Agatha Raisin and the Busy Body (23 page)

Had Agatha come straight back from France, Charles might have dropped the idea, but the French judiciary moves in a slow and ponderous way and all he could remember as the
weeks passed was what fun and adventures they had enjoyed.

He phoned Agatha from time to time, but her phone was always switched off and the hotel said that Mrs Raisin and Mr Lacey and Miss Gilmour were not taking calls. Agatha had driven into
Marseilles and bought herself a new mobile phone with which she kept in communication with the office. Somehow the press had got hold of her old mobile phone number. Agatha had never thought the
day would come when she would flee from publicity, until a series of photographs magnifying every wrinkle had made her feel she could not bear another interview. Then she had come down with swine
flu, which meant the whole hotel was quarantined while Agatha lay in bed in her hotel room and wondered if she was going to die.

At last interest in the case died away, Agatha recovered and they were told they could go home. To Agatha’s dismay, James said he would carry on through France, writing up bits and pieces
for his travel books.

Just before she had been struck down with swine flu, Agatha had felt that she and James were getting on a close footing, and although she lectured herself about how useless it was to go back to
the old obsession, she could almost feel it closing in on her. Then she fell ill and all she heard from James were occasional shouts from outside her bedroom door asking if she was feeling
better.

Agatha found her parking fees at Birmingham airport were incredibly steep. She paid up, muttering curses under her breath, and then drove first to Mircester, where she dropped
Toni off, and then set out for Carsely.

So much for global warming, thought Agatha, as fine snow began to fall, dancing hypnotically in front of the windscreen, as she drove down into Carsely.

With a sigh of relief, she let herself into her cottage. No cats. Of course, they were at her cleaner’s home. She went upstairs and unpacked and changed into a loose house-dress before
going downstairs to make a pot of coffee.

She lit up a cigarette and coughed and gagged. I must give up, she thought. The dreaded cough. I always swore if I got a cough I would stop. But she smoked the cigarette anyway and drank a
strong cup of black coffee.

The doorbell rang. Agatha went to the door and called out, ‘Who is it?’

‘Mrs Bloxby.’

Agatha flung open the door. ‘I am so glad to see you.’

‘The bush telegraph told me you had been sighted returning home, so I decided to bring you a casserole for your supper. All you have to do is heat it in the oven.’

‘Come in. How good of you!’

‘What adventures you have been having,’ said the vicar’s wife. ‘And how very strange that so much murder and distress should have been caused by Christmas lights. Giles
Timson did a very powerful service at Christmas, lecturing the villagers of Odley Cruesis on worldly things and how it was a spiritual festival. Then he said that Santa Claus did not exist and the
villagers were furious and the newspapers called him a villain for destroying the dreams of children. Mrs Timson has left him.’

‘Really? Why?’

‘Her car broke down outside Mircester just after you left. She called the nearest garage and while she was waiting for the repairs, she got talking to a man called Joe Purrock, the garage
owner. Evidently they hit it off right away. He is a widower. I believe Mrs Timson’s appearance has quite changed. She has blonde hair now and a permanent tan and wears really ankle-breaking
stilettos but she seems very happy. They went to the Maldives for Christmas. Poor you. I don’t suppose you had much of a Christmas.’

‘Santa came down the chimney and presented me with swine flu.’

‘What did Mr Lacey give you for Christmas?’

‘Sod all.’

‘Peculiar man. What did you give him?’

‘Well, nothing either. I lost Christmas somehow, somewhere. It all seems like a blur. I’ll never forget the sight of Mrs Summer and Mrs Beagle driving straight off into the sea. If
James hadn’t happened to visit that village, they’d probably never have been found out.’

‘I think they might. Sooner or later a local paper was going to take a picture of their cottage and some sharp Interpol man would have turned up to investigate. I mean, the murders made
headlines around the world just because they were committed to stopping John Sunday from preventing them from decorating their cottages. So
odd,
you see. It made the practice quite
unfashionable last Christmas, people being frightened they might be thought of as weird if they overdecorated.’

‘Sherry?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘I’ll have a G and T myself,’ said Agatha. She returned with the drinks.

‘Sir Charles phoned me quite a lot to see if I had heard from you,’ said Mrs Bloxby.

