A Spoonful of Poison (17 page)

Agatha set off in pursuit.

After several miles, straining their eyes to try to keep him in view, George turned onto the Oxford Road.

“It’s so hard to see with all these cars,” complained Agatha as they approached Oxford.

“I see him,” said Toni. “He’s taken the roundabout. Must be going into Oxford by the Woodstock Road.”

“Unless he’s going in to London,” said Agatha.

But on the Woodstock Road, where the traffic slowed down to thirty miles an hour under the harsh glare of the sodium lights, they could clearly see George’s car. At last he turned off on Clarendon Street and went along Walton Street a little way and then parked. Agatha carefully parked several cars behind him.

He turned down Aurelius Street, went up to the door of a trim villa and rang the bell. A statuesque blonde promptly answered the door and fell into his arms. The couple engaged in a passionate clinch.

“I wonder who she is,” said Agatha. She and Toni had cautiously followed on foot. “We can hardly stand out in the street waiting to see what happens. We’ll go back and wait in the car.”

They waited and waited. At one point Toni went off to a fish-and-chip shop and came back with their supper. By the time the bells of Oxford were chiming out midnight, there was still no sign of George.

Agatha yawned and stretched. “I think we should check into a hotel for the night and then come back, say,
about seven. This is only two-hour parking, so he’ll want to collect his car before the traffic wardens start checking in the morning.”

To Toni’s relief, Agatha booked them into two single rooms at a hotel up by the roundabout. She wanted to wash out her underwear for the morning and somehow did not want to endure the intimacy of stripping off in front of Agatha.

They set out again at six-thirty the following morning. To Agatha’s relief, George’s car was still there.

At quarter past seven, George appeared, hurrying towards his car. He jumped in and drove off. “Don’t we follow him?” asked Toni.

“No, we put some more money in the parking meter and then go to the end of the road and keep a watch on that house. I want to find out who she is and where she goes.”

It was another long wait. At last, just before nine, the blonde came out and got into her car, a small Ford Escort, and drove off. Agatha groaned as, followed by Toni, she rushed back to her own car and set off in pursuit.

“Thank goodness her car is red,” said Agatha. “I wonder where she’s going. She’s heading towards Woodstock. Oh, look, now she’s turning off. I know, there’s an expensive health farm along this road. It’s called Bartley’s. I’ve
often thought of going there for a weekend. She doesn’t know us, so we can follow her right in, if that’s where she’s going.”

Sure enough, the blonde turned in at the gates of the health farm. “Right,” said Agatha, when they saw her enter the building. “We’ll give it a few moments and then go in and ask for a tour of the place.”

In answer to Agatha’s query, the receptionist said their public relations officer would be glad to take them around and show them the facilities. Agatha stifled a yawn as they moved from treatment room to treatment room and then studied health food menus. Then Agatha caught a glimpse of George’s blonde, now dressed in a white overall, going into one of the rooms. “Who is that?” she asked. “I think I’ve seen her somewhere before.”

“Oh, that’s Gilda Brenson, one of our masseuses.”

“No, I don’t know her. But is she good?”

“The best. But I fear we might soon be losing her. Gilda is getting married and her future husband is going to set her up in a clinic of her own. Now, if you will just follow me, I will show you our gym …”

At the end of the tour, Agatha said brightly, “It all looks splendid. I shall probably book in for a week before
Christmas. But I wonder if I could ask a favour? I really could do with a massage. I would gladly pay you for Gilda’s services if she has a free appointment this morning.”

“Come to the reception desk with me and I’ll see what we can do.”

The receptionist said that Gilda would be free in half an hour, so Agatha and Toni settled down to wait.

Agatha saw a reflection of herself in a mirror opposite where they were sitting. Her skirt was creased and she had a ladder in one leg of her tights. Beside her reflection, Toni glowed with youth and health.

At last, Agatha was ushered into the massage room and told to remove her clothes and lie on the massage table. She winced as she climbed on.

“Trouble with your hip?” asked Gilda.

“No,” said Agatha defiantly. “Nothing up with me at all.” She did not want to admit to having arthritis even to herself.

