Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham (18 page)

Clutching the envelope tightly, Harriet led them into a large room strewn with coloured fabrics and dominated by a sewing machine.

‘You’re a dressmaker?’ asked Roy.

‘Yes, it’s a living,’ said Harriet wearily. She seemed drained of energy.

She sat down and said, ‘You can’t blackmail me as well. It was all for nothing.’

‘We’ve only come to help you,’ said Agatha. ‘We should have given that money and letter to the police. But we didn’t.’

‘Thank you. I could do with the money.’

‘Let’s introduce ourselves,’ said Agatha briskly. ‘I’m Agatha Raisin and this is Roy Silver. I found John Shawpart’s body and decided to find out what I
could. You don’t want us to tell the police about you and I don’t want you to tell the police about me. I’ll tell you what happened.’

So Agatha told her all about Evesham, about the house being burnt down, about the other women who had been blackmailed.

‘Why didn’t I even guess he was so evil?’ sighed Harriet. ‘Move some of those fabrics and sit down. I’m Harriet Worth.’

‘So how did he get his claws into you?’ asked Agatha.

‘In pretty much the same way as he got hold of those other women,’ said Harriet. ‘I went to the salon to get my hair done. Unlike those other women, my marriage was happy.
Luke’s got a good job with a computer company. Mr John asked me out and of course I refused. But he laughed it off and he was a wizard at doing my hair and Luke liked my new appearance so I
kept going.

‘Then John started to look at me in a sort of pitying way and I asked him sharply what was up. At first he said, nothing, but I insisted. He said with a great show of reluctance – he
knew what Luke looked like because Luke had called in for me a couple of times at the salon – that he had been out the evening before at a restaurant and had seen Luke with a young blonde. He
then made me promise not to tell Luke anything and I did. But I began to get suspicious. It was coming up to Christmas and Luke was often late at the office. He said they were all working flat-out
on a new game.’

Harriet heaved a deep sigh. A truck rumbled past on the road above their heads and a child ran a stick along the railings at the top of the steps.

Harriet went on. ‘I called up at the office one evening. I never usually went there; in fact, come to think of it, I had only been there once before when I forgot my keys. Luke had a new
secretary, a pretty young blonde. When I walked in, they had their heads close together and were laughing about something.

‘After that, I waited outside the office one evening. I saw them come out together and followed them. Luke and his secretary went into a pub.

‘I was devastated. When he at last came home, I asked him why he was so late and he said as usual, pressure of work. I told him I had seen him go to the pub with his secretary and he told
me with a sheepish laugh that they had both been working so hard, they had just dropped in for a drink before they both went home.

‘I must have gone a bit mad with jealousy because I agreed to go out with John. We had an awful lot to drink. John said, “You can’t go home in that state; the salon’s
just round the corner, I’ll make us some coffee.” But once in the salon, he took me through to the back and began to take off my clothes and I was so drunk, it all seemed to be
happening in a dream. I let him make love to me and then I passed out.’

There was a long silence. Agatha and Roy sat amongst the bright swathes of fabric and waited, although both knew in their hearts what was coming. How could I even have let that bastard touch me,
raged Agatha inwardly.

‘I told my husband I had gone out with my friend, Julie, to a hen party and had drunk a bit too much and stayed at her place. Then a week later – I’d stopped going to John to
get my hair done – he phoned me. He said we had better meet. There was something threatening about his voice. I met him at the salon after hours. He had taken photos of both of us naked
– awful photos. He must have set up the camera after I passed out. He said if I paid him five thousand pounds, he would let me have the negatives.’

‘Did you have any money?’ asked Agatha.

‘I had just a little over that in my bank account. Of course I paid, but he didn’t let me have the negatives. I was nearly ill with fright. He said coldly he needed more money. One
more payment would do it. So I sent that money, the money you brought back to me. I took out a personal loan.’

Agatha looked around. ‘Is your husband at work?’

Tears welled up in Harriet’s eyes. ‘That’s the bloody tragedy. After I’d paid that last instalment, Luke left me – for that secretary. The house was in his name.
Oh, I suppose I could have got a lawyer. But I was so crushed I just let it all happen.’

‘You know Shawpart was murdered?’ asked Roy.

‘Yes, and when I read it in the papers, I thought if I ever met the woman who did it, I would shake her hand.’

‘Might have been a man,’ suggested Agatha.

‘I’m sure it was a woman.’

‘What about his wife?’

