Agatha Raisin and the Murderous Marriage

are surprisingly terrified of marriage, particularly if they are interested in their jobs. But I don’t suppose that makes you feel any better. Rejection is a pain in the bum. Have another drink, something stronger.’
    ‘I’m driving.’
    ‘And I feel like getting drunk,’ said Agatha. ‘We’ll take a cab back. James can drive you back to Mircester and then take a cab home.’
    ‘Hadn’t you better phone him and ask him?’
    ‘No, he’ll do it. Let’s drink. Change over to the hard stuff.’
    James Lacey was none too pleased to find a tipsy Agatha and Bill weaving on his doorstep at half past eleven at night and to learn that he had to drive Bill to Mircester and then pay for a cab back. Nor was he pleased that Agatha and Bill travelled in the back seat with their arms around each other, roaring out raucous songs.
    His face stiff with disapproval, he drove Bill home in Bill’s car, which he had picked up outside the White Hart. Bill phoned for a cab. James planned to give Agatha a piece of his mind on the road home, but she promptly fell asleep and snored, with her head lolling against his shoulder.
    After having paid the cab, driven his own car from Moreton, and helped Agatha indoors and upstairs to her bedroom, he went down to the living-room, feeling angry and left out. Why should Wong want to discuss the case with Agatha and leave him out in the cold? What was going on there?

Chapter Six

    In the morning, a hung-over Agatha Raisin crept downstairs to receive a taste of what marriage to James might have been like.
    ‘That was incredibly selfish behaviour last night, Agatha. You should be ashamed of yourself!’
    ‘James, can’t you wait till I get a cup of coffee?’
    ‘Selfish!’ James paced up and down the small kitchen. ‘I thought we were in this investigation together, and yet you two go off. I went to the Red Lion but you hadn’t gone there. The next thing I know, you are both back here drunk at closing time. I have to run you back to Moreton, leave my car, run Bill home, get a cab back to Moreton to pick up my own car – well, it’s just too much.’
    Agatha poured a cup of coffee with a shaking hand and then lit a cigarette. James angrily jerked open the kitchen window, letting in a blast of cold autumn air. ‘And that’s a filthy habit, Agatha. This whole house is beginning to stink of cigarette smoke.’
    ‘Leave me alone,’ wailed Agatha, slumping down at the kitchen table.
    There was a ring at the bell. James stumped off to answer it. Soon he was back. ‘It’s that Mrs Hardy for you. I didn’t invite her in.’
    Curiosity momentarily banishing her pounding hangover, Agatha went to the door.
    ‘Good morning,’ said Mrs Hardy. ‘I am reconsidering your offer.’
    Hope shone in Agatha’s eyes. ‘You mean I can buy my cottage back?’
    ‘If you wish.’
    ‘I’ll get dressed and come along and see you,’ said Agatha eagerly.
    ‘Don’t take all day about it. I’m going out.’
    Agatha went upstairs and hurriedly washed and dressed. ‘Going next door,’ she called to James. ‘The Hardy woman’s prepared to sell.’
    Seated a few minutes later in Mrs Hardy’s kitchen and studying her covertly, Agatha wondered if she herself in the not-so-far-off days had been a bit like this Mrs Hardy, blunt and abrasive.
    ‘Why do you want to sell?’ asked Agatha.
    ‘Does it matter? Carsely does not suit.’ She poured herself a cup of coffee but did not offer Agatha any.
    So they got down to business. Agatha at last rose at the end of it, feeling weak and not only with hangover. Mrs Hardy drove a hard bargain. Agatha would have to pay a lot more to get her cottage back than Mrs Hardy had given her for it. Later, Agatha was to wonder why she had not tried to hold off a little, to drive the price down, but she was so eager to have her old home back and get from living with James that she had agreed to the price Mrs Hardy had named.
    ‘Great news,’ she said to James when she returned. ‘The Hardy creature is selling me back my cottage.’
    ‘How much?’
    ‘A lot.’
    ‘Is it worth it, Agatha? You can stay here as long as you like.’
    Agatha threw him a frustrated look. She could not be herself, living with James. He did most of the cooking and cleaning. She realized that even if they had married, it would probably have been just the same. She lived as if in a hotel, carefully keeping her clothes and belongings to the spare room; trying to remember to scrub out the bath