Gilda was indeed good at her job. Agatha nearly fell asleep but remembered in time why she was there.

“I hear you will shortly be leaving,” said Agatha.

“Yes. I am going to be married and then my fiance says he will set me up in a clinic of my own. There is a good location near the centre of Oxford.”

“That will be expensive,” commented Agatha. “You are lucky to be marrying such a rich man. What does he do for a living?”

“He is a very successful architect.”

“Have you known him a long time?”

“For a few years. He wanted to marry me before, but I always refused. I told him, I need a business of my own for security.”

Agatha fell silent, her brain whirring. Why was George courting rich women? Did he plan to get them so enamoured with him that they would invest in this clinic? A few years? Was he courting her while his wife was alive? She decided she must try to secure another date with George and see if he suggested anything like that. She did not want to ask Gilda any more questions in case she became suspicious. Agatha knew she would have to pay by credit card. She did not have enough cash with her. She could only hope Gilda would not be curious enough to ask at reception for her name. Fortunately, in booking her in, the receptionist had not asked for her name because it was an on-the-spot arrangement.

After the session was over, Agatha paid at the desk and then reluctantly asked Toni to drive her back to Mircester because she was feeling exhausted.

Toni said she was happy to go to work for the rest of the day. Agatha lied and said she had something to check up on, all the while planning to head straight home and go to bed.

When she awoke, she decided to try to get in touch with George.

_____________

George Selby sounded at first surprised and then delighted when Agatha invited him out to dinner that evening.

Agatha had chosen Mircester’s most expensive restaurant, Henri’s, for dinner. She hoped the atmosphere of discreet lighting and tables set well apart would set the scene for an intimate conversation, and she cynically guessed that the price of the dishes on the menu would endear her to George.

She brushed her thick brown hair until it shone and made up her face carefully. The evening was not warm enough for a summer dress, so she chose to wear one of rich gold fine jersey, flattering to her figure.

Agatha drove wearing flat heels, changed into a pair of stilettos in Mircester car park and tottered towards the restaurant.

George was already there, and her heart gave a treacherous little flutter when she saw him. She hoped he would turn out to be a really fine person after all. He was wearing a beautifully tailored dark suit, white shirt, and silk tie. Those magnetic green eyes of his lit up when he saw her.

“Your invitation came as a nice surprise,” he said when she sat down. “You are looking very well. What’s this in aid of?”

Agatha fluttered false eyelashes, hoping they would
not fall off. “I should have thought asking a handsome man to dinner would not need any explanation,” she said. “Do choose something nice to eat.”

“Shall I choose for both of us?”

Something unholy flickered across Agatha’s bearlike eyes and then she forced a smile.

“Go ahead.”

As she had expected, he started to order the most expensive items on the menu—a dozen oysters each to begin, followed by tournedos Rossini. He ordered a bottle of white wine to go with the oysters and a vintage claret to accompany the steak.

“Now, do tell me about yourself,” said Agatha. “We’ve never really had a chance to talk properly. I’m afraid that last time I did all the talking.”

“Oh, business is very successful,” said George. “I’ve been working hard.”

“I find clever investment is a good idea,” said Agatha. “I mean, it is better to use money to make money rather than leaving it to just lie in the bank.”

“Exactly!” beamed George. “Here are our oysters.”

Agatha fortunately liked oysters, but she could have sworn that George did not. She guessed he was eating them because he thought it the sophisticated thing to do. He was certainly washing them down with a large amount of wine, which suited Agatha, who wanted to keep a clear head. She suddenly wondered if he came from a poor background.

“You were talking about investments,” said George. He had swallowed the last of his oysters with a look on his face reminiscent of a child taking medicine.

“Yes.”

“I have something that might interest you.”

“Do go on.”

“I have a friend who is starting her own beauty salon in Oxford.” George leaned his elbows on the table, his eyes fixed on Agatha’s face. “The thing is this. Beauty salons used to be only for the rich, but now there is more money around, all sorts of ordinary people want massage, tanning and non-surgical facelifts. It can’t fail.”

“Sounds good. What is the name of this friend?”

