there the year before. So, you see James, I really am interested in military history. You never really knew me.
Agatha thought briefly of phoning up the Dakkar Resort Hotel to see if James was still there, but decided that he must be. He had a lot of research and writing to do.
Agatha managed to find a taxi driver who spoke English. The allied landings had taken place all the way down the Gallipoli peninsula so she settled on ANZAC beach, site of the Australian and New Zealand troop landings to the north of the peninsula, by the Aegean Sea. The taxi driver assured her it was only a few hours’ trip from Istanbul.
The rain was drumming down by the time she reached the famous beach. She took photographs, she read the moving dedication on a monument to the fallen soldiers of both sides, and then wearily got into the cab thinking dismally that she should have stayed in Istanbul and just read up on the place.
Her taxi was just moving back out onto the main road again when a car passed her with James at the wheel and Felicity beside him. She ducked down, to the surprise of her driver.
Bill Wong got another phone call from James that evening. “I’m telling you, Bill, I saw her at Gallipoli. She’s chasing me! Please find out if she’s all right. I’m afraid she’s taking my engagement badly.”
Long afterwards, Agatha was to blame her visit to the two famous battlefields as having been caused by that fall down the stairs. She must have hit her head. How could she have been so stupid?
For back in the familiar surroundings of her cottage in the village of Carsely in the Cotswolds, back to work, Agatha’s obsession with James faded away.
She comforted herself with the thought that James had surely not seen her, and besides, she had told everyone that her holiday had been spent entirely in Istanbul.
Shortly after her arrival home on a pleasant Saturday afternoon, she decided to visit Mrs. Bloxby at the vicarage.
The vicar’s wife welcomed her. “I know you probably want to smoke, Mrs. Raisin, but it’s quite chilly in the garden.” Both of them belonged to the Carsely Ladies’ Society where the members addressed each other by their second names, and despite their close friendship, the two women found the custom impossible to break.
“I’ll live without one,” sighed Agatha. “Rotten nanny state. Do you know that pubs are closing down at the rate of twenty-eight a week?”
“The Red Lion is in trouble,” said Mrs. Bloxby.
“Never! Our village pub?”
“We’re all trying to rally round, but an awful lot of drinkers don’t want to go to a place where they can’t smoke. John Fletcher didn’t think it would strike so hard.”
“He’s got quite a big car park at the back,” said Agatha. “He could put one of those marquee things with heaters.”
“He hasn’t the money for that now.”
“Then we’d better start raising some,” said Agatha.
“If anyone can do it, you can.” Agatha’s past career was that of a successful public relations executive.
“Are you going to Mr. Lacey’s wedding?” asked Mrs. Bloxby.
“Of course. They’re being married in Felicity’s home village of Downboys in Sussex. I suppose they’ll arrange accommodation for us all.”
“I asked about that,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “We’re expected to make our own bookings. There’s the town of Hewes not too far away.”
“Cheapskates! I hope I can still get a room.”
“I think you have one. Toni Gilmour has been invited, and knowing you were away and the possible shortage of rooms, she booked a double at the Jolly Farmer in Hewes.”
_____________
The days before the wedding seemed, to Agatha, to hurtle past, and soon she was in Toni’s car being driven to Sussex. Agatha had agreed to let Toni drive because her hip was hurting again. A surgeon had told her that she really must begin to think seriously about having a hip operation.
Toni was wearing a leather jacket over a black T-shirt. A broad leather belt was slung low over her slim hips and her black trousers were tucked into a pair of pixie boots. Her fair hair was cut short and layered.
Agatha glanced at her sideways and sighed. Her own figure, although she had lost weight, seemed to sag even more these days. She had been neglecting her exercises. Sometimes early fifties felt young enough to her but on days like this, seated next to the glowing youth of Toni and going to her ex’s marriage to a gorgeous girl, made her feel ancient. Agatha’s legs were still good and her brown hair, thick and glossy.
The countryside sped past. “Half a league, half a league, half a league onwards,” muttered Agatha.
“Oh, we got that at school,” said Toni. “The Charge of the Light Brigade.”
Agatha winced. She had forgotten where the quotation came from.
“What’s in your enormous suitcase?” asked Toni. “We’ll only be there for a couple of days.”
“Because I don’t know what to wear,” said Agatha, “so I brought as much as I could. I don’t know whether to be dressy or smart casual.”
“They’ll all be wearing hats like the Duchess of Cornwall,” said Toni.
“I haven’t got a hat.”
“Neither have I. You always look smart.”
“How’s business going?”
“We’re actually beginning to make a profit.”