‘Probably would have liked to be in at the kill.’

Charles had decided to fetch one of his late grandmother’s rings out of the bank to present to Agatha. Just to show he was, well, not exactly proposing but sort of
serious before he suggested she come and live with him.

Gustav came into the study while Charles was admiring the sapphire and diamond ring. ‘Who’s that for?’ demanded Gustav.

‘Mind your own business and get me a whisky and soda.’

Gustav began to plan. His father had been a maker of clocks and musical boxes as well as being a jeweller. Gustav had worked for him, but when his father died, he had sold up the business and
drifted abroad, ending up as a general factotum to Charles. He liked his life. He had full control of the running of the house. He had previously escaped from two disastrous marriages and disliked
women in general and Agatha Raisin in particular.

He spent all his spare hours on his scheme. Charles phoned Mrs Bloxby and learned to his surprise that Agatha had been back for a week. He phoned her up at her office and invited her out to
dinner at the George that evening.

‘Who’s paying?’ asked Agatha suspiciously.

‘I am, my sweet. Want to hear all about your adventures.’

‘Bit tired of talking about them. Okay. I’ll see you there. What time?’

‘Eight o’clock.’

As he waited in the dining room, Charles felt quite nervous. But he relaxed as Agatha breezed in, saying, ‘I’m starving. Good heavens! Champagne on ice. What’s the
celebration?’

‘You being back.’

‘How sweet.’

But Agatha wondered if Charles was going to find some excuse to leave her holding the bill.

Agatha talked during the meal about her adventures. When she had finished, Charles asked, ‘What do you feel for James now?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Agatha candidly. ‘I didn’t spend much time with him. Same old James, if you know what I mean.’

The coffee was served.

Charles felt in his pocket and took out a red Morocco-leather box. ‘Present for you.’

‘Oh, Charles.’

Agatha beamed. The other diners were twisting around in their chairs.

‘Open it!’ urged Charles.

Agatha raised the lid. A little pig’s face mounted on a coiled gold wire popped up and a tinny mechanical voice said, ‘Ugly bitch! Ugly bitch!’

Agatha threw her coffee straight into Charles’ face and fled the dining room, the laughter of the diners ringing in her ears.

Driving straight to Carsely, blinking her eyes to try to stop the tears running, Agatha went straight to the vicarage. Alf, the vicar, answered the door. ‘Really, Mrs Raisin, we were just
about to go to bed.’

‘What is it?’ Mrs Bloxby appeared behind him. ‘Get out of the way, Alf,’ she snapped. ‘Can’t you see she’s in distress?’

The vicar stomped off and Mrs Bloxby gently led Agatha into the sitting room and settled her on the sofa. She sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders as Agatha began to cry in
earnest.

When Agatha had finally recovered, she told Mrs Bloxby about her dinner with Charles and about the awful pig’s face and the laughter of the diners.

‘No, no,
no!’
said Mrs Bloxby firmly. ‘That is not like Sir Charles at all. Let me think. Maybe he meant to give you a ring. Gustav!’

‘What about Gustav?’

‘At one of those fêtes at Sir Charles’ home, I once talked to Gustav. He told me all about being brought up in the jewellery trade. You must phone Charles.’

‘No, I damn well won’t.’

‘Then I’ll phone him. If you do not have any trust in Sir Charles, then I do.’

Mrs Bloxby went into the study and shut the door.

‘It was Gustav,’ said Charles bitterly. ‘I was going to give Agatha my grandmother’s ring and ask her to move in with me.’

‘You mean, marriage?’

‘That would be going a bit far. I just thought it might be rather jolly. I’ve fired Gustav.’

Mrs Bloxby sighed. ‘Hire him back. You are not thinking straight. You think you run your estates, but Gustav does practically everything. He’s irreplaceable. Can you imagine Mrs
Raisin with a busy career trying to organize hunt dinners and shooting parties? What came over you? Are you in love with her?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never been in love with anyone. What am I going to do?’

‘I’ll send Mrs Raisin home now. Get over to Carsely immediately and give her the real ring. Just say it was for her Christmas.’

Mrs Bloxby went back to join Agatha. ‘Go home now, Mrs Raisin. Gustav played a terrible trick on Sir Charles. He wanted to give you his grandmother’s ring.’

