to search for a thermostat to jack up the central heating. It was only after a futile search that she realized there were no radiators. She went into the sitting-room. There was a fireplace big enough to roast an ox in. Beside the fireplace there was a basket of logs. There was also a packet of fire-lighters and a pile of old newspapers. She lit the fire. At least the logs were dry and were soon crackling away merrily. Agatha searched through the house again. There were fireplaces in every room except the kitchen. In the kitchen, in a cupboard, she found a Calor gas heater.
This is ridiculous, thought Agatha. I'll need to spend a fortune on heating this place. She went out the front door. The garden still seemed very big. It would need the services of a gardener. The lawn was thick with fallen leaves. It was Saturday. The estate agents' would not be open until Monday.
After she had unpacked her groceries and put all her frozen meals away, she opened the back door. The back garden had a washing green and little else. As she looked, she blinked a little. Odd little coloured lights were dancing around at the bottom of the garden. Fireflies? Not in cold Norfolk. She walked down the garden towards the dancing lights, which abruptly disappeared on her approach.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her it was some time since she had eaten. She decided to lock up and walk down to the pub and see if she could get a meal. She was half-way down the lane when she realized with a groan that she had not unpacked the cats' litter boxes. She returned to the cottage and attended to that chore and then set out again.
The pub was called the Green Dragon. A badly executed painting of a green dragon hung outside the door of the pub. She went in. There were only a few customers, all men, all very small men. They watched her progress to the bar in silence.
It was a silent pub, no music, no fruit machines, no television. There was no one behind the bar. Agatha's stomach gave another rumble. 'Any service here?' she shouted. She turned and looked at the other customers, who promptly all looked at the stone-flagged floor.
She turned impatiently back to the bar. What sort of hell-hole have I arrived in? she thought bitterly. There was the rapid clacking of approaching high heels and then a vision appeared on the other side of the bar. She was a Junoesque blonde like a figurehead on a ship. She had thick blond--real blond--hair, which flowed back from her smooth peaches-and-cream face in soft waves. Her eyes were very wide and very blue.
'How can I help you, missus?' she asked in a soft voice.
'I'm hungry,' said Agatha. 'Got anything to eat?'
'I'm so sorry. We don't do meals.'
'Oh, for heaven's sake,' howled a much exasperated Agatha. 'Is there anywhere in this village that time forgot where I can get food?'
'Reckon as how you're lucky. I got a helping of our own steak pie left. Like some?'
She gave Agatha a dazzling smile. 'Yes, I would,' said Agatha, mollified.
She held up a flap on the bar. 'Come through. You'll be that Mrs. Raisin what's taken Lavender Cottage.'
Agatha followed her into the back premises and into a large dingy kitchen with a scrubbed table in the centre.
'Please be seated, Mrs. Raisin.'
'And you are?'
'I'm Mrs. Wilden. Can I offer you a glass of beer?'
'I wouldn't mind some wine if that isn't asking too much.'
'No, not at all.'
She disappeared and shortly after returned with a decanter of wine and a glass. Then she put a knife, fork and napkin in front of Agatha. She opened the oven door of an Aga cooker and took out a plate with a wedge of steak pie. She put it on a large plate and then opened another door in the cooker and took out a tray of roast potatoes. Another door and out came a dish of carrots, broccoli and peas. She put a huge plateful in front of Agatha, added a steaming jug of gravy, which she seemed to have conjured out of nowhere, and a basket of crusty rolls and a large pat of yellow butter. Not only was the food delicious but the wine was the best Agatha had ever tasted. She could not normally tell one wine from another, but she somehow knew this one was very special, and wished that her baronet friend, Sir Charles Fraith, could taste it and tell her what it was. She turned to ask Mrs. Wilden, but the beauty had disappeared back to the bar.
Agatha ate until she could eat no more. Feeling very mellow and slightly tipsy, she made her way back to the bar.
'All right, then?' asked Mrs. Wilden.
'It was all delicious,' said Agatha. She took out her wallet. 'How much do I owe you?'
A startled look of surprise came into those beautiful blue eyes.
'I told you, we don't do meals.'
'But ...'
'So you were welcome to my food and drink,' said Mrs. Wilden. 'Best go home and get some sleep. You must be tired.'
'Thank you very much,' said Agatha, putting her wallet away. 'You and your husband must join me one evening for dinner.'
'That do be kind of you, but he's dead and I'm always here.'
'I'm sorry your husband's dead,' said Agatha awkwardly as Mrs. Wilden held up the flap on the bar for her to pass through. 'When you said 'our' steak pie, I thought...'
'I meant me and mother.'
'Ah, well, you've been very kind. Perhaps I could buy a round of drinks for everyone here?' The customers had been talking quietly, but at Agatha's words there was a sudden silence.
'Not tonight. Don't do to spoil them, do it, Jimmy?'
Jimmy, a gnarled old man, muttered something and looked sadly at his empty tankard.
Agatha walked to the door. 'Thanks again,' she said. 'Oh, by the way, there's these funny dancing lights at the bottom of the back garden. Is it some sort of insect like a firefly you've got in these parts?'
For a moment the silence in the pub was absolute. Everybody seemed frozen, like statues. Then Mrs. Wilden picked up a glass and began to polish it. 'We got nothing like that round here. Reckon your poor eyes were tired after the journey.'
Agatha shrugged. 'Could be.' She went out into the night.
She remembered she had left the fire blazing and had not put a fire-guard in front of it. She ran the whole way back, terrified her beloved cats had been burnt to a crisp. She fumbled in her handbag for that ridiculous key. Need to oil the lock, she thought. She got the door open and hurtled into the sitting-room. The fire glowed red. Her cats lay stretched out in front of it. With a sigh of relief she bent down and patted their warm bodies. Then she went up to bed. There were two bedrooms, one double and one single. She chose the one with the double bed. It was covered in a huge thick duvet. She explored the bathroom. It had an immersion heater. It would take ages to heat water for a bath. She switched it on, washed her face and cleaned her teeth and went to bed and fell into a sound and dreamless sleep.
The morning was bright and sunny. Agatha had a hot bath, dressed and had her usual breakfast of two cups of black coffee and three cigarettes. She let the cats out into the back garden and then, returning to the kitchen, picked up the estate agent's inventory of the contents. Agatha, an old hand at renting property, knew the importance of checking inventories. She wanted all her deposit back, and did not want it defrayed by mythical losses.
Agatha was half-way through it when there was a knock at the door. She opened and found herself confronted by four women.
The leader of them was a rangy middle-aged woman in a sleeveless padded jacket over a checked shirt. She was wearing corduroy trousers which bagged at the knee. 'I'm Harriet Freemantle,' she said. 'I've brought you a cake. We all belong to the Fryfam Women's Group. Let me introduce you. This is Amy Worth.' A small, faded woman in a droopy dress smiled shyly and handed Agatha a jar of chutney. 'And Polly Dart.' Large tweedy county woman with beetling eyebrows and an incipient moustache. 'Brought you some of my scones,' she boomed. 'I'm Carrie Smiley.' The last to come forward was youngish, about thirty-something, with dark hair, dark eyes, good figure in T-shirt and jeans. 'I've brought along some of my elderberry wine.'
