Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryham

on. What a waste of a journey! What a foggy freezing place to land up in, only to be made to feel ridiculous.
    At last, after what seemed an age, Tommers said he had to be getting home. ‘Would invite you,’ he said, ‘but my mother-in-law is in residence and she’s a bit crotchety, to say the least.’
    After he had left, Charles said, ‘Did you really think there might have been another will?’
    ‘I hoped there might be the threat of one, or even some mysterious woman who got something in the real will. Now I feel stupid.’
    ‘I must admit I was hoping for the same thing. So what do you want to do? Shall we find a hotel?’
    ‘Let’s at least try to get back. We can always stop somewhere on the way home. In fact, we can at least stop somewhere for dinner. I don’t like to leave the cats on their own. I left some hard food for them and they’ve got plenty of water, but they will worry about me.’
    ‘I think Hodge and Boswell keep each other amused, Aggie.’
    ‘But the cottage will be cold.’
    ‘Then they’ll probably end up under your duvet.’
    Agatha grabbed his arm. ‘Look!’
    ‘Look at what?’
    ‘Oh, she’s gone.’
    ‘What are you talking about?’
    ‘It was there at the end of the street, just in front of that shop window,’ said Agatha. ‘I thought I saw the captain’s wife, Lizzie Findlay.’
    ‘Well, what’s so exciting about that?’
    ‘She looked different, all smartened up, heels and trouser suit and make-up.’
    ‘How could you see anything in this fog?’
    ‘It parted a bit and the shop window’s brightly lit. A bus passed and sent the fog swirling. It probably wasn’t her. It was someone who looked the way she would look if she were smartened up. I suppose I’m seeing things because I don’t want this nasty cold outing to be entirely wasted. And, damn, I am worrying about those cats.’
    The rush-hour was building up. Charles eased out into a lane of traffic. ‘Maybe we should stop somewhere for a bite soon,’ he said, ‘and then we can have a clearer road.’
    ‘Anywhere you like,’ said Agatha. ‘And put the heater on. I’m freezing.’
    As they eased out of Norwich, the commuter traffic grew less, and the surrounding countryside, blacker and foggier. ‘I need a break,’ muttered Charles. ‘There’s a lit-up sort of building ahead, I think, but with this fog I don’t know if it’s a factory or a pub. Ah, a pub.’
    He turned right into a car park. He got out of the car and held up one finger. ‘I think there’s a breeze, Aggie. Just like a faint breath of air. Do you know what the forecast is?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Oh, well, let’s see what they’ve got in the way of food.’
    The pub turned out to have a small dining-room. The food was of the chicken-in-a-basket, scampi-in-a-basket type of meal, along with various sandwiches and baked potatoes with different fillings.
    They both ordered chicken and chips. The chicken turned out to be hard and dry and coated in orange breadcrumbs, and the chips were of the nasty frozen variety. But food was food. They washed it down with mineral water, Charles saying that he didn’t want to be charged with being over the limit, and as he couldn’t drink, he didn’t see why Agatha should have that pleasure. ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘people who drink on their own are terribly suspect.’
    They ate in silence. Charles, to Agatha’s amazement, paid the bill. Outside, the fog was as bad as ever. ‘Going to be pretty hopeless getting back,’ commented Charles as damp fog swirled about them. ‘We should try to get back to Norwich for the night.’
    ‘I’ll drive,’ said Agatha grimly. ‘My cats.’
    ‘Damn your pesky cats,’ said Charles in a rare fit of bad temper. ‘You’re turning into an old maid.’
    ‘I’m turning into a caring human being,’ snapped Agatha, ‘which is more than I can say for you.’
    ‘Get in the car. I’ll do my best.’
    ‘Where’s that precious wind of yours?’ asked Agatha, as she fastened her seat-belt.
    ‘God knows. Well, here we go into the black nothingness of Norfolk.’
    They made their way along the road at a steady thirty miles an hour.
    ‘Can’t you go faster?’ complained Agatha.
    ‘No. Shut up.’
    After several miles, Charles said, ‘The wind is rising at last, and just for the moment, it’s making things worse.’
    Odd pillars of fog danced in the headlights in front of his tired eyes, like grey ghosts. He crested the top of a small hill and