“Why?”

“Simple question.”

“Gilda Brenson.”

“So what is she selling? Shares? If it’s not up and running, she can hardly have floated the salon as a company on the stock market.”

“No, the offer would be this. You would get two per cent of the net profits.”

“Now, that’s not good. I would only be interested in two per cent of the gross. How much would you want me to invest?”

George took a deep breath. He leaned across the table and took Agatha’s hand in his. The tournedos
arrived. George scowled. “This came too quickly,” he said. “I don’t like it when it comes too quickly. It looks as if it’s been precooked and just waiting in the kitchen.”

“Looks great to me,” said Agatha cheerfully. “Why don’t we eat it first and discuss businesses afterwards? And I can’t eat while you’re holding my hand.”

“Oh, right.”

George proceeded to eat and drink quickly. Between bites, Agatha talked about the weather and the disastrous results of the flooding. When she had finished eating and had embarked on yet another flooding story, George interrupted her by asking eagerly, “So, you would be interested?”

“In what?”

“In investing in this salon?”

“Would you care for dessert?” asked the waiter.

“Go away and give us a break,” snapped George. He turned his gaze back on Agatha. “Well?”

“How much?” asked Agatha.

“Oh, nothing much. Seventy-five thousand pounds.”

“That is actually a lot of money.”

“Come on, Agatha. It’s a great chance for you to make money.” Again he took her hand. “I can see a future for us,” he breathed.

“Together?”

“Why not?”

“And what would Gilda have to say about us being together?”

“Agatha, Agatha, my darling. Poor old Gilda is just a business associate.”

Agatha withdrew her hand and leaned back in her chair. “Gilda is your fiancee, is she not?”

His mouth fell open.

“You’ve a bit of pureed spinach on your teeth,” commented Agatha. “It matches your eyes.”

He scrubbed his front teeth furiously with his napkin. “How did you know Gilda was my fiancee?”

“I’m a detective. I detect. And you interest me an awful lot. I think you’re in debt and the fair Gilda won’t marry you until you produce the goods. Did you get Sybilla to push your wife downstairs?”

Agatha had read in books of people’s faces going black with fury. Now she knew what the writers meant.

“No, I did not murder my wife,” hissed George. “You are a malicious old trout.”

“Now we’ve settled that,” said Agatha. “What about pudding?”

“Screw the pudding and you!”

George thrust his chair back, stood up and stormed out of the restaurant.

I might have done something dangerous, thought Agatha and called for the bill.

_____________

When she entered her cottage, carrying her stiletto shoes, she found Charles in the living room, sitting with her cats and watching television.

“Hot date?” asked Charles lazily. “Those eyelashes are a bit much.”

“I’ve been out for dinner with George Selby. Let me tell you what’s been going on.”

Charles switched off the television and listened carefully. When Agatha had finished, Charles said, “How could you do such a stupid thing? If the man really is a murderer, he’ll come after you.”

“It’s a risk I have to take,” said Agatha. “Aren’t looks so misleading? I don’t think he’ll come after me. Too obvious.”

“If he charmed Sybilla into bumping off his wife, he may get this Gilda to drop by one night and strangle you.”

“Now I’m at dead slow and stop,” said Agatha, sinking down on the sofa beside him.

“What are all those boxes of photos doing on the floor?”

“I phoned Toni before I went to sleep today and told her to go back to the vicarage and collect them. We didn’t really have time to look at them thoroughly.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Someone in former photos whose face doesn’t fit.”

“Aha! Some sinister face holding a dagger.”

“Something like that.”

“So you don’t think it’s a local?”

“Not any more. I can’t think any of them would do it. I’m going to bed.”

“What’s the programme for tomorrow?”

“Office, I suppose. What about you?”

“I feel like a lazy day. I’ll take a look at those photos for you. Did you find anything during the first search?”

“Yes. Maggie Tubby is in one of them, gazing adoringly at George. She’s got money. He took her for lunch yesterday and gave her a passionate kiss. I know what I’ll do tomorrow. I’ll pay a call on Maggie and tell her about George’s fiancee.”