sitting in the hairdresser’s. As she was paying for her hair-style, she saw a framed certificate behind the desk. So Mr. John’s second name was Shawpart.
She went along to the post office and asked for a phone book and found only one Shawpart. She took a note of the number in Cheltenham Road and, swinging round into the traffic, headed in that direction. As she crossed the bridge over the river Avon, she noticed the water was greenish black and very still under a lowering sky.
Up the hill, past the garage, past the hospital and along in the direction of the by-pass she went, until she found Mr. John’s house, a fairly large modern villa. She parked outside and walked up the short path and rang the doorbell.
There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of the traffic humming past her on the road behind her. The sky above was growing even darker. Then she faintly heard the sound of shuffling footsteps, like those of a very old man.
She suddenly wished she had not come. The door swung open on the chain.
“Oh, it’s you,” said Mr. John’s voice. “Come in.”
He unlatched the chain and stood back. The hallway was in darkness. He led the way into a sitting-room and switched on a lamp and turned around.
Agatha let out an exclamation. His face was black with bruises.
“What on earth happened to you?” she asked. “Car accident?”
“Yes, last night. Some drunken youth ran into me and I hit the windscreen.”
“Didn’t you have an air bag? Or didn’t you have your seat-belt on?”
“I don’t have one of those models with an air bag. I’d just started to drive off, so I didn’t have a seat-belt on.”
“What did the police say?”
“I didn’t bother reporting it. I mean, what could they do? I didn’t get the number of the other car.”
“But you have to report it to the police! The insurance-”
“Oh, just leave it. I don’t want to talk about it. What do you want?”
Agatha had planned to be flirtatious, but confronted with his black-and-blue face, she did not quite know how to begin.
“I heard you were ill,” she began, “and was concerned about you.”
“That was nice of you.” He rallied himself with an effort. “Can I offer you something? Tea? Something stronger?”
“No, don’t trouble. How long have you lived here?”
“Why?”
Agatha blinked. “Just wondered. “Here.” She fumbled in her handbag. “Just a silly little present I got you.” She handed him the Asprey’s box.
He opened it and stared down at the heavy gold cufflinks nestling in their little bed of velvet.
Suddenly his face and manner were transformed. “How beautiful. And how very, very generous. I don’t know what to say.”
He came across to her and bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “Now, we really must have a drink to celebrate. No, we must. I insist.”
He went out and returned after a few moments carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses. He expertly popped the cork, filled the glasses and handed one to Agatha.
Agatha raised her glass. “Here’s to friendship,” she said.
“Oh, I’ll drink to that. I do need a friend.” His voice had a ring of sincerity for the first time. I wonder if I’ve been mistaken about him, thought Agatha.
He sat down and held his tulip glass in one slender hand. “You were asking how long I had lived here? About a year. I had been working in Portsmouth and I wanted a change of scene. I saw in the Hairdresser’s Journal that this business in Evesham was going for sale. When I first came to Evesham, I looked the place over. It seemed neither go-ahead, nor sophisticated. But there was something about the sheer laziness of the place which got to me. And I knew there were a lot of rich people in the surrounding villages. Well, the business took off almost from the beginning. Although I am thinking of moving on. I get restless after I’ve been in the same place for a bit.”
Agatha glanced around her at the heavy furniture and the dark wallpaper decorated with uninspiring scenes of the Cots-wolds, those sort of scenes, peculiarly lifeless, painted by local artists as if they had meticulously copied photographs.
“Did you take this place furnished?”
“Yes, I rent it. Not my taste. So how’s your muddled love life, Agatha?”
She manufactured a world-weary shrug. “That scene Charles threw was the last straw. I’m weary of James.” She looked down at the floor and wished she could blush to order. “I kept thinking about you, instead.”
“I’ve been thinking about you as well,” he said. “We could make a great team.”
She looked at him in surprise.
He put his glass down and leaned forward. “You wondered why I didn’t move to London. Well, I’ve been thinking about it. One of my customers told me about how successful you were at organizing things and about your public relations job. Oh, I know you told me, but it was only I thought of it later. I’ve enough money put by to take a lease on a place in the centre of town, Knightsbridge, Sloane Street, somewhere near Harrods. With my hairdressing skills and your public relations skills, I could be another Vidal Sassoon.”
If only I could believe he was not a blackmailer, thought Agatha quickly. But string him along anyway.
“Do you know, that could be very exciting. I miss London. And it would get me out of the mess I’ve made for myself down here. When do we start?”
“It’ll take some time to wind things up in Evesham. We could think about starting next year.”
He can’t have thought that tape recorder meant anything. Agatha stood up. “I really must be going. I’m sorry about your accident. When are you back at work?”
“Couple of days.”
“I’ll make an appointment when I know you’re going to be there.”
He surveyed her. “Garry did that to you, didn’t he?” She nodded. “You see, that’s the trouble. It’s so hard to get assistants with any flair. Good hairdressers are born, not made.”
He walked with her to the door. “When you come in for that appointment, we’ll fix up a date for dinner.” He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “We’re going to be a great partnership. I’m good at raising money, so funds won’t be any problem.”
“I’ve got some money of my own. I could help you.”
He swept her into his arms and kissed her passionately. “What did I ever do before I met you,” he said huskily.
Well, well, well, thought Agatha shakily as she made her way to her car. Perhaps I really was mistaken in him. He is rather a dish.
She decided to drive into Evesham and buy some groceries in case Charles wanted to come to dinner. She was tired of eating out. The villa was on the corner of a side road.
She drove round into the side road to make a three-point turn and so drive back into town. It was then she noticed Mr. John’s car at the side of the house, gleaming, unmarked.
Surely he could not have got it repaired in time. Did some jealous husband beat him up? Someone he had been blackmailing?
But that kiss still burned on Agatha’s lips and she found she was becoming inclined to think that there was nothing wrong with him, except perhaps that he was a bit of a philanderer.
As she drove back into town and to Tesco’s supermarket, she began to feel the first surge of excitement about his idea of starting a salon in London. She was a shrewd enough businesswoman to make certain it prospered. He certainly was talented, more talented than London hairdressers Agatha had gone to. She had only said that bit about putting her money into his business to get him on the hook and allay his suspicions that she was on to him.
But what if he was genuine? She could get out of Carsely and back into an exciting, busy life. James would return and found her gone. With work to do, she would not have time to think of him.
She wandered around the supermarket wondering what to get for dinner. Then she reflected it was silly to waste money on expensive food for Charles, who would probably prefer sausage, egg and chips to anything
