Agatha Raisin and the Murderous Marriage

reached out and grasped Agatha’s hand. ‘He’s all right,’ said Bill. ‘He found out that Mrs Hardy and Mrs Gore-Appleton were one and the same person. That detective of Roy’s had found the mysterious Lizzie and James found a photo of Jimmy Raisin and Mrs Hardy in his effects. Then he realized he had told her to look after you and called me.’
    ‘So where is he?’
    Mrs Bloxby’s grip grew tighter. ‘He made his statement,’ said Bill. ‘He checked with the hospital to find if you were okay and then he took off for northern Cyprus. He said he felt he just had to get away. The removal firm that Mrs Hardy had ordered up called for her stuff and the police have taken away any evidence they needed. James put your stuff from his cottage into yours. I’m sorry, Agatha. I had a bit of a row with him. I suggested the least he could do was wait until you regained consciousness.’
    ‘Well, that’s that,’ said Agatha brightly, although her eyes glittered. ‘You win some, you lose some. I’m feeling a little tired now, so. . .’
    ‘Of course.’ Mrs Bloxby got to her feet.
    ‘I’ll be round tomorrow for that statement,’ said Bill.
    Agatha smiled weakly. ‘Don’t bring Maddie.’
    ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’
    When they had left, Agatha began to cry. How could James have done something so callous and vile? She finally sobbed herself to sleep, and her last conscious, miserable thought was that she was the most unloved woman in the world.
    As the days passed, Agatha slowly recovered her strength, health and spirits. Roy Silver called and she sent him off with instructions to phone the storage company, get them to bring all her goods back and put them in her cottage.
    Roy was all too eager to help. Had not Mr Wilson promised him a large bonus if he could lure Agatha back into the fold of public relations?
    He returned again two days later to tell her brightly that everything was back as it should be and that Doris Simpson, her cleaner, was looking after the cats.
    ‘And I found this on your kitchen table,’ said Roy, handing her a letter.
    Agatha opened it. It was from James. She put it down. ‘I’ll read it later.’
    ‘So it’s all been quite an adventure,’ said Roy, ‘although that friend of yours, Bill Wong, got all the credit in the newspapers, not a word about us.’
    ‘You deserved a mention,’ said Agatha, ‘but no credit to me that the case was solved. What a fool I was! A few more bodies and that wretched woman would have gone down in history as a serial killer.’
    Roy sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘I tell you, Aggie, this village life is not for you. Much too dark and dangerous.’
    Agatha grinned. ‘I know what you are up to, Roy, and I know why you are being so helpful. I’m grateful to you for arranging all my bits and pieces, but I do not think I really want to go back to work again.’
    ‘I think you owe me something,’ said Roy. ‘Who got the detective in the first place?’
    ‘You did. And for a very nasty reason.’
    ‘I did it out of friendship,’ said Roy huffily. ‘You would have been lying dead in your own garden pushing up the daisies if it hadn’t been for little old me. Come on, Aggie. Now that that total shit, Lacey, has cleared off the scene, you’ll need something to take your mind off all this. What about just another six months?’ Agatha had previously worked for six months at Pedmans.
    Agatha frowned. It just might work. Every time she thought about James, she got a dull ache in her stomach. Hearts did not break, but it sometimes felt that guts could be torn apart.
    ‘All right,’ she said. ‘But only a six-month stretch.’
    ‘Aggie, you’re a wonder. I’ll just go off and phone Wilson.’
    When he had gone, Agatha opened the letter again. ‘Dear Agatha,’ she read,
    I know you are going to think me every kind of a rat, running off to Cyprus like this, but I did stay long enough to see that you were recovering. The fact is, I desperately need some time to myself, and I am afraid if I stay around to see you again, I might not leave, and I really do not honestly think I am ready for marriage yet. Please forgive me. I think I love you as much as it is possible for me to love anyone. Do remember that.
    Yours,
    James.
    Agatha put the letter down and stared into space. Hope flared up again in her damaged soul. She read that one bit over and over again. ‘I think I love you as much as it is possible for me to love anyone.’
    She rang