Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell

stubbornly. ‘I’d better go.’
    ‘Please stay a moment longer. You must be terribly frightened and worried.’
    James, who had half risen from his chair, sank back again and buried his head in his hands.
    ‘Mrs Raisin would be a great help,’ said Mrs Bloxby gently.
    ‘I should never have married her,’ muttered James.
    ‘I assume you were in love with her.’
    ‘Oh, yes, but she’s so messy and infuriating.’
    ‘I think you are very hard on her because you are frightened and ill.’
    James got to his feet. ‘I’ll think about it.’
    As he walked home, he thought guiltily that he had seemed to go on and on too much about Agatha’s faults. All he had to do was tell her what was up with him. But when he turned into Lilac Lane, he recognized the car outside Agatha’s cottage. Sir Charles Fraith. And still there! So Agatha had gone back to her old ways. Two could play at that game!

Chapter Two
    The fact that Agatha and her new husband were living in separate cottages, not speaking to each other, spread round the village like wildfire. Mrs Bloxby kept quiet about James’s revelation about his brain tumour. She did not even tell her husband, the vicar, Alf Bloxby, who, on hearing the news of the breakdown of Agatha’s marriage, merely remarked sourly, ‘Don’t know how anyone could live with that woman.’
    James was often seen with Melissa Sheppard, Agatha with Charles.
    This miserable state of affairs might have gone on forever had not James had a change of heart. He was afraid of dying. He did not want to depart the world and leave bitterness and misery behind. He wanted to be missed. He wanted to be mourned.
    He bought a large bunch of red roses and presented himself on Agatha’s doorstep a week after what was known in the village as The Great Scene in the Pub.
    Agatha answered the door and stood for a moment looking at him and then at the bouquet he held in his hand. ‘Come in,’ she said, and walked off to the kitchen without waiting to see whether he was following her or not.
    ‘Sit down,’ she said, leaning on the kitchen counter. ‘Why have you come?’
    The correct answer, the sensible answer would have been, ‘Agatha, I have a brain tumour, and I think I am going to die,’ but instead James remarked, ‘You look terrible.’
    Agatha had deep pouches under her eyes and her normally glossy hair was dull. She was wearing a shapeless print house-dress and flat sandals.
    ‘I have been working hard. Coffee?’
    ‘Yes, please.’
    ‘It’s the real stuff,’ said Agatha, plugging in the electric percolator. ‘No unleaded in this house.’
    ‘Fine,’ said James, stretching out his long legs.
    Agatha sat down opposite him. As if by silent consent, both of them waited until the coffee was ready. Agatha filled two mugs and then looked at James.
    ‘You still seeing that tramp, Melissa?’
    ‘I felt I needed company while you were running around with Charles Fraith.’
    ‘Charles is just a friend.’
    ‘That makes a change,’ said James sourly. ‘You had an affair with him in Cyprus.’
    ‘That was before we were married. And you had a fling with Melissa.’
    ‘We are just friends,’ said James stiffly. ‘You shouldn’t be working. You don’t need to work. You look awful.’
    ‘Well, Mr Health and Beauty, you’ve been nagging me for ages about wearing make-up and heels. You ought to be happy. Why did you come here? To nag me again?’
    ‘I thought we should give the marriage another go,’ said James.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because I’m not a quitter and neither are you.’
    ‘Couldn’t you say it was because you loved me?’
    ‘Oh, Agatha, you know what I’m like. I never was any good at that lovey-dovey stuff.’
    ‘All right. I’ll try again. But you have to stop seeing Melissa.’
    ‘She’s a friend.’
    ‘I’ll stop seeing Charles or any other man, if you stop seeing Melissa.’
    ‘Very well.’
    Agatha suddenly smiled at him. ‘What a pair of chumps we are,’ she said happily. ‘Wait there until I put some make-up on. It’s all right for you, James. The thing I love about you is that you always seem so fit and healthy.’ She went out of the kitchen. I should have told her, thought James. But we’ll have dinner this evening. I’ll tell her then.
    Happiness is a great rejuvenator. Agatha returned to work that afternoon looking fresh and businesslike. The rambling song was a jaunty whistle-along tune. Delly Shoes proclaimed themselves delighted with Agatha.