Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell (24 page)

‘I suppose we’ll have to hang around for a few days,’ said Charles. ‘In case they want to speak to us again.’

‘I suppose,’ echoed Agatha sleepily. ‘I’m off to bed.’

‘Alone?’

‘Alone. I don’t care now if I never have sex again. I don’t want any more casual sex.’

‘Who said it was casual?’ remarked Charles, but Agatha had already left the room and did not hear him.

Mrs Bloxby was their first visitor the next morning. ‘It was Mrs Allan who really put me on the track,’ said Agatha, ‘and that remark you once made about women marrying the same sort over again. I thought, why shouldn’t a man marry the same kind as well?’ She told her all about Mrs Green’s having seen a child on the night Melissa had been killed. ‘Megan must have parked the motorbike outside the village,’ said Agatha, ‘put the vacuum and the hammer in that rucksack and headed for Melissa’s.’

She went on and told her everything and how Megan had threatened to shoot them. ‘She must have known as little about guns as I do,’ said Agatha. ‘I wouldn’t have noticed whether the safety catch on a gun was on or off. I wonder where she got it.’

‘Well, now you can leave all those details to the police,’ said Mrs Bloxby. ‘Any news of James?’

Agatha shook her head. She flashed a warning look at Charles to stay quiet. She had a superstitious feeling that if she told Mrs Bloxby about the possibility of Charles’s being in the monastery then he would turn out not to be there at all. It was such a slim chance.

After Mrs Bloxby had gone, Charles said he would return home and join her again when she planned to set off for France. ‘Leave it a week,’ said Agatha. ‘Everything will be properly wrapped up by then. I’m surprised the press haven’t been hammering at the door.’

‘Oh, Wilkes will just have said a woman is helping them with their inquiries,’ said Charles. ‘He’ll want to keep us out of it. Make it look like all his own work. Do you think we’re psychic, Agatha?’

‘You called me Agatha. You’re improving. No. Why?’

‘You must admit it was an amazing leap of deduction on the part of both of us.’

‘I think it was because, for my part, I’d been thinking about nothing else for weeks. It’s a bit like a crossword. You stare at some clue and then decide you’ll never get the answer, and the next day you pick up the paper and glance at it and the answer snaps into your brain.’

‘Could be. I’m off then. See you in a week.’

‘You really think there’s a chance of him being at that monastery?’

‘A slim one, but yes, I do think it’s worth a try.’

When Charles had gone, Agatha sat down, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands and thinking it was rather pleasant to be alone again, particularly now that she had nothing to be frightened of. Perhaps a lot of her discontent and frustration was because she would not accept middle age or the prospect of heading to old age. A life without men meant she could dress the way she wanted, be herself. No need to let herself go, exactly. She had a sudden sharp longing for a cigarette and tried to fight it down.

Then she could feel the comfort draining away. How quiet her cottage seemed! She had the cats, of course. She did not really need to do anything. After what she had been through, no one should be expected to do anything. But she rose and began to do some housework and then went out into the garden to pull up weeds. She was bending over a flowerbed when a sudden sharp longing for James engulfed her.

Faintly, she could hear her front doorbell ringing.

With relief, she went to answer it. It was Bill Wong.

‘Do come in,’ cried Agatha. ‘Has she confessed? How did it go?’

Bill followed her into the kitchen. ‘They both ratted on each other. Sheppard said it was all her idea, and he had not known she was going to do it. He only thought she was going to threaten Melissa. Of course, when she heard that, she said he had gone along with her every step of the way. It turns out she told him about the will. He was amazed Melissa had that amount of money. Then Megan got rattled when she learned James was romancing Melissa. She phoned her and asked her if Melissa had changed her will. Melissa said not yet, but that James had persuaded her that it would be a good idea to leave it in the family. Megan decided to act before the will was changed. There was the motive.’

‘It’s amazing, with all that money, she chose to live in a small cottage in a village,’ said Agatha.

‘She was evidently always tight with money, preferred to spend other people’s. Not all that strange a situation. You get millionaires living in council houses. There was a man won four million on the lottery. Never told anyone. Lived in a council flat, worked at a jam factory, had a pint with his mates, just as always. Relatives found out the extent of his wealth when he died. In his will, he said he had realized the money would mean he would have to give up his mates and his job.’

