Agatha Raisin And The Wellspring Of Death Part 15

"Then I'll do it myself," said Agatha. With James beside her, she wanted more than ever to distance herself from Guy. "And as a matter of fact, I'm going to stop representing you. The launch is over. The water's on the market. There is really no need any longer to engage me."

Portia, who had been sitting at the end of the table, said suddenly, "I've been telling you and telling you, I am perfectly capable of doing the public relations job. The launch was a fiasco."

"I didn't plan the rain, the murder or The Pretty Girls scandal," said Agatha.

"I said, didn't I, Guy, that The Pretty Girls were a bad idea?" said Portia. "I mean, one heard murmurs."

"Murmurs that you didn't bother telling me about." Agatha glared.

Portia shrugged her elegant shoulders.

"We don't want to lose you," said Guy.

"That's very flattering." Agatha got to her feet. "But I'm going to be too busy. Give the job to Miss Sunshine over there."

Guy rushed to hold the door open for her. "Dinner tonight?" he asked.

"Can't," said Agatha. "Got Roy staying. I'll phone you."

Portia led them out to reception. Agatha nodded to her curtly and walked away. To her horror, she heard James ask Portia, "Are you free for dinner one evening?"

Agatha stopped in her tracks, her shoulders rigid.

She heard Portia laugh and say, "I don't think my boyfriend would approve, but why don't you give me your phone number anyway?"

Agatha, with Roy behind her, walked out to James's car and stood fuming.

"He's sure one of the Freemonts did it," said Roy in a soothing voice. "That's why he asked her out."

But Agatha's mind was full of pictures of James dining by candle-light with the beautiful Portia, James taking Portia home, James staying the night.

"So do we still go ahead with the garden party?" asked James when he joined them.

"May as well. I'll try to get them here for next Sunday. Will you stay on for that, Roy?"

"Think, if you don't mind, I'd better get back to London tonight," said Roy. He was considering that it was one thing to stay on with Agatha Raisin, prize PR for the water company, but quite another, in his boss's eyes, to stay on with plain unemployed Mrs Raisin.

Agatha flashed him a cynical look. Roy's job would always come first.

James dropped them at Agatha's car and they followed him home.

When they arrived back in Ca.r.s.ely, James said, "When are we going to discuss the arrangements for this garden party, Agatha?"

Roy had got out of the car first and was waiting on Agatha's doorstep.

James and Agatha were standing outside their cars on the pavement.

"If you want to work with me," said Agatha in a low voice.

"Truce," said James. "Let's just forget all the hard things we've been saying to each other. We've worked well together in the past."

"Okay," said Agatha, half-torn between elation and dread, dread that she was being sucked back down into all the miseries caused by proximity to James. "So maybe we should get on the phone and invite them all?"

"All right. We'll use my phone."

"Right, I'll tell Roy to pack. I'll see you in a few minutes."

"I'm going to James's to make some phone calls," said Agatha. "I'll leave you to pack."

To her surprise, there was no argument from Roy about being left out. But Roy was glad of an opportunity to phone his boss on his own without Agatha listening. If there was any credit to be got out of the launch, he would take it; if there was any blame, then Agatha could shoulder it.

Agatha walked along to James's cottage. The door was standing open and she walked into the book-lined living-room. "Sit down and I'll bring the coffee," shouted James from the kitchen.

Agatha took out her compact and dusted her nose with powder.

She stuffed it back in her handbag as James came in carrying a tray with two mugs.

"Now," said James, "let's see who we've got. Against the water company we have Mary Owen, Bill Allen and Andy Stiggs. For, we have Jane Cutler, Angela Buckley and Fred Shaw." He produced a notebook. "I've got their names and phone numbers here. Drink your coffee and we'll start phoning. Who's going to do the phoning?"

"I think you'd better," said Agatha. "I seem to bring out the beast in them."

"And what're we having? And how do we know the weather will be fine for a garden party?"

"I'll tell you why the weather'll be fine," said Agatha bitterly. "Because it's done its worst to drown out the launch and the long-range forecast is good. Do you think they will come? Mary Owen's bound to refuse. I keep wondering who could have murdered Robina. Was it all really because of the water? I wonder who gets her cottage and her money?"

"I heard someone say she had a son. Anyway, here goes. I'll start with the worst. Mary Owen."

"Good luck. But I don't think you'll get very far. Do you know her?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I called on her before I went off to join Save Our Foxes. We got on all right."

"You might have told me!"

"We're having a truce-remember?"

"Oh, all right, but I want a cigarette. I'll take it out into the garden. Are we just going to have the people from the parish council? It might be viewed as a bit of a snub by our friends in the village if they're not invited."

"Don't let them know you've resigned from the water company, then. Let them think it's business."

Agatha went out into James's small front garden, sat down on the doorstep and lit a cigarette.

She listened to him talking on the phone. That easy laugh of his! There was a lot of the actor in James. When he had finished phoning, should she confront him, say something like "Where do we stand now, James?"

But he might answer something to the effect that they stood nowhere, nowhere at all.

