Agatha Raisin 31 - Hot to Trot

by M C Beaton

  Agatha shot her a look. “You must have been born at home,” she said. “That’s where most accidents happen.”

  “Ha!” laughed the third woman. “Mary must definitely have been born at home, then!” She stuck out her chin and waggled her head, in a crude impersonation. “It’s Lady Mary to you! It’s Lady Mary to you!”

  The other two shrieked with laughter. Agatha scowled at Sheraton Chadwick.

  “You wouldn’t be so quick to mock her father, would you, Mrs. Chadwick? Nice brooch, by the way. I think I can hazard a guess where that came from.”

  “Have you been spying on me, Mrs. Raisin? I really don’t like snoopers, you know.”

  “Oh, I know all about what you like,” said Agatha, nodding towards the saddle. “Is that all ready for you to ‘Saddle Up the Palomino?’”

  “I think we need to teach you a lesson, you old cow!”

  Sheraton Chadwick made a grab for Agatha, who dodged aside, only for one of the other women to reach out and seize her arm.

  “Snakes and bastards!” she hissed. Following Claudette’s example, she grabbed a riding helmet hanging on the transporter wall and smashed it into the face of her captor. The woman staggered back, holding her nose. Agatha lunged towards the tailgate. Chadwick stepped in front of her and the uninjured woman leapt on her from behind. Agatha squirmed, kicked and twisted, but now the woman she had hit was there again and the two held her fast.

  Chadwick stepped towards her. She held a leather riding crop in her hand and pressed the tip under Agatha’s chin. Agatha tried to break away, but her arms were twisted and tightly gripped by Chadwick’s friends.

  “When I caught the lovely Mary in here,” Chadwick snarled, “I gave her a taste of this.” She shoved the riding crop harder into Agatha’s throat. “Now you’ve hurt my friend Charlotte. You will have to be punished.”

  She stepped back and pointed to the saddle. Her friends bent Agatha’s arms behind her back and she was thrust forward, crashing into the saddle and collapsing over it, her assailants maintaining their ferocious and painful grip. She was bent double, her face just inches from the straw on the floor, her hair falling into her face as she fought to straighten up, but Charlotte was standing over her, pinning her arms behind her and pushing her down. The other woman quickly locked her arms around Agatha’s ankles, clamping them together and pulling her feet clear of the floor. Now Agatha could barely move, barely breathe. She felt her dress being yanked up to her buttocks. Chadwick laid the riding crop across the top of her thighs.

  “Your sweet little summer dress isn’t going to look nearly so pretty when you’ve a lovely set of tiger stripes down the backs of your legs, is it?” she purred. “You’ve been a very naughty pony…”

  “STOP THAT! Let her go!”

  Agatha recognised Jen’s voice, but not the tone. She had never heard Jen angry. She felt her legs being released and her feet hit the floor. Then her arms were free. She eased them down to her sides, pushing away from the saddle to stand up. She smoothed her dress and pushed her hair out of her face.

  “You people are animals!” Jen was standing at the tailgate. Pierre’s strong hand was clamped around Chadwick’s wrist. He took the riding crop and pushed her aside.

  “Thank you, Jen,” said Agatha, regaining her composure. She picked up her clutch bag, dropped during the struggle, and, spotting a small mirror on the wall, ran her fingers through her hair and checked her make-up. She turned to Charlotte, offering her a tissue to mop up the blood dribbling from her nose. “Poor Charlotte,” she said. “I’d like to say I’m sorry … but I’m not.” Then she faced Sheraton Chadwick, fixing her with her bear-like eyes. “This isn’t over,” she growled.

  “You don’t frighten me,” Chadwick sneered. “I can buy and sell low-life like you. Cross me again, and you’re dead!”

  “A threat?” said Agatha, shaking her head. “Oh dear. Big mistake. You really don’t know me at all, do you?”

  She strode out of the trailer with Jen at her side. Pierre followed quietly behind.

  “Are you all right, Agatha?” asked Jen once they were well away from Chadwick’s transporter.

