Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist (23 page)

"Tomorrow?" asked Charles.

But Agatha clung to hope. James had said two days. This was Monday.

"Saturday," she said firmly.

"Saturday!" exclaimed Charles. "Sorry, Aggie, but I'm going tomorrow."

"Suit yourself," said Agatha bleakly.

Charles hesitated. Then he booked a seat for the following day.

"I think you should come with me," he said, but Agatha was adamant. She had convinced herself that James would return.

Outside, great gusty clouds were blowing across the red roofs of Nicosia. They talked about the case on the journey back to the villa. Charles went off to begin packing.

Agatha realised that since James had left, the villa seemed to have accumulated a great deal of dust and the floor needed a wash.

She spent the rest of the day, cleaning energetically, stopping only for a sandwich and a cup of coffee, and at one stage to look in on Charles who was found in his room, fast asleep.

Agatha tried to fight down the miserable thought that James would not arrive after all, and that she would be better to go home on the same flight as Charles.

Then Charles emerged to suggest they should go out for dinner for the last time.

"There's an advertisement out on the road for a restaurant called Rita On The Rocks," said Charles. "Sounds intriguing."

They drove west along the coast through Lapta and found the restaurant on the far side. It was open-air with a swimming pool and full of the sound of British voices. Rita herself, an attractive middle-aged Englishwoman, was moving from table to table greeting friends.

"So they found Olivia," said Agatha bleakly. Charles gave her a nervous look. They had already talked and talked about Olivia, but Agatha kept returning to the subject as if she had not said anything about it before. He decided to humour her.

"Yes," he said. "Maybe she thought to swim to shore after the heat was off and emulate James by bribing someone to take her to the mainland."

"I suppose it was a miracle they found that knitting needle," said Agatha. "She could have got rid of it where it would never have been found."

"So you keep saying. You're not cracking up, are you? Forget the murder, forget Olivia. I'm going to talk to you like your father, Aggie."

"You're too young, Charles."

"Seriously. Give up chasing after James. Waste of time, waste of energy. You're only going to get hurt again."

"That's my business."

"This trip, you seem to have made your business my business, Aggie. Stop thinking that he really loves you. If he really loved you, he would not have gone off to Turkey for any reason and left you alone."

"He had begun to think I wasn't alone because of you," said Agatha.

"You see!" He pointed a fork at her. "You're already beginning to look for excuses for him and there aren't any."

"He said he would back in two days," said Agatha stubbornly.

"I give up. Well, we've had some adventures. One day I will look back on all this and scream."

A noisy group of British residents at the next table were practising their Turkish, having started lessons in Turkish in Kyrenia.

Conversation between Charles and Agatha became difficult because of the noise. They decided to have coffee at home, asked for the bill which Charles handed to Agatha who paid it, and then they left.

Back at the villa, they drank coffee, and watched a Brother Cadfael mystery broadcast by the local TV station which was mercifully in English and then decided to go to bed. Agatha said if Charles left his rented car outside Atlantic Cars in the morning, she would drive him to the airport.

"Last night together, sweetheart?" asked Charles as they went up the stairs.

"No," said Agatha firmly, having visions of James arriving in the middle of the night to find them in bed together.

"Oh, well, I can't say you don't know what you're missing because you do."

"I'm too old for you, Charles."

"Didn't notice."

"Thank you for that, but see you in the morning."

Agatha slept uneasily. During the night, a car drew up on the road outside and she leapt from bed and ran down the stairs and jerked open the door. But it was only a late visitor leaving a neighbour's house.

She drove Charles to the airport in the early light of dawn. He turned before going through security and said, "I'll see you around, Aggie,"

"No doubt," said Agatha.

"Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?"

Agatha put her arms round him and kissed him. He turned away, and then turned back at the security gate.

"You're too good for him, Aggie," he said, and then he was gone.

With his going, hope sprang anew in Agatha's breast. James would come, and they would talk, and during the days that followed with no murders hanging over them, they would grow closer together.

