“Don’t you want to circulate?”
“No.”
“I see Bill Wong over there. I’m going to talk to him,” said Toni, “and then I’ll join you.”
Agatha decided to have a drink first. She ordered a gin and tonic and then carried her glass to a table in a corner and sat down. She was soon joined by the members of her detective agency staff—Phil Marshall, Patrick Mulligan and Mrs. Freedman.
Phil was in his seventies, and Patrick, early sixties, as was Mrs. Freedman. Agatha, in her early fifties, instead of being glad of their company, felt obscurely aged by it, especially when the crowd of milling guests parted to show her the beautiful bride-to-be, standing with her arm linked in James’s.
And then James saw her. He whispered something to Felicity and then made his way to Agatha’s table.
“I’d like a word with you,” he said.
“Sit down,” said Agatha, trying to smile but feeling as if her face had been Botoxed.
“In private—outside. Can’t hear myself think for that band.”
Agatha was about to protest but at that moment the band launched into the music from
He looked the same as ever, thought Agatha miserably—tall and handsome with his blue eyes and his thick hair going a little grey at the temples.
“I can’t think of a more polite way of putting it,” said James. “But were you stalking me?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Agatha defiantly.
“Well, let me spell it out for you. I went all the way to Balaclava and saw you fleeing the hotel. Then I went to the Anzac landings—and guess what?—you were just leaving there as well. Were you chasing me?”
Agatha opened her mouth to lie, to give a furious denial, but then she thought, What does it all matter anymore? He’s getting married.
“You upset me at that engagement party of yours when you said I had never listened to you. I wanted to prove you wrong. I had a holiday due to me. I’d taken a tumble down the stairs and I think that must have addled my wits. I was going to stun you with my military knowledge.”
James began to laugh. Then he said, “Oh, Agatha, you are an original. Let’s take a stroll and talk about something else. You’re looking very well. How are things at? Oh, what is it?”
One of the nearly naked young men had materialised beside them. “Mr. Lacey,” he said, “your fiancee wishes to speak to you.”
“All right. Tell her I’ll be with her in a moment.”
“Whose idea was it to hire the Naked Servants?” asked Agatha.
“Felicity thought it would be fun.”
“And you were happy with that?”
“Agatha, don’t needle me. I’ll tell you this,” said James with sudden passion, “if I could think of a way to get out of this bloody forthcoming marriage I would.”
“Shoot her?”
“Don’t be flippant. Stop creeping around us!” The latter to a Naked Servant who had appeared beside James and was avidly listening.
“I only came to tell you that Miss Felicity is wondering where you are,” said the young man huffily.
“I’m coming,” said James wearily.
Agatha sadly watched him go.