  “I’m fine,” said Agatha, turning her face to the sun and breathing deeply. “A little shaken, maybe, but nothing a good stiff drink can’t put right.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Jen. “There’s a bar at the grandstand. Claudette will be riding shortly, so let’s go there. What on earth were you doing with that lot?”

  “I was doing my job. Sometimes it can get a little rough.”

  “Well, Sheraton Chadwick is no stranger to that sort of thing, I can tell you. She once took a riding crop to a young girl who only wanted to stroke her horse. I’m sorry you ran into someone like her here. She is not typical of the sort of people we know on the circuit. Most are extremely nice. She, on the other hand, is a particularly nasty piece of work.”

  “So it seems. I have a … professional interest in her.”

  “Be very careful with that one, Agatha. She’s ruthless. No morals. She uses her husband’s money to finance her riding jaunts, and when he reins in the cash from time to time, she simply turns to another benefactor. I could name at least three men, in Italy, Germany and the Netherlands, whose bed she shares when she needs an injection of corporate finance.”

  “Is that so?” Agatha said quietly. “Jen, I may have to press you for those names later. I will make each one a nail in Sheraton Chadwick’s coffin. In the meantime, let’s go get that drink.”

  By the time they had reached the grandstand and picked up two glasses of deliciously cold white wine from the bar, the show-jumping was already under way. They took their seats to watch the rider preceding Claudette finish her round. Even a novice like Agatha could tell that the jumps for the adult contest were higher, and there were more of them, spread out over a longer course. The rider guided her horse with great skill, but at the final jump one of her horse’s rear hooves clipped the wall, sending a couple of bricks toppling to the ground. There was a groan of disappointment from the crowd but cheers and applause nonetheless when she finished the course.

  Claudette was in the arena next with Poppy. She looked lean and athletic balanced on the powerful grey mare, tackling the course with confidence. Agatha noticed Jen rising and falling in the seat next to her, taking every jump and turn along with her friend. Horse and rider moved in smooth harmony, tension and expectation building in the crowd until Claudette faced the final wall. Poppy surged forward and took a mighty leap, sailing well clear of the top. There was a huge roar and a thunder of applause from the crowd. Jen and Agatha were on their feet cheering, Agatha totally caught up in the excitement of the moment.

  “Come on,” said Jen. “Let’s go and have a word with her!”

  They rushed down the stairs from the grandstand to find Claudette in a small paddock with Poppy, Pierre in attendance. She was jumping up and down in elation. Other competitors were milling around, congratulating her on a fine performance. Jen hugged her, and Claudette hugged Agatha, squealing with excitement.

  “Does that mean you’ve won?” Agatha asked.

  “Not quite,” Claudette grinned, “but it was a very good start. Poppy was fantastic, no? There is more to do, but that was a clear round in a fast time. Our best performance, I think. Whatever else happens today, tonight we will celebrate at dinner in a restaurant close to the chateau. You will love it.”

  “We’d best stick to a light lunch, then, Agatha!” Jen laughed. “We’ll watch Claudette ride again later.”

  “I can’t wait,” said Agatha. Then, as Claudette chatted happily with friends, she said quietly to Jen and Pierre, “Say nothing about that little incident earlier. We don’t want to spoil Claudette’s day in any way. I will deal with Sheraton Chadwick.”

  * * *

  Agatha sat at the dressing table in her room at the chateau. She had showered and changed and was putting the finishing touches to her make-up, with the events of the day running throu
gh her head. Claudette and Poppy had enjoyed a triumphantly successful day and were well placed for the next stage of the competition tomorrow. The time Agatha had spent with Jen had been a delight … but then there was Sheraton Chadwick.

  She shuddered. The truth was that she had thought of little else all day. Whenever there were no other distractions, when there was nothing else to occupy her mind, or even when she drifted momentarily out of a conversation, snatches of the confrontation played out in her head. Every time it happened, she felt a surge of anger. She had been humiliated. She had been frightened. She had been very frightened when they draped her over that saddle, waiting for the hot, sharp sting of the riding crop on the backs of her legs. If Jen hadn’t come looking for her … She gulped a breath of air. A tear forced its way out of the corner of her eye. She dabbed at it with a tissue. Thank God for waterproof mascara! She gave herself a shake. This will not do, she told herself. She was not going to be upset. She was going to enjoy an evening with friends. Sheraton Chadwick would get what was coming to her.

