Agatha Raisin and the Murderous Marriage

if you like.’
    ‘No, I’ll take Agatha to the pub, if that’s all right.’
    ‘Catch up with you later,’ said James.
    ‘Leave your car,’ said Agatha, joining Bill. ‘We’ll walk to the Red Lion.’
    ‘I would rather go somewhere more private,’ said Bill. ‘I don’t want Lacey to join us.’
    When she was in his car, Agatha asked nervously, ‘Am I in trouble?’
    He gave her a sad little smile. ‘No, I think I am. We’ll go to the Royal White Hart in Moreton. Wait till we get there.’
    The bar for once was comparatively empty. Autumn had come, the leaves were falling and the tourists had disappeared. One of the difficulties of living in a beauty spot like the Cotswolds, reflected Agatha, was that for a good part of the year it was swamped with tourists; but then one couldn’t complain: anyone moving out of his own village automatically became a tourist.
    They took seats at the corner of one of the large tables by the fireplace, where a stack of logs was burning brightly.
    ‘So,’ said Agatha, ‘what’s up? No one else murdered, I hope?’
    He shook his head. ‘It’s me and Maddie.’
    Agatha felt an irrational stab of jealousy and then reminded herself severely that Bill was in his twenties and she in her fifties. ‘What’s Hatchet Face been up to then?’ she asked.
    Bill grinned. ‘I’d almost forgotten how much I liked you.’
    Agatha suddenly felt tears welling up in her eyes and fought them back. She wondered if she would ever get used to this new feeling of being liked. It seemed that during her long business life, no one had ever liked Agatha Raisin, and with good reason. The old Agatha had not been either likeable or lovable.
    ‘Go on,’ she said.
    Bill looked at the firelight shining in the contents of his half-pint glass and said, ‘You know I was keen on Maddie.’
    ‘Yes.’
    Bill sighed. ‘You know something, Agatha, I was born too late. There’s something awfully old-fashioned about me. I think when a woman goes to bed with me that it means some sort of commitment.’
    ‘And it didn’t?’
    ‘I thought it did. I had the wedding all planned, I had even begun to look at houses. I’d totally forgotten that I had not mentioned any of those rosy dreams to Maddie. I invited her home this evening to meet my parents.’
    Agatha was about to say, oh dear, but bit it back. She privately thought that Mr and Mrs Wong would be enough to kill love in even the most romantic female breast.
    ‘Well, you know what Mum and Dad are like. They just come out with things. It’s not their fault they’re so honest.’
    It’s their fault they’re so bloody rude, thought Agatha, but said nothing.
    ‘So Mum assumed we were going to get married, and to tell the truth, I had pretty much assumed the same thing. But Maddie got scared off and I don’t think she’s going to see me again, outside police work. The pain’s awful, Agatha. She was so fed up with me, she drove off without even her seat-belt on.’
    ‘Maybe she’ll be all right tomorrow,’ said Agatha and then cursed herself for raising false hopes.
    His face brightened for a moment and then fell. ‘No, I have a gut feeling it’s over. You know what rejection feels like, Agatha.’
    Agatha pressed his hand, and those tears that she could now not hold back welled up and spilled over on to her cheeks.
    ‘Oh, Agatha,’ said Bill, ‘I didn’t mean to make you cry.’
    But Agatha was crying for herself, for losing James, for what seemed to her years of a wasted loveless life devoted to work.
    She dried her eyes and pulled herself together with an effort. ‘All I can suggest, Bill, is that when you see her tomorrow, you’re just as friendly and casual and normal as possible, so that she has nothing to react against. Maybe take some other girl out. But if she still wants you, she’ll let you know. If not, then you’ll save face.’
    Bill grinned. ‘I’m only half Chinese and my poor soul is pure Gloucestershire. You’re right. But how can any woman make love, spend nights, and then simply walk off, just like that?’
    Because she thought you were expendable, thought Agatha. Because she thought you would further her career if she could pick your brains, but after meeting your parents and being threatened with marriage, she thought it was all just not worth the effort. Because she’s a cold bitch. There are gold-diggers and career-diggers, and your precious Maddie is a career-digger. Aloud she said, ‘A lot of women