‘You mean, he wants to
marry
me?’

‘No, just a present.’

‘I’ll kill that Gustav.’

‘Not tonight. Just go home.’

Agatha found Toni waiting for her outside her cottage. ‘I’ve been searching for you,’ said Toni. ‘A friend’s mother was at the George this evening
and said a man gave you a sort of horrible jack-in-the-box ring which shouted, “Ugly bitch.”’

‘That was Gustav playing a trick on Charles. Come in. He’s on his way over, but as it isn’t an engagement, just a present, you can wait and see the real ring.’

‘I always thought that Gustav was weird. He’s rude. I don’t know why Charles keeps him on.’

‘He runs the place and Charles is lazy’ Agatha heard a car door slam outside.

‘That’s Charles now.’

‘You sure you don’t want me to leave?’

‘No point. It’s not as if you’re interrupting a romance.’

Charles let himself in.

‘What a mess,’ he said wearily. ‘I’m so sorry. You had such an awful time at Christmas, I wanted to give you something. Gustav knew I’d got the ring out of the bank
and thought I was going to ask you to marry me.’

‘And what could be more horrible than that?’ said Agatha bitterly.

‘Come on, Aggie. Take the bloody thing.’

Agatha suddenly smiled. ‘On one condition.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You get down on your knees and swear undying love.’

Charles laughed. ‘Anything you say.’

James Lacey drove down into Carsely He saw the lights on in Agatha’s cottage. In an odd kind of way it had been exciting working with her again. He would just pop in to
say goodnight and ask her out for dinner for the following evening.

The doorbell rang. ‘I’ll get it,’ said Toni.

‘It’s probably Mrs Bloxby,’ said Agatha. ‘Now, Charles, down on your knees.’

James Lacey stood at the kitchen door. Charles was on his knees in front of Agatha. He took out a box, opened it up and held up a glittering ring. ‘Be mine, my beloved. I swear undying
love.’

‘Oh, Charles. This is so sudden,’ said Agatha.

They both heard the front door slam so loudly it seemed as if the whole cottage shook.

‘Who on earth was that?’ asked Charles, getting to his feet.

‘James Lacey,’ said Toni.

‘I’ll nip next door and explain things to him,’ said Charles.

Agatha thought of James nearly marrying that stupid girl and all because she was beautiful. She remembered the pain and distress.

She caught Charles by the sleeve. ‘Don’t go. Don’t tell him anything.’

‘Like that, is it?’ asked Charles.

‘Yes, indeed.
Very
like that.’

Simon was being kept very busy by Agatha. Sometimes he felt she was keeping him
too
busy. Twice when he had bought tickets for himself and Toni to go to the theatre,
Agatha had sent him out on divorce cases where he had to trail suspected adulterers for a good part of each evening.

One week, when Toni had taken a short holiday to visit her mother in Southampton, Simon found that his workload had suddenly lightened considerably, for, up until that point, Agatha had found
work for him at the weekends as well.

He decided to visit May Dinwoody He liked her and knew she found it hard to make ends meet.

She actually welcomed him, particularly as he had brought her a present of a large carton of groceries and two bottles of wine.

‘So generous and thank you,’ said May.

‘Have you forgiven me for being a snoop?’ asked Simon.

‘Oh, yes. If it hadn’t been for Mrs Raisin’s detective agency, we really would have begun to suspect each other.’

‘Are you sure nobody in the village suspected them?’

‘Well, of course, people do say that they
knew.’

‘So why didn’t they go to the police?’

‘I think they’re being wise after the event. Who in this nice village would protect murderers?’

The lot of them, possibly, thought Simon. Instead he asked, ‘How are you getting on?’

Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m going to have to sell my nice flat. I make so little from selling my toys and I can no longer make ends meet.’

‘I never really looked at your toys properly,’ said Simon. ‘May I have a look at them?’

‘If you like. Come through to my studio.’

Simon followed her and began to turn the toys over in his long fingers. They were beautifully made.

‘The dolls are all made from natural stuff,’ she said. ‘The heads are of wood and the clothes are all handmade and from natural materials.’

‘They are all very beautiful,’ commented Simon.

‘But the supermarkets sell such cheap plastic things. I can’t compete.’