  She checked herself in the full-length mirror before going downstairs. The black sequinned dress was mid length and the neckline respectable rather than daringly low. It was a cocktail dress as opposed to an evening gown—ideal for an early dinner at any restaurant. The temperature was markedly cooler, a change in the weather clearly on the way, so she draped a silver-flecked black pashmina over her shoulders. She was ready.

  Downstairs in the lounge, Claudette and Jen were sipping glasses of Crémant with the Colonel, who had his ledger laptop open on a table.

  “Just in time, Agatha my dear!” he called, holding out a glass of sparkling wine for her. “Come and take a look at this!”

  A video was playing on the laptop. Agatha could see the show-jumping arena and glimpses of the crowd, then the camera was racing towards one of the jumps and soaring over it, Poppy’s neck and ears filling part of the screen. There was the sound of pounding hooves, Poppy snorting and Claudette breathing words of encouragement. It was a record of the day’s success, all from Claudette’s point of view.

  “Amazing,” said Agatha. “How on earth did you do that?”

  “With one of these,” said the Colonel, holding out a handful of what looked like colourful buttons. “These little beauties can transmit video and sound direct to my laptop. Decent-quality results and they weigh next to nothing.”

  “Good evening,” came a voice from the doorway. “I hope I am not missing anything.”

  A man stood in the doorway, looking directly at Agatha. He was of medium height with strong, broad shoulders and smouldering dark eyes.

  “Uncle Pascal!” Claudette threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “You made it!”

  “A little late, and I must leave again for London tomorrow.” He smiled and shrugged. “But tonight I shall have dinner with my beautiful niece, our wonderful friends and … a charming lady.”

  Claudette introduced her uncle to Agatha. She went to shake his hand, but he took hers, lifted it to his lips and kissed it.

  “Delighted to meet you, Agatha,” he said. “We must talk later. I want to know all about you.”

  “I … well, yes … of course,” Agatha felt her face flush slightly. Agatha Raisin! she scolded herself. Get a grip! You’re behaving like a silly little girl … but, well, he is devilishly handsome …

  Claudette drove to the restaurant. She would have only one glass of wine, she declared, because she needed to keep a clear head for the dressage competition the following day. This was also the reason they were eating early. Both Claudette and the Colonel had to be up early the next morning to get back to the showground. Because Agatha wanted to get home for work, it had been decided that she would fly to Oxford with Pascal.

  The restaurant reminded her of a number of Cotswold inns. It was centuries old, sitting at a crossroads in the heart of the countryside just a few minutes’ drive from the chateau. Inside, there were low ceilings with wooden beams, subdued lighting and a maze of discreet nooks and crannies where the chic tables looked intimately inviting. She surprised herself by suddenly imagining James beckoning her to sit at one of the tables. She had visited far more places like this with Charles than she ever had with James, yet it was James who had sprung to mind. He would, she decided, appreciate the atmosphere here far more than Charles, and would probably include it in one of his travel articles.

  They enjoyed a sumptuous meal and a choice of wines with each course, Pascal insisting on explaining to Agatha the intricacies of each distinct variety. He chatted to her about Paris, London and bizarre and amusing experiences of corporate life. Agatha relished the atmosphere, the conversation and the wine, but paused as she was about to sample the final vintage of the evening. From where she was sitting, she had a view across the restaurant, now busy with clients. Standing at the door, being attended to by the maître d,” was Darell Brown-Field with Mrs. Sheraton Chadwick on his arm. Agatha reached into her handbag, grabbed her phone and snapped a photo. Neither Brown-Field nor Chadwick noticed a thing, and they were shown to a table out of sight on the far side of the restaurant without spotting her. They must have thought they were safe here, she smiled, miles from anywhere in the heart of the French countryside at a restaurant where no one would know them. Now, whatever they chose for dinner, their goose was cooked.

