing against them. They made their pile in Hong Kong, all legit, and came back to Britain recently, just before the Chinese take-over. But we're still investigating.'
'Why water? Why Ancombe?'
'Mr Peter Freemont said he happened to notice the spring during a weekend in the Cotswolds and thought a mineral-water company might be a good idea.'
'So they bump someone off who might have stopped their plans?'
'It's hardly a good advertisement.'
'It got the name Ancombe Water in all the papers.'
'So it did. But, like I said, hardly a good advertisement. Anyone buying the water will remember the body was found lying with the head in the basin, and our Agatha's vivid description in the newspapers of the blood swirling around in the moonlight. I think you can forget them. Why don't you ask Agatha? She must have got to know them pretty well.'
'I told you. For once in her life, Agatha seems too busy to concentrate on murder.'
While Bill and James were dining, Agatha was having a pleasant dinner with Guy Freemont. He encouraged her to talk about herself, flattered her ability in public relations and then asked her what a 'city girl' like herself was doing buried in the Cotswolds.
'I sometimes wonder,' said Agatha ruefully. 'But you get used to the safe life, the sleepy life, and it's so beautiful, particularly at this time of year. It's beautiful everywhere you look. Have you seen that purple wisteria in Broadway? The blooms are so magnificent. It's a wonder it doesn't cause accidents, with so many drivers putting on their brakes to have a better look.'
'But don't you miss the excitement of London?'
'London has changed so rapidly. Last time I was up, I had a meal in a restaurant in Goodge Street and decided afterwards to walk down Tottenham Court Road to get the tube for the Central Line. There were beggars and drug addicts all the way along and shapeless bundles of clothes huddled in doorways. When I got off the tube at Notting Hill to change on to the Circle Line for Paddington, a man, drunk as a skunk, tried to throw himself under the next train. This big burly man snatched him back in the nick of time and marched him up the escalators to the ticket collector. At the top, the would-be suicide wrenched free, vaulted the turnstile and vanished into the night. His rescuer said to the ticket collector, 'That man just tried to throw himself in front of the train!' The ticket collector shrugged and looked bored. Didn't do anything about it. I was glad to get back down here. I don't belong in London any more. It can be a lonely place.'