"Mary," she heard him say in a cajoling voice, "it's just a get-together, champagne and eats, all paid for by the water company. Look at it this way: you've all got to put this behind you and work together for the better good of the parish. Yes, a good opportunity to mend fences. What time? Oh, twelve or twelve-thirty. Good, see you then."

So Mary was coming.

Agatha finished her cigarette and threw the stub over the hedge and out into the road, where it landed at the feet of Mrs Darry, who picked up the stub and threw it back. "Don't you have an ashtray?" she demanded angrily. "We're not in London now."

"If you're so concerned about a clean environment, then stop that nasty little dog of yours p.i.s.sing and defecating outside my home," yelled Agatha.

"And show a bit of decorum," shouted Mrs Darry, her face puce. "You're showing your knickers."

Agatha angrily pulled her skirt down, which had ridden up about her knees.

If only it could turn out to be Mrs Darry. If only something could happen to remove her from Ca.r.s.ely.

She moodily lit another cigarette. Some doctors in Britain were refusing to treat smokers for illness. Why? With all the taxes on tobacco that the smoker paid, they should be getting first-cla.s.s free treatment. Why smokers? Why not drunks? Why not fat people? b.l.o.o.d.y nanny state. Mrs Darry had put Agatha into a foul temper. People flapped their hands in your face and said, "I don't want to die from pa.s.sive smoking," and then they got in their cars and drove off, blasting carcinogens into the night air. The cigarette tasted foul. Come to think of it, all cigarettes tasted foul after the first three of the day. But come to think of it, too, just when one thought of giving up, some puritan would pop up to lecture sanctimoniously on the evils of nicotine and drive the will to stop farther away. The only time the cigarettes tasted just fine all day long was during the annual No Smoking Day. Funny that, mused Agatha. If they changed it to Smoke-lill-You-Drop Day, probably a lot more addicts would give up.

"You can come in now," called James. "That's the lot. They're all coming."

Agatha rose and went back in.

"What about food?" he asked.

"Normally I'd get people like Mrs Bloxby to help me," said Agatha, "but as we are supposed to be running this on behalf of the water company, we'd better hire a catering firm. We'll have something like cold salmon and salad and strawberries and cream."

"The strawberries are past their best."

"People eat strawberries, no matter what. They like the idea. It's like fish and chips. What a good idea, particularly on a cold night, you think, all warm and hot and golden and smelling divine. In fact, all you get is a sodden packet of greasy food which lies like lead in your stomach."

"What about tables and things?"

"There's only six of them and two of us-that's eight. My kitchen table's quite large and I'll borrow a table from the school hall for the champagne. They can't all be hard drinkers. A bottle a head is generous enough."

"Right. What I suggest is that you pay for the lot and let me know how much it comes to and I'll pay half."

"I feel I might be able to get the water company to actually foot the bill. I didn't press hard enough."

"Ah, but that would mean the Freemonts might attend as well, and the purpose of this party is to see how they act once they're all together."

"I thought you suspected the Freemonts."

"I'll get around to them."

Agatha looked at him thoughtfully. "So we're back in business again, James."

"Mmm?" He looked up from some notes he had been making. "Oh, yes, back in business."

"Don't you feel any awkwardness?"

"Don't let's get into that, Agatha."

No, thought Agatha, don't let's ever talk about feelings, about the times we made love, about the rows, about pain. Let's just go on like a couple of bachelors interested in crime.

"I'd better go and talk to Roy."

"You do that," he said cheerfully.

Why did I say anything? mourned Agatha as she let herself into her cottage. I promised myself I wouldn't. What else did I expect? A human response? From James? Rats!

Roy came clattering down the stairs. "How did you get on with lover boy?"

"If you mean James, cut it out. They're all coming."

"What about little me?"

Agatha suddenly didn't want Roy around. She was already planning what to wear.

"Skip it this time, Roy," she said. "I'll be too busy to cope with a house guest."

Roy looked hurt. "Be like that. But remember, I won't always be at your beck and call when you need me."

"I thought your only interest in me was to further your career."

"I think I'll get an earlier train if there is one." Roy looked offended.

"We'll have lunch. You can get the afternoon one."

It was a silent lunch.

"Look," said Agatha, relenting over the coffee. "I haven't been straight with you. I really do want James all to myself,"

"Waste of s.p.a.ce, sweetie."

"Perhaps." Agatha sighed. "Let's not quarrel. I'll drive you to Oxford. We'll have a better choice of trains."

"You can do something to make up."

"What?"

"I've always wanted to punt."

"What? At Oxford? On the river?"

"Yes."

"All right. Finish your coffee and we'll go now."

Agatha managed to find a parking place in the High and they walked down to Magdalen Bridge and down the Steps at the side to the landing-stage.

"I haven't been here before," said Agatha. "I didn't know the river would be so narrow here. And there are so many punts out. Are you sure you want to try this?"

"Yes, yes." Roy gave an excited little skip. "I read about it in a Sunday supplement."

When they asked for a punt, the boatman told them the charge was eight pounds for an hour, twenty-five pounds deposit and to leave identification.