Agatha Raisin and the Murderous Marriage

on the case because of the way she has treated Bill Wong,’ he had, without even thinking about it, decided she was not the right officer for the job.
    Agatha completed the business of buying her cottage back, although conscience prompted her finally to offer £120,000. She felt she had misjudged Mrs Hardy, that here was a fellow spirit.
    When they were leaving the lawyers’, Agatha said impulsively, ‘Look, there’s a dance at the village hall on Saturday evening. Why don’t you come with me and James? No, don’t refuse right away. I thought I would hate things like that, but they’re really rather fun. And it’s in a good cause. We’re raising money for Cancer Relief.’
    Mrs Hardy gave a weak smile. All her aggression seemed to have left her. ‘Well, maybe . . .’ she said hesitantly.
    ‘That’s the thing. Think about it.’ Agatha waved goodbye and headed off to the car, where James was waiting for her.
    ‘Well, that’s that,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Do you know, she’s not that bad? I’ve asked her to come to the dance with us on Saturday.’
    James groaned. ‘I didn’t know we were going.’
    ‘Of course we are. What would a village dance be without us?’
    Agatha put on a chiffon evening blouse and black velvet skirt for the dance on Saturday, wishing the days of proper evening gowns even for a village hop were not gone forever. Full evening dress was glamorous. She was regretting her decision to ‘mother’ Mrs Hardy at the dance. And yet surely there was no one in the village to catch James’s wandering eye. And he did have a wandering eye, witness his interest in Helen Warwick.
    He must have meant something hopeful by that ‘Give me time.’ Perhaps they could go away together to northern Cyprus just for a holiday. It wouldn’t need to be a honeymoon. She sat at her dressing-table, a lipstick halfway to her mouth, her eyes unfocused by dreams as she imagined them walking along the beach together, talking.
    Then she gave a shrug and, leaning forward, applied the lipstick with a careful hand. The dream James always talked so well, always said all those delightful things she longed to hear. The real James would probably talk about books or the political situation. She stood up. Her skirt was loose at the waist. No thanks to that brief stay at the health farm. It was a result of living with James and eating James’s carefully prepared meals – no fries, no puddings. There was no incentive either to snack before meals because she still felt obliged to ask him for everything, and it was easier not to eat anything between meals than to request something and maybe be damned as a glutton. Her face was thinner and her skin clear. I could pass for forty – maybe, thought Agatha.
    When they collected Mrs Hardy and they began to walk towards the village hall, Agatha glanced sideways at her and thought she might at least have made some effort with her dress. Mrs Hardy was wearing a rather baggy green tweed skirt and a black blouse under a raincoat.
    ‘I don’t think this is a very good idea,’ said Mrs Hardy. ‘I don’t like dancing.’
    ‘Stay for a bit and have a drink,’ urged Agatha, ‘and then, if you still don’t like it, you can go home.’
    Light was streaming out of the village hall and they could hear the jolly umpty-tumpty sound of the village band. ‘It’ll be old-fashioned dancing tonight, not a disco,’ said Agatha. ‘No heavy metal.’
    ‘You mean “Pride of Erin” and the military two-step, things like that?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Oh, I can do those,’ said Mrs Hardy. ‘I didn’t know anyone did those sort of dances these days. I thought they just took ecstasy pills and threw themselves about like dervishes.’
    They left their coats in the temporary cloakroom manned, or ‘womanned’, by old Mrs Boggle. ‘That’ll be fifty pee each,’ said Mrs Boggle, ‘and hang your own coats up.’
    ‘It’s the first time I’ve ever been charged for a cloakroom ticket at the village hall,’ said Agatha suspiciously.
    ‘You don’t think I’m going to do this for nothing,’ grumbled Mrs Boggle.
    James paid the money and then led them both into the village hall. ‘The next dance is a Canadian barn dance,’ announced the MC, vicar Alf Bloxby.
    James turned to Mrs Hardy. ‘Care to try?’
    ‘I don’t know . . .’
    ‘Oh, go on,’ said Agatha, determined to be charitable and reminding herself that she would soon be moving back into her old home.
    James and Mrs