Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden (23 page)

“You know about that?” Agatha shook out her napkin.

“Yes, Harry and Mary and me have all been invited.”

“Why?”

“Well, you see, he got a lot of kudos for solving those murders…”

“I solved them.”

“Anyway, he asked the three of us. Isn’t it fun?”

So Harry knew all about the wedding, thought Agatha, and yet he said nothing. Does everyone want to hurt me?

“How’s everything?” she said.

“We’re really thinking of moving to Eastbourne. This hotel’s not the same and Mr Martin has put the rates up.” Mary leaned forward. “The food’s not the same either. You’ll see.”

Mary was proved right. The portions were considerably smaller.

“Martin’s a fool,” said Agatha. “Why is it that when places get popular, they stint on the food and raise the rates?”

“He’s got a lot of new staff to pay,” said Mary. “I say, we’re going to a dance on the pier tonight. Want to come?”

“Why not?” said Agatha.

But when she went up to her room after dinner, she suddenly began thrusting all her clothes back into her suitcase. She carried it down to the desk and paid her bill. “Family troubles,” she said to the surprised receptionist. “Got to go.”

As she drove out of Wyckhadden, she repressed a superstitious shiver. Janine had cursed them all. Daisy and the colonel were dead. Which one next?

She drove along the promenade, now hung with fairy lights. And coming along arm in arm were Jimmy and Gladwyn. Gladwyn was wearing the mink coat. I hope some animal libber murders her, thought Agatha fiercely. Why can’t I get away with being unpolitically correct? People even swear at me for smoking.

How weary and how lonely and how long the road back to Carsely seemed.

When she finally let herself into her cottage, she checked her answering service. No one had phoned, no Charles, no James, no one from the village.

She went wearily to bed surrounded by cats.

♦

“So,” said Mrs Bloxby sympathetically the next day. “It was a disaster.”

“Total humiliation,” said Agatha who had called to tell the vicar’s wife all about it.

“It wouldn’t have worked, you know,” said Mrs Bloxby. “He wouldn’t ever have trusted you and every time you had a marital quarrel, Charles’s name would be thrown in your face. It’s this craving for excitement that emanates from you. You’ll always stir things up.”

“Not any more,” said Agatha. “I’m weary. I’m settled. Me and my cats.”

“I hope so. There’s a meeting of the ladies’ society here tomorrow.”

“I’ll come. I’ll help you with the catering.”

“That is good of you.” Mrs Bloxby then prattled on about village affairs and the latest fund raising project. At last Agatha rose and took her leave.

“Has that awful woman gone?” asked the vicar, popping his head round the study door.

“You’re very hard on her, Alf,” said Mrs Bloxby. “She’s got a good heart.”

The vicar kissed his wife on the top of her head and smiled down at her fondly. “You love everyone.”

“And you forget that’s supposed to be part of your job.”

“What does she think of James’s blonde moving in?”

Mrs Bloxby looked uncomfortable. “I hadn’t the heart to tell her.”

“Coward!”

♦

Agatha walked back to Lilac Lane where her cottage was. It was then she saw a long, low, red sports car parked outside James’s cottage and smoke rising from the chimney.

He was home! All her misery fled. They would sit and talk and she would tell him all about the murders. She knocked on his door.

It was opened by a tall slim blonde, thirty-something, wearing cut-off jeans and one of James’s shirts knotted at the waist.

“Is James at home?” asked Agatha.

“No, he’s in Greece. I met him there. He said I could use the cottage until he got back.”

“When will that be?”

“Don’t know. Isn’t he a sweetie?”

“Yes. See you.”

Agatha clumped off to her own cottage. She fed the cats, and let them out into the garden.

There was an aching pain where her heart should be.

EOF