Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell

office.’
    They went up the stairs. ‘I don’t like this,’ muttered Charles.
    ‘Oh, do shut up. You’re making me nervous. What could possibly happen?’
    They gingerly pushed open doors: bathroom, a double bedroom, a box-room, linen cupboard; and then, finally, a small room containing a desk and a computer was revealed.
    ‘This is it!’ said Agatha excitedly. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got.’
    Too eager to find clues to worry about fingerprints, she jerked open the desk drawers. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Must all be still at Mircester.’
    ‘I hate to suggest this, but there might be something in the computer.’
    ‘Right!’ Agatha sat down in front of the screen and switched it on. ‘Let’s see what we have on file. Would you believe it? Just one file headed “Chick Lit”.’
    ‘Bring it up,’ said Charles. ‘She might have been writing a book. Chick Lit are those women’s books, all shopping and bonking. You know, where everyone gets laid in Gucci and Armani.’
    Agatha moved the mouse. ‘Here we are. Plot.’
    They both read. ‘Bitch!’ said Agatha. The plot concerned a beautiful and sophisticated woman who comes to live in a Cotswold village and falls in love with a handsome man who is married to a cold and domineering wife. The description of the man, although badly written, was definitely that of James.
    ‘Is that supposed to be me?’ demanded Agatha, stabbing a finger at the screen. Charles peered over her shoulder. ‘“Mrs Darcy,”’ she read, ‘“was a squat bullying woman with no dress sense and beady little eyes.”’
    Charles stifled a laugh. ‘Surely not.’
    Agatha stiffened. ‘What’s that? I heard something drawing up outside.’
    Charles looked out of the window. ‘It’s a removal van and a woman getting out of a car who looks a bit like Melissa and around the same age. She must have had a sister. We’ve got to get out of here without her finding us.’ He jerked up the window and said over his shoulder to the stricken Agatha, ‘Shut that bloody computer off!’
    He hung out the window. ‘There’s a creeper. I’ll go first and catch you if you fall.’
    Agatha switched off the machine and hitched a leg over the sill just as she heard the door opening downstairs. She edged down, clutching handfuls of creeper. She felt her tights rip.
    ‘A bit more,’ she heard Charles whisper. The creeper gave way and she tumbled into his arms and flattened him into a soft flowerbed.
    ‘Come on,’ urged Charles as she rolled off him, panting. They scrambled up and ran to the bottom of the back garden, which was surrounded by a high wall. Charles pushed her up and she grabbed wildly at the top of the wall and, with a groan, heaved herself up until she was straddling the top of it. Underneath was a bed of nettles. She shut her eyes and jumped and then stifled her screams as she landed among the nettles.
    Soon Charles joined her and they stood in the lane which ran along the back of the cottage.
    ‘I’m stung all over,’ said Agatha. ‘What a mess I am. I’d better get home and put some ointment on.’
    ‘You do that,’ said Charles, ‘and I’ll stroll round to the front of the cottage and chat her up.’
    ‘I’m coming with you.’
    ‘She’ll wonder what you’ve been up to,’ said Charles. ‘You’ve got nettle stings all over your arms and legs. Your tights are torn and your blouse has green streaks on it from the creeper. I’m a bit dusty, but my clothes are dark. Go on, Aggie. I’ll be along soon.’
    Agatha reluctantly started to walk home, but was less reluctant as she neared her cottage and felt the pain from the stings increasing.
    Once inside her cottage, she went upstairs and stripped off her clothes, showered and covered her stings in anti-histamine cream. She donned clean underwear and a loose cotton dress, applied fresh make-up and went downstairs to wait for Charles.
    She waited and waited and then, growing impatient, decided to walk up to Melissa’s cottage and find out what was going on.
    When she got there, removal men were carrying out furniture. ‘Where’s the lady of the house?’ asked Agatha.
    ‘Gone off with some fellow to the pub for lunch,’ said the foreman.
    Agatha swung round and headed for the Red Lion. She was very angry. Charles should have phoned her and asked her to join them.
    Charles was sitting with a woman who bore a family resemblance to Melissa. Her hair was dark, probably the real colour of Melissa’s hair,