‘They split up just after I started going to Mr John.’

‘What was she like?’ asked Agatha.

‘Well, she wasn’t a very good hairdresser, although she didn’t know it. She thought she could start up on her own, but her own business soon failed.’

‘What did she look like?’ asked Roy.

‘Blonde, lots of hair, sort of statuesque.’

‘Do you think she was in on this blackmailing racket?’ asked Agatha.

‘I don’t know. He only started on me after the divorce.’ Harriet clasped her hands and looked at Agatha beseechingly. ‘I keep having nightmares about those
negatives.’

‘I think they were burnt in the fire,’ said Agatha soothingly. ‘If they hadn’t been, the police would have been on to you.’

‘Someone’s coming,’ said Roy as the figure of a man descending the area steps could be seen through the window above.

‘I’m not expecting a customer,’ said Harriet. She rose and went to the door just as a sharp knock sounded on the outside.

‘Luke,’ exclaimed Harriet, falling back a step.

Agatha moved like lightning. She picked up the envelope full of money and thrust it into Harriet’s open handbag and clicked the clasp shut. She picked up a swathe of material and draped it
around her. ‘What do you think?’ she was asking Roy as Luke walked into the room.

Agatha had imagined that someone called Luke – a romance name, a cowboy name – would be a brooding sort of man with saturnine good looks, not this tubby little bespectacled man who
stood blinking at them in the gloom of the basement.

In a trembling voice, Harriet introduced Agatha and Roy.

‘I see you’re busy,’ said Agatha. ‘I think this red would be nice.’

‘Too ageing,’ said Roy and Agatha threw him a filthy look.

‘We’ll be on our way,’ said Agatha briskly. ‘I’ve left that payment in your handbag.’

‘So what d’you think?’ she asked Roy outside.

‘Reconciliation?’

‘Poor woman. I hope so. What do we do now?’

‘I’m tired of Portsmouth and we haven’t eaten. I suggest we drive home and stop off on the road and eat some lovely, greasy, cholesterol-laden food.’

‘But we haven’t really got anywhere,’ said Agatha, exasperated.

‘Don’t know what else we can do. John’s dead, we don’t know where the wife is. But the police will know and they’ve probably interviewed her. I’ve a feeling
we’re at a dead end, Aggie.’

Agatha was suddenly engulfed by a wave of weariness. Was she really interested in this case? Or was she always searching for something to take her mind off James – and now the humiliation
of Charles?

Finally comforted by a large, greasy plate of sausages and chips, she slept fitfully on the drive home.

‘Hope you haven’t had a visit from the murderer,’ said Roy cheerfully as they drove up to Agatha’s cottage.

‘I wish I’d left the burglar alarm on,’ grumbled Agatha.

‘I was only joking,’ said Roy, suddenly nervous.

‘We’ll go in and check and then go round to Doris Simpson and collect the cats.’

‘You first.’

‘Coward.’

Agatha walked up the path and then stopped short. Roy collided into her.

‘What’s up?’ he hissed.

‘There’s a light on in the living-room.’

‘Then we go and get a copper. Did you leave a light on?’

‘No, honestly. Let’s get Fred Griggs.’

Following Agatha’s directions, Roy drove to the village police station. It was in darkness, but there was a light on in the flat above. Agatha rang the bell and waited while Fred Griggs
lumbered down the stairs.

‘Fred,’ said Agatha when he answered the door. ‘There’s a light on in the living-room of my cottage. Someone must be in there.’

‘Sure you didn’t leave it on?’

‘No, Fred. What if it’s this murderer waiting for me to come home?’

‘I’ll just pop on my uniform. Wait here.’

Roy and Agatha waited for what seemed like an age until Fred reappeared.

‘Haven’t you got a weapon?’ hissed Agatha.

‘Just my fists. Not even CS gas,’ said Fred comfortably.

They drove him back to Agatha’s cottage. ‘Look at that!’ exclaimed Agatha. ‘The light’s gone out.’

‘Maybe you imagined it,’ said Fred.

‘No, I didn’t, did I, Roy?’

‘Well, you did say you’d seen it, but maybe we imagined it,’ said Roy.

‘Can’t wait here all night.’ Fred walked up to the door. ‘Your keys, Mrs Raisin.’

Agatha handed him her door keys. Fred opened the door and Roy and Agatha crowded in behind him.

‘Which way’s the living room?’

‘Here.’ Agatha pointed to the living-room door. Fred opened it and switched on the light.