‘Is Wilkes giving me any credit for solving his case?’

Bill looked awkward. ‘He’s going around saying I solved it.’

‘Oh, well,’ said Agatha. ‘That way it keeps it in the family, so to speak. I tell you this, Bill. Never again. If a body with a knife in its back falls in front of me, I’ll simply step over it and forget about it.’

‘Ever thought of starting a detective agency?’

‘You know, I did at one time, but then I thought it would probably be nasty divorces and missing pets.’

‘I told Ma she had been a bit abrupt with you and Charles and so she’s invited you both to dinner next Sunday.’

Agatha repressed a shudder. ‘We can’t. We’re going on holiday.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘You mean, you and Charles?’

‘Yes.’

‘Am I looking at the next Lady Fraith?’

‘No, nothing like that. He’s about ten years younger than me. We’re just friends.’

‘Where are you going on holiday?’

‘Prague,’ said Agatha, having a sudden fear that if she said the south of France, Bill might check on her movements to see if she was trying to contact James.

‘Prague, eh? Why Prague?’

‘Sentimental journey. I spent part of my honeymoon there.’

‘Have a good time. I see you haven’t given up smoking.’

Agatha looked at the smouldering cigarette between her fingers in dismay. ‘I thought I had. I didn’t even know I had started again.’

‘If you hear anything at all from James Lacey, remember it’s your duty to contact me.’

‘Will he be charged with anything? Leaving the scene of the crime?’

‘No, I shouldn’t think so. Not now we’ve got the guilty parties. Megan had no end of luck. What if a chap at the night desk at the Randolph had seen her leave or return? What if Mrs Green had had better eyesight? What if Dewey had not been so weird and distracted our investigations? And Melissa’s sister must be relieved it’s all over. Wilkes became convinced she was the guilty party and those students who lodged with her have been grilled over and over again. Aren’t you going to put that cigarette out – that is, if you really want to stop smoking?’

‘Tomorrow,’ said Agatha. ‘I’ll stop tomorrow.’

‘That’s addict-speak. If you really wanted to stop, you’d stop now.’

‘Will Megan be brought to court?’

‘We’ll try, but last heard she was putting on a very good mad act. If she gets a sharp lawyer, she may be considered unfit. Oh, the vacuum cleaner. The stuff inside matches the fibres from Melissa’s carpet. She got rid of the weapon but forgot to empty the vacuum cleaner. Lucky, that.’

‘Where on earth did she get a gun? And if she had one, why didn’t she use it on Melissa? I wouldn’t even know where to start buying a gun.’

‘Sheppard said she was nervous about your investigations. She probably bought it just before she ransacked your house, he says. She probably would have shot you if you’d arrived home while she was there. And where would she get it? Alas, Birmingham, probably. It’s easy enough if you know where to go. We catch most of the gun dealers, but as soon as we get one, another sets up shop somewhere else.’

‘Would you like a coffee or something?’ asked Agatha.

‘No, I’ve got to be on my way. But don’t forget. Ma will expect you for Sunday dinner when you get back.’

‘Won’t forget,’ said Agatha, planning to think up any lie she could to make sure she never went.

Agatha did not speak French. Agatha did not speak any language other than English. And she did like to be in control at all times, but realized she would need to rely on Charles to make all the arrangements once they had crossed the Channel.

Also, she was nervous about driving on the wrong side of the road, whereas Charles was used to it, so he was doing the driving.

Then Charles insisted on making a detour to Paris first to visit an old friend and Agatha did not feel as if she had any right to object, because it was Charles’s car that was taking the wear and tear of the mileage.

Besides, not being in charge of things made her feel inadequate. She decided to take French lessons as soon as she got back. Yes, that would be something to do. Forget detective work; never again.

Getting off the ferry, they queued behind a long line of cars full of families going on holiday. Would they enjoy themselves? wondered Agatha, looking at the rear window of the car in front, where three children appeared to be having an all-out fight. Or would the husband, who was driving, be marking off the days in his mind until he could get back to the peace of his office?

