Agatha Raisin and the Quiche of Death ar-1
Page 19
Everyone wanted a hero, and Bill Wong was to be the hero. Somehow in the middle of it all, James Lacey had slipped out. The television teams rushed off to find Bill Wong in Mircester, a policewoman with a recorder came in from the police car, and Wilkes got down to exhaustive questioning.
At last they left, but the phone rang and rang as various nationals phoned up to add to the stories sent in by the local men. By eleven o'clock, the phone fell silent. Agatha fed the cat and then carried it up to bed. It lay on her feet, purring gently. I'd better think of a name for it, she thought sleepily.
The phone rang downstairs. "Now what?" groaned Agatha aloud, gently lifting the cat off her feet and wondering why she had not bothered to get a phone extension put in the bedroom. She went downstairs and picked up the receiver.
"Aggie!" It was Roy, his voice sharp with excitement. "I thought I'd never get through. I saw you on the telly." "Oh, that," said Agatha. She shivered. "Can I call you back tomorrow, Roy?"
"Look, sweetie, there seems to be more publicity comes out of that little village than out of all the streets of London. The idea is this. Maybe the telly will be back for a follow-up. I'll run down there tomorrow and you can tell them how I helped you to solve the mystery. I phoned Mr. Wilson at home and he thinks it's a great idea."
"Roy, the story will be dead tomorrow. You know it, I know it. Let me go back to bed. I won't be up to seeing visitors for some time."
"Well, I must say I thought you might have mentioned me," complained Roy. "Who was it went with you to Ancombe? I've phoned round all the papers but the night-desks say if you want to volunteer a quote about me, fine, but they're not interested in taking it from me, so be a sweetie and phone them, there's a dear."
"I am going to bed, Roy, and that's that. Finish."
"Aren't we being just a bit of a selfish bitch hogging all the limelight?"
"Good night, Roy," said Agatha and put down the receiver. Then she turned back and lifted it off the hook.
"Well, I want to meet this Raisin woman," said James Lacey's sister, Mrs. Harriet Camberwell, a week later. "I know you want to be left alone. But I'm dying of curiosity. They gave a lot of play to that detective, Wong, but she solved it, didn't she?"
"Yes, I suppose she did, Harriet. But she's very odd. Do you know, she keeps a garden gnome on her coffee-table as an ornament! She walks down the street muttering and talking to herself."
"How sweet. I simply must meet her. Run along and ask her to drop by for a cup of tea."
"If I do that, will you go back to your husband and leave me alone?"
"Of course. Go and get her and I'll make the tea and cut some sandwiches."
Agatha was still recovering from the shock of being nearly burnt to death. She had not bothered about trying to see James, waiting until her cuts healed up and her hair grew back. When that happened, she thought, she would plan a campaign.
The weather had turned pleasantly warm instead of the furnace heat of the days before the storm. She had the doors and windows open and was lying in her old loose cotton dress on the kitchen floor, tossing balls of foil into the air to amuse the kitten, when James walked in.
"I should have knocked," he said awkwardly, ' the door was open."
Agatha scrambled to her feet. "I wonder whether you would like to step along for a cup of tea." "I must change," said Agatha wildly.
"I've obviously come at a bad moment. Maybe another time." "No! I'll come now," said Agatha, frightened he would escape.
They walked along to his cottage. No sooner was she seated, no sooner was Agatha admiring his handsome profile, which was turned towards the kitchen door, when an elegant woman walked in carrying a tea-tray.
"Mrs. Raisin, Mrs. Camberwell. Harriet, darling, this is Mrs. Raisin. Harriet's dying to hear all about your adventures, Mrs. Raisin."
Agatha felt small and dingy. But then women like Harriet Camberwell always made her feel small and dingy. She was a very tall woman, nearly as tall as James, slim, flat-chested, square hunting shoulders, clever upper-class face, expensive hair-style, tailored cotton dress, cool amused eyes.
Agatha began to talk. The villagers would have been amazed to hear her dull rendering of her adventures. She stayed only long enough to briefly recount her story, drink one cup of tea, eat one sandwich, and then she firmly took her leave.
At least Bill Wong was coming for dinner. Be thankful for small comforts, Agatha, she told herself sternly. But she had thought of James Lacey a lot and her days had taken on life and colour. Still, there was no need to look a fright simply because her guest was only Bill.
She did her hair and put on make-up and changed into the dress she had worn for the auction. Dinner taught this time by Mrs. Bloxby was to be simple: grilled steaks, baked potatoes, fresh asparagus, fresh fruit salad and cream. Champagne on ice for the celebration, for Bill Wong had been elevated to detective sergeant.
It was a new, slimmer Bill who walked in the door at seven o'clock. He had been keeping in shape rigorously ever since he had seen his rather chubby features on television.
He talked of this and that, noticing that Agatha's bear-like eyes were rather sad and she seemed to have lost a great deal of animation. He reflected that the attempt on her life must have hit her harder than he would have expected.
She was not contributing much to the conversation and so he searched around for another topic to amuse her. "Oh, by the way," he said as she slid the steaks under the grill, ' neighbour has given up breaking hearts in the village. He told Mrs. Bloxby he wanted to be left alone and was quite sharpish about it. Then, when the ladies of Carsely back off, he is visited by an elegant woman whom he introduces to all and sundry in Harvey's as Mrs. Camberwell. He calls her "darling". They make a nice pair. Mrs. Mason was heard to remark crossly that she had always thought him an odd sort of man anyway and that she had only taken around a cake to be friendly.
"And guess what?"
"What?" said Agatha testily.
"Your old persecutor, Mrs. Boggle, ups and asks him point-blank in the middle of Harvey's if he means to marry Mrs. Camberwell, everyone thinking her a widow. And he replies in surprise, "Why the devil should I marry my own sister?" So I gather the ladies of Carsely are now thinking that although they cannot really call on him after what he said to Mrs. Bloxby, perhaps they can get up a little party or dinner and lure him into one of their homes." Bill laughed heartily.
Agatha turned around, her face suddenly radiant. "We haven't opened the champagne and we must celebrate!"
"Celebrate what?" asked Bill in sudden suspicion.
"Why, your promotion. Dinner won't be long."
Bill opened the champagne and poured them a glass each.
"Is there anything you would like me to do, Mrs. Raisin, before dinner? Lay the table?"
"No, that's done. But you could start off by calling me Agatha, and there is something else. There's a sign in the front garden and a sledge hammer beside it. Could you hammer it into the ground?"
"Of course. Not selling again, are you?"
"No, I'm naming this cottage. I'm tired of everyone still calling it Budgen's cottage. It belongs to me."
He went out into the garden and picked up the sign and hammered its pole into the ground and then stood back to admire the effect.
Brown lettering on white, it proclaimed boldly: RAISIN'S COTTAGE.
Bill grinned. Agatha was in Carsely to stay.
LIBRAR M.C. BEAT ON is the author of the highly acclaimed Hamish Macbeth mystery series. With this novel she begins a new series with sleuth Agatha Raisin. Born in Scotland, Beaton now lives in the Cotswolds.
Jacket design by Pentacor Book Design Jacket illustration by Lee Montgomery
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M.C. Beaton
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