‘Look!’ hissed Agatha.

A half-finished glass of whisky stood on a table and a newspaper was dropped on the floor.

‘Not yours?’ whispered Fred.

Agatha shook her head.

‘Wait here.’ Fred went off and looked in the dining-room and kitchen.

He came back. ‘I’ll just be taking a look upstairs.’

‘I’m coming with you,’ Agatha whispered back, not wanting to be left in the hall with only the weedy Roy for protection.

They followed Fred as he crept up the stairs. He opened Agatha’s bedroom door. Nothing and no one. Then the bathroom door. Sodden towels lay on the floor.

‘I didn’t leave it like that,’ muttered Agatha.

‘Last room,’ whispered Fred and opened the door of the spare bedroom. He fumbled and switched on the light.

Sir Charles Fraith lay in bed, fast asleep.

‘Seen ’im before with you, Mrs Raisin,’ Fred remarked.

‘Oh,’ said Agatha, weak at the knees with relief. ‘It’s only Charles. Just leave him.’

They backed out and went downstairs. ‘How did your boyfriend get in?’ asked Fred with a grin.

‘He’s not my boyfriend. Just a house guest. I gave him the spare set of keys. Look, Fred, it was very good of you. Roy’ll run you back.’

‘I’ll walk. Nice night for it. Got a full house, hey?’ Fred winked at Agatha, slapped her on the bottom and went off whistling.

‘Bang goes your reputation, sweetie,’ said Roy. ‘What a klutz you are! What’s with the baronet in the bed? You never told me about him. I mean, I didn’t know you
were
close
.’

‘He’s just a friend,’ protested Agatha. ‘He was staying here for a bit and then he left.’

‘I’ve seen him recently.’ Roy frowned. ‘Aha, he was in that restaurant in Stratford and with some girl and you never said a word.’

‘Can we just leave the whole thing? I’m tired.’

‘Have it your way. What’s the programme for tomorrow?’

‘Nothing. I mean, what’s the point? We haven’t the resources of the police. I’m going to bed.’

‘Come into the living-room a minute and let’s have a nightcap. We have to talk.’

‘I told you, Roy, I’m dropping the case.’

‘Dropping the case,’ jeered Roy. ‘Hark at the great detective. I want to talk about us.’

Agatha’s bearlike eyes narrowed. ‘If you’ve come down here again in the name of friendship to twist my arm into going back into public relations, forget it.’

‘I did come down here just to see you, but Mr Wilson did happen to mention . . .’ Mr Wilson was Roy’s boss.

‘I thought so,’ said Agatha bitterly. ‘You’ll need to share a bed with Charles and I hope you’ll be very happy together.’

She made for the door. ‘I’m going to get my cats. I’ll run you to the station in the morning. Early train.’

‘But, Aggie . . .’

‘Goodnight.’

After Agatha had seen a still-protesting Roy off on the early-morning train, she returned to the cottage to find Charles sitting in the kitchen, wrapped in a dressing-gown and
buttering toast.

‘What the hell do you mean by creeping back here last night?’ snapped Agatha. ‘I thought the murderer had broken in. I summoned the local bobby and he found you fast
asleep.’

‘That’s funny.’

‘It was not funny at all. So when you’ve finished your breakfast, please leave.’

Charles looked mildly at the flushed and angry Agatha.

‘What’s got your knickers in a twist?’

‘You, you insensitive, self-absorbed little bastard. You have sex with me, bugger off and then tell me you’re in love.’

‘Was in love. Was.’

‘Then you couldn’t have been in love in the first place.’

‘You’re probably right. Do sit down. I’ve made some coffee. It’s as hot as the steam coming out of your ears.’

Agatha’s rage subsided She felt suddenly weary. She sat down.

‘Did you not think, Charles, that your behaviour towards me was selfish and insensitive?’

‘No, Aggie. I thought we had fun. Then I had these guests and there was this girl, eminently suitable.’

‘That doesn’t sound like love.’

‘It sounds like marriage. I really think I ought to get married. Get an heir and all that.’ He waved a piece of buttered toast in the air. ‘But she didn’t even like me.
Met some friend in a restaurant in Stratford and went off with him and left me flat. So I thought, I’d best get back and see what Aggie’s up to.’

‘Just don’t come on to me again!’

‘You, Aggie, were the one who crept into my bed.’

‘For comfort, not sex.’

‘I thought the sex very comfortable.’