Agatha Raisin and the Christmas Crumble

Roy. “Mrs. Glossop.”
    Matilda nervously unwrapped her present. It was a very beautiful cashmere shawl. Agatha had fretted about what to give everyone so much that she had settled on expensive presents.
    Next came Freda Pinch. Her present was an electric foot massager. She murmured her startled thanks at the generosity of the gift.
    “Harry Dunster,” called Roy. He was enjoying himself despite the fact that Agatha had forced him to wear a conservative suit and tie.
    Harry creaked forward and unwrapped his long present with arthritic fingers. Revealed was an ebony cane with a silver top. He stared at it in surprise. “It be right beautiful,” he said. “Thanks.”
    Jake Turnbull was equally delighted to get a case of fine burgundy. Simon Trent received a gift token for an expensive dinner for two at a posh restaurant in Broadway.
    Last came Len Leech. Before Agatha could guess what he was going to do, he whipped out a spring of mistletoe, held it over her head and tried to kiss her on the mouth. She jerked her head away and said sharply, “Do open your present, Mr. Leech.”
    “Len to you, sweetie,” he leered.
    His present was a Chinese silk dressing gown. As he grinned down at it and then gave Agatha a salacious smile, she realised the folly of her choice of present.
    Then it was Agatha’s turn. She left Len Leech’s offering to the last, wishng he would stop smirking and ogling her. His rather prominent eyes roamed over her body. She felt they were like two snails, leaving pornographic trails.
    She stared down at the thong. “Thanks,” she said curtly. “Shall we go in to dinner?”
    Len charged ahead and took a seat at the top of the table, leaving Agatha to sit at the other end, with her back to the hall. Freda tried to grab a seat next to Simon Trent, but she had stumbled in her rush and so he got there before her and took a place next to Matilda. Jake Turnbull was already on his other side. Roy helped old Harry Dunster to a chair next to Agatha, and then sat on her other side.
    Agatha was pleased with the room. Holly decorated the picture frames and tall candles shone down on the table. She was glad she had decided to give up any pretence of having cooked practically all of the dinner herself. After the Christmas crackers had been pulled, the first course of pâté arrived.
    “Has anyone heard this one about the actress and the bishop?” asked Len.
    “Frequently,” snapped Agatha.
    “What about the one about the gorilla? This gorilla kidnapped this woman and . . .”
    “Heard it,” said Roy. “Everyone’s heard it. Kindly leave the stage.”
    But Freda, flushed with unaccustomed wine and feeling like the femme fatale of her fantasies, said, “I haven’t.”
    “This here gorilla,” said Len, “kidnaps this woman in Africa. Takes her up his tree and rapes her for two months. She’s rescued and gets back to America. She’s crying and telling a friend about her ordeal. ‘It must be awful for you,’ says the friend. ‘It is,’ says this woman. ‘He doesn’t write. He doesn’t phone.’ ” And Len laughed so hard, he nearly fell off his chair.
    “But I don’t understand,” said Freda. “Who doesn’t write or phone?”
    “The gorilla doesn’t,” said Len.
    “But gorillas do not know how to write or phone. Do you mean, perhaps, whoever rescued her?”
    Simon began to laugh.
    “Oh, forget it,” said Len sulkily.
    Their plates were removed and then the turkey was wheeled in. Soon everyone was digging in and there was a murmur of conversation from everyone but Len as vegetables were passed around and gravy poured.
    “This is absolutely delicious, Mrs. Raisin,” said Matilda.
    “Agatha, please.”
    Roy was wondering nervously if Agatha was being too generous with the wine that the caterers were diligently pouring as soon as they saw an empty glass. He looked down the table at Len and with a sinking heart recognised the signs of a nasty drunk. Len had moved from the jolly stage to the sentimental stage. His eyes filled with tears, he kept praising and toasting Agatha. Roy guessed he would soon move to the mean and belligerent stage.
    “This is very good of you,” said Simon. “The food is delicious.”
    “And I’ll drink to that,” said Len. “Come on, you ancient lot. Drink up.”
    “I’ve a feeling he’s going to get out of hand,” Matilda whispered to Simon. He smiled down at her, thanking his stars he had what he considered the best company at the