For the next two days, she dressed in her prettiest clothes and with full make-up on, she waited, rushing out of the villa door every time she heard a car coming down the road.

By Thursday, she had decided that if she wore just a comfortable T-shirt and shorts and didn't bother about make-up, he would come. But Thursday came and went, then Friday.

She packed slowly, her heart heavy. She drove to Bilal's laundry and told him she would leave the keys at his home on the road to the airport if he gave her the address, but that James would no doubt be back soon.

"Will you ever come back?" asked Bilal.

"Yes, I probably will," said Agatha. "One day."

She said goodbye to him and drove back to the villa. The day was sunny but now there was a slight chill in the air.

Agatha tried not to think of James, tried to concentrate on neat packing. She felt she should go out for a last meal but could not bring herself to leave.

But all too soon it was the morning of her departure. She drove slowly to the airport, looking all the time eagerly at the faces of any drivers in approaching rented cars, still hoping to see James.

Even at the airport, she scanned the faces of the passengers, hoping by some miracle he had just arrived.

It was only when she had cleared passport control that she at last lost all hope of seeing him and knew if he came back to Carsely that nothing was ever going to be the same. She would never forgive him for having abandoned her.

The take-off was delayed for two hours because of some hijack crisis at Stansted. They got as far as Istanbul and then had to wait four hours in a gate which did not seem to have a tannoy system. From time to time, various officials would come in and shout at the passengers in Turkish and Agatha had to beg one of the passengers to translate for her. They were going to Heathrow, they were going to Gatwick, and then it was announced that they were in fact going to Stansted after all.

A charter plane took them off and Agatha slept and woke and slept and woke, seeing in her dreams Trevor's pink and angry face, seeing Olivia's head rising above the monstrous waves.

And then the last time she awoke, the plane was descending into bleak and rainy Essex.

She collected her car at the Long Stay car-park and headed home, home to Carsely, the ache at her heart lifting when she reached Chipping Norton and turned the car towards Moreton-in-Marsh.

Down the road into Carsely, wind and rain sent spirals of coloured leaves down onto the road in front of her.

As she turned into the lane where she lived, her eyes flew immediately to James's cottage, hoping to see smoke rising from the chimney, but it had a closed, dark, empty look.

When she walked into her cottage, her cats, Hodge and Boswell, uncoiled themselves and came to meet her. Her cleaner had said it would be better for the cats to be left in the familiar surroundings of home and she would come every day to feed them.

Agatha felt very lonely. She found she missed Charles. He had been such an undemanding and constant companion.

The doorbell rang and her first, stupid, thought was, "James!" And then she knew it could not possibly be James.

She opened the door and the vicar's wife, Mrs. Bloxby, stood there, carrying a casserole.

"The bush telegraph told me you had been sighted," said Mrs. Bloxby, "so I put some of my Irish stew in a casserole for you. You won't feel like cooking."

"Come in," said Agatha, gratefully. "I've had such an awful time."

The doorbell rang again. This time it was Miss Simms, the unmarried mother who was secretary of the Carsely Ladies Society, balancing precariously on her heels and carrying a cake. "Welcome home," she said.

After that, Agatha's doorbell seemed to go every few minutes until her living room was full of villagers. She began to tell the story of her adventures to a rapt audience, but did not say that James had abandoned her, only that he had to go to Turkey on business.

It was late when they all left with the exception of Mrs. Bloxby. "What a home coming!" said Agatha, her face radiant. "It's so good to be back."

"There's one thing that puzzles me," said Mrs. Bloxby. "You said James went off on business. What business? I mean, you got to the point in your story where there had been two attempts on your life, and then you mention casually that James took off. I mean, wasn't he worried about you?"

So Agatha told the real story, about Charles, about James's bad temper and coldness.

"A most peculiar man," said Mrs. Bloxby. "At least this makes you free of him at last. What he did was unforgivable."