Agatha, who had travelled quite a lot, reflected it would be wonderful to speak languages, to be able to put down sniggering waiters and insolent hotel staff, who always retreated behind a wall of incomprehension when she shouted at them in English. She had heard jokes about the British abroad who shouted at foreigners as if they were deaf, but somehow she herself could not stop doing it.

‘This friend of yours,’ she asked after they had cleared customs, ‘does he know we are coming?’

‘It’s a she. And no, I wanted it to be a surprise. I haven’t seen Yvonne in years.’

‘Girlfriend?’

‘Ex.’

‘Maybe you would like to see her on your own?’

‘I say, do you think you could amuse yourself for an hour? Want me to drop you off at the Eiffel Tower?’

‘I’ve seen the Eiffel Tower. Where does she live?’

‘Montmartre. Avenue Junot.’

‘I’ll leave you when we get there and go for a walk.’

‘All right,’ said Charles. ‘If you keep on walking up the hill after you leave me, you’ll come to the Sacré Coeur. Get a super view of Paris from there.’

Agatha was glad it was Charles driving and not herself as he threw the car into the maelstrom of traffic which hurtled around Paris.

When he had parked, she said goodbye to him and headed up the Avenue Junot. Up by the Sacré Coeur, there was a square where artists drew tourists. She stood for a while and watched them before going up and into the great church.

As she stood and looked about her, she began to wonder about what she always thought about the God bit. God, for Agatha, stood for Grand Old-fashioned Disapproval. How could anyone reach out their mind with such pure belief as to cure illness?

At last, Agatha walked out on the steps in the sunshine and looked over Paris. Tourists moved up the steps and down the steps in a colourful, almost hypnotic, stream. She sat down and lit a cigarette. If I find James, then I’ll quit again, she told herself. I quit before. I can quit again.

She then rose and went to a café and ordered coffee and a sandwich, realizing she was hungry. She looked at her watch when she had finished. The hour was more than up.

Agatha walked back to the Avenue Junot to find Charles emerging from a block of flats. He looked smug, and when he got into the car he smelt of fresh soap, as if he had just taken a shower. Had he had sex with the mysterious Yvonne? And if he had, why should the very idea upset her and make her feel old and lonely?

‘How was Yvonne?’ she forced herself to ask.

‘Same as ever. Except she’s got four – four! – noisy brats and one of them puked over me, so a pleasant time was wasted while she and her husband sponged my clothes and I took a shower.’

Agatha’s spirits lifted. Paris spread before them as they sped downwards through the ever-thickening traffic. Perhaps she should try to put ideas of finding James out of her mind and just enjoy a holiday.

Charles suggested they should break their journey in Arles and carry on to Agde on the following morning, and Agatha, anxious now to delay what she was sure was going to be a disappointment, readily agreed.

When they started out from Arles the following morning, it had begun to rain, cold, drizzling, chilly rain. The weather seemed like a bad omen. The windscreen wipers clicked backwards and forwards like a metronome.

Then Charles said, ‘There’s a little bit of blue sky just ahead. In my youth, Father William, they used to say that if you saw a bit of blue sky, enough to patch a sailor’s trousers, then it was going to get sunny.’

‘Huh,’ grunted Agatha, who was beginning to feel depressed again.

But Charles was right. As they headed ever south, the rain stopped, the clouds parted and a warm Provençal sun shone down on red-tiled roofs, vineyards and fields. They stopped in Agde for a meal, and Charles in his impeccable, if English-accented French, asked for directions to the monastery of St Anselm.

‘South a bit from here, towards the Pyrenees,’ he said cheerfully.

‘I don’t know if I said so, but this is very good of you,’ said Agatha awkwardly. ‘I mean, it is a bit of a wild-goose chase.’

‘Worth a try,’ said Charles amiably. ‘You’ll need to start trying to drive on the other side of the road, Agatha. Delicious sea food and no wine to go with it. Only water for me.’

‘I’ve only had water as well. I didn’t want to arrive at the monastery smelling of booze.’

‘Those monks probably smell of booze the whole time. Right, let’s go.’

Charles, under instructions from the restaurant owner, had drawn a map. After they had been following the coast road for some miles, he turned off on to a narrower road and the car began to climb up a steep gradient.

‘That must be it at the top,’ said Charles after a while. ‘It looks more like a medieval fortress.’