  “You wish to take a photo?” asked Pascal.

  “Just that one,” Agatha replied. “I wanted to capture … the ambience.”

  * * *

  Back at the chateau, Agatha and Pascal lingered in the drawing room, chatting merrily over balloons of cognac long after the others had gone to bed. When Agatha decided that she too needed to turn in, he took her arm and linked it into his own as they walked towards the stairs.

  “It seems such a shame to part now simply to be together again so early in the morning,” he said. He bent his head towards her and kissed her on the lips. For a second, she let him, then she placed a hand on his chest and pushed herself gently out of his embrace.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I have had such fun with you tonight, but I don’t feel quite ready for…”

  “As you wish,” he replied softly. “I apologise if I have upset you in any way.”

  “Not at all. No apology necessary, Pascal, really. I will see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

  Agatha trotted upstairs to her room and threw herself on the bed. Pascal had been utterly charming and he simply oozed sex appeal. After such a wonderful evening, how could she resist such a gorgeous Frenchman, with his velvety smooth accent, who seemed totally besotted with her, in a fairy-tale castle? Because, Agatha Raisin, she told herself, your life is complicated enough right now. What about James? How could you start leading him to think that you could be together again when you’re not at all sure about it yourself? How could you kiss a Frenchman who is practically a stranger if what you really want is a life with James? How could you get yourself confused about all of this that is so incompatible with … and before she could work out exactly what it was not compatible with, she was sound asleep.

  Having woken in the middle of the night with the shoulder of her dress pressing fish-scale sequin patterns into the side of her face, Agatha was not entirely ready to face the day by the time she was due to leave for the airport with Pascal. He understood entirely that sensible conversation would be delayed until the head fog of the night before had cleared, and spent most of the journey studying the financial section of his newspaper or sifting through papers from his briefcase.

  By the time they were airborne and Agatha was sipping her fourth cup of coffee of the morning, they were able to resume their amiable conversation from the night before, and when they parted in the terminal building in Oxford, she knew that she wanted to see him again, though she needed to have her life back on the rails before then.

  “You have a car here at the airport?” he asked.

  “No, Toni will pick me up.”

  “He is a good friend, your Tony
?”

  “He is a she,” Agatha laughed, “but yes—a good friend and colleague. Toni works for me.”

  There was a short pause as she tried to find her next words.

  “Pascal, last night I was a little…”

  He waved a hand to dismiss any awkward thoughts, as though pushing them aside.

  “I was too forward,” he said, “too eager. You must allow me to make it up to you. You must visit us at the chateau again soon. From tomorrow, I will be spending the next month there. Every day. Promise me you will come.”

  “I promise. As soon as the case is wrapped up, I will come.”

  “Just phone myself or Claudette to let us know. I will be most delighted to see you again. I am sure Claudette will too, but not, I think, as much as me.”

  They hugged, then he kissed her on both cheeks and hurried off to talk to the pilot of the plane.

  Toni was waiting for Agatha when she came through the arrivals gate.

  “Welcome home,” she said, smiling. “Good holiday?”

  “It was a work trip, my girl,” said Agatha, then laughed. “Want to see my holiday snaps? Take this for a second.”

  She handed Toni her suitcase, pulled out her phone and, still walking towards the car park, held up the image of Darell Brown-Field with Sheraton Chadwick for Toni to admire.

  “Wow!” said Toni. “You got them! Where was that taken?”

  “At a restaurant in the Gironde. Come on, I’ll fill you in on the rest in the car.”

  As they headed north up the A44, Agatha gave Toni an account of her whirlwind trip to Bordeaux, including her experience with Sheraton Chadwick and her friends.

  “She is one sick, nasty bitch,” Toni gasped. “Would she really have flogged you with that thing?”

  “If Jen hadn’t shown up with Pierre, I’m certain she would. She’s capable of just about anything.”

  “How about murder?”

  “No doubt about it.”

  “But what motive would she have for killing Mary?”