"You're right," said Agatha. "He's out of my mind at last."

And as the next few weeks passed, such seemed to be the case. Carsely enfolded Agatha and the whole north Cyprus adventure appeared like a bad dream.

The solving of the murders in Cyprus had appeared in the British press and on television but there was no mention of Agatha. "I am an unsung detective," she said to Bill Wong when he called round one day.

"That's us policemen for you," said Bill, his eyes crinkling up with amusement. "Take all the credit no matter what nationality."

"No murders for me, Bill?"

"Nothing. In fact, it's the quietest time we've had for a long spell and I like it that way. So what are your plans? I can't really believe you're going to settle down to a quiet retired life."

"That's all I want at the moment. Anyway, I've been doing detective work in the village."

"What!"

"I found where Miss Simms had put her reading glasses and I found the Fletchers' missing dog."

"Big time."

"Suits me. I've got the job of organising the village Christmas party for the old folks. That'll keep me busy."

"No men in your life, Agatha?"

"No," said Agatha curtly. "And it that's the way I like it. Who needs them anyway?"

"I'm beginning to think all women feel the same as you."

"Unhappy love life, Bill?"

"There was this girl who works in the chemists in Mircester. Pretty little thing. We had fun. She seemed quite keen on me. But she suddenly went off me and now she's being romanced by a tattooed ape from the garage on the Oxford road."

"Did you take her home to meet your parents?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," said Bill.

And that does it every time, thought Agatha, but did not like to point out to Bill that his formidable mother could probably see off any prospect, for Bill adored his parents.

The phone rang. Agatha picked up the receiver.

"Hullo, Aggie. Charles."

"How are you?" said Agatha who had begun to think that Charles had forgotten all about her.

"Bored. Let's go out for dinner."

"Who's paying?"

"I am."

"May as well," said Agatha ungraciously. "Where?"

"We'll go somewhere in Stratford. Meet you at Marks and Spencer in the centre."

"No, Charles, if you want to take me for dinner, you can pick me up here at eight."

"It's a long way round for me."

"I want to dine in Moreton," said Agatha firmly.

"Okay, Aggie, see you at eight."

"Who was that?" asked Bill.

"Sir Charles Fraith."

Bill smiled to himself. He thought Agatha had changed a lot. The old insecure Agatha would never have commanded a baronet to come and pick her up.

Agatha and Charles ate in a pub in Moreton and talked about the events in Cyprus. "I wonder how George and Angus and Trevor are getting on," said Agatha.

"I don't," said Charles, "In fact if I saw one of them, I'd run a mile. Any word from James?"

"No."

"So you waited and waited for your knight to come riding up on a white charger and all you were left with was the smell of horse manure?"

"You are quite amazingly insensitive, Charles."

"Yes, but I stayed to look after you and he didn't. Are you really going to have toffee pudding, Aggie? No fears about your waistline?"

"I'm tired of my waistline. I'm tired of exercise and strict diet. I'm going to kiss my waistline goodbye."

"Let me do it for you."

"Behave yourself and eat your pudding!"

Charles drove her back. More through habit than anything else, Agatha glanced at James's cottage and then let out a gasp. Lights were shining from the downstairs windows and smoke was rising from the chimney.

"James is home!" she cried.

"And so he is," said Charles, parking smoothly outside her cottage. "Why not ask me in for a night-cap, Aggie?"

"All right," said Agatha defiantly.

They both got out of the car. James came out of his cottage door and stood looking at them.

Agatha unlocked her door and said over her shoulder to Charles in a loud, clear voice, "Come along, darling."

"Coming my angel, my sweet," said Charles cheerfully.

The door slammed.

James Lacey stood there for a few moments and then he too went in and slammed the door, but with such force that the sound echoed along the quiet lanes of Carsely and set a farm dog up on the hills above the village yelping with alarm.

Turn the page for an excerpt from M. C. Beaton's next mystery featuring the feisty sleuth--
Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death...

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