Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

'You drive to Norfolk and something will guide you.'

She fell silent.

'Anything else?'

'You must not stay in Wyckhadden. Forget what brought you here and go home.'

'What? Not to Norfolk?'

'You will go there eventually. I cannot see any more.'

I must stop wasting money, Agatha chided herself. She walked out into the sunshine.

And there she saw Harry Berry, leaning on the rail of the pier watching some anglers.

Agatha went up to him. 'Hullo, Harry.'

He turned round. 'Oh, it's you,' he said. 'What brings you back?'

'I was at a loose end. I thought I would look up Jimmy Jessop.'

Harry eyes shone briefly with amusement.

'The hotel seems to be doing well,' said Agatha.

'It's not the same place. First, we were full of press, then ghouls wanting to see the room where Daisy fell from the window, then word got around about the meals being sumptious, and all sorts of tourists started coming.'

'How are Jennifer and Mary?'

'Fine, but we're all thinking of moving somewhere quieter.'

'Was it a great shock to learn that Daisy was a murderess?'

Harry turned back and stared down at the water. 'Not really.'

'What! Never tell me you knew all along.'

'It was just a feeling,' said Harry. 'The colonel often said he thought it was Daisy.'

'What! I thought none of you ever talked about the murder.'

'Well, we did, when you weren't around.'

So much for feeling part of the group, thought Agatha bitterly. 'Why was I such an outsider that nothing was mentioned to me?'

'We thought you might make a fuss, and we don't like fuss.'

'So why didn't you go to the police?'

'Why? We could've been wrong and Daisy was one of us.'

Agatha looked at him. 'That snow-woman,' she said slowly. 'You tried to make it as much like Francie as possible in the hope that Daisy might betray herself.'

'Could have been something like that. It's over now, Poor Daisy.'

'Poor Daisy. She murdered two women.'

'They were murderees. If it hadn't been Daisy it would have been someone else.'

'See you later.' Agatha turned and walked away. Charles had been right. They were mad.

She decided to go to that pub and see if Jimmy turned up. She was perfectly sure he had not been out on a case. The desk sergeant was simply trying to keep her away from him.

She waited in the pub for an hour but there was no sign of Jimmy. She went back to the hotel and got her car and drove to the police station and waited outside. Wyckhadden seemed to have returned to being a relatively crime-free zone. Hardly anyone came or went. The day wore on. She had made an early start and was beginning to feel sleepy.

Then she saw his tall figure emerging from the police station. She fumbled for the door handle of the car, wrenched open the door and called, 'Jimmy!'

He turned and saw her and that old familiar glad smile lit up his face. He still loves me, thought Agatha. Thank God. She hurried towards him.

'This is a surprise,' he said. 'What brings you back?'

'I felt so badly about the way I treated you. I wanted to see you again.'

'Let's go for a drink,' said Jimmy, tucking her arm in his. 'I've a lot to tell you.'

They walked to a nearby pub. How could I ever have disliked this town, thought Agatha happily. I'll live here with my Jimmy for the rest of my life.

'Your usual, Agatha?' Agatha nodded. It was like old times. Jimmy got her a gin and tonic and a half pint of lager for himself.

'Now tell me what's happening?' asked Agatha. She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror opposite: shining brown hair, well made up, neat linen suit, she felt secure and content.

Jimmy put his hand over hers and looked into her eyes.

'I'm getting married, Agatha, and it's thanks to you.'

Agatha stared at him. Then she looked at the mirror. A tired middle-aged woman looked back.

'It's like this,' said Jimmy eagerly, 'I was shocked rigid at your behavior with that baronet. I thought I'd never look at another woman again. And then Gladwyn walked into the police station.

'Gladwyn Evans.' Jimmy flushed slightly and removed his hand from Agatha's. 'She's a young widow. Only thirty-five. There had been a burglary at her home, and do you know what, she lives practically next door to me, but what with work and the murders, I hadn't had time to notice her. She'd only moved here recently. We got friendly. I found myself telling her all about you.'

Agatha groaned inwardly.

'She was most sympathetic and with her living so near, we began to see a lot of each other and then she began preparing meals for me. I couldn't believe that such a pretty young woman would want to look after me. I didn't dare make a move until she said, just like that, 'Why don't we get married?' It was the talking about you that got us discussing all sorts of intimate things, you see.'

'I'm very happy for you,' said Agatha. 'What about ... er ... the other problem?'

'Impotence? Forget it.' He leaned back in his chair and laughed. 'Gladwyn's pregnant! And I'm a father-to-be. Me, at my age. I feel I've won the lottery. No, better than winning the lottery.'

'Here's to you,' said Agatha faintly, raising her glass.

'Let's go and meet her.'

'What?'

'You would like to meet her, wouldn't you?'

'Yes, that would be very nice,' said Agatha weakly. She wanted to run away, far away.

But she meekly left the pub with Jimmy and they walked back to their cars. 'I forget where you live, Jimmy.'

'Just follow me.'

So Agatha followed his car, although she longed to swing the wheel and head for the Garden, pack up and go home. Wyckhadden now seemed a hostile place, a place full of contemptuous eyes.

Gladwyn was young, yes, but she was probably some sort of housewifely frump with thick glasses and greasy hair. So Agatha consoled herself as she got out of her car and followed Jimmy up his garden path.

The door was opened by a plump, black-haired Welshwoman with smooth white skin and large brown eyes. 'You'll never guess who this is!' cried Jimmy. 'Agatha Raisin!'

A flash of shock followed by a flash of pure hatred flickered in Gladwyn's large eyes and then she smiled, 'Come in.'

Agatha went into Jimmy's transformed bungalow. The walls had been painted in warm pastel colors. There was a sewing machine set up in the living room, a cozy clutter of magazines and books and framed prints on the walls.

'I'll get tea,' said Gladwyn in a lilting voice, 'and leave you to talk.'

'You'll need to see the nursery before you go,' said Jimmy. 'Oh, there's something else. You know that fur coat of yours?'

'Yes.'

'Gladwyn knows this furrier and he did a beautiful job of restoring it. It looks like new. You don't mind?'

'No,' said Agatha who suddenly found she minded like hell.

'Did you find that rolling pin?' asked Agatha.

'Yes, it was indeed buried in the garden.'