Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist

sharply at Agatha. ‘We’ve met before,’ muttered Agatha, who somehow had no wish to tell James how she had run after him.
    James agreed to move in the following day.
    ‘What about Mrs Raisin?’ asked Bilal, his eyes bright and mischievous. ‘Loads of room here. No need to go on paying a hotel bill.’
    Jackie, Bilal’s wife, a woman in her forties with intelligent eyes and a rosy tan that Agatha envied, said, ‘Yes, why don’t you move in as well, Mrs Raisin?’
    ‘I suppose so,’ said James grudgingly. ‘Mrs Raisin is only here on a short holiday.’
    Agatha knew in that moment that if she said yes, she would stay, James would hate it, would think she was crowding him.
    ‘Thank you,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ll check out of the hotel tomorrow.’
    James gave a little sigh but settled down to arrange the rent and ask about local shops.
    Agatha went upstairs. There was a big bedroom with a double bed. French windows opened up on to an upstairs terrace. Next to it was a single bedroom. Then, through a narrow bathroom and down wooden steps, there was another bedroom with a view of the sea and a single bed under the window.
    She would take this, she decided, and give James the double bedroom.
    She went back downstairs by a back stair which led off her new room. There was a summer living-room which looked out on to a terrace and garden, and a winter living-room where the negotiations were taking place. The kitchen was vast. Looking out of the kitchen window, she saw the car park of the restaurant through a screen of mimosa bushes.
    Jackie joined her. ‘That’s a very good fish restaurant. The manager, Umit Erener, is a friend of ours.’
    ‘I might try it.’
    Jackie’s eyes twinkled. ‘Does Mr Lacey always call you Mrs Raisin?’
    ‘Only in the company of strangers,’ said Agatha stiffly. All the time she was thinking, I shouldn’t have said I would stay. I’ll have driven him further into his shell. ‘He’s old-fashioned.’
    As she and James finally drove off, Agatha said, ‘I’ve selected that little single bedroom at the front of the house, you know, the one you have to walk through the bathroom to get to.’
    He swivelled his head angrily and glared at her. ‘You what?’
    ‘I – I said I thought I’d sleep in that little room at the front of –’
    ‘I thought that’s what you said, Agatha, but I can hardly believe my ears. I am renting this villa, not you, and yet you immediately take over and decide where you want to sleep!’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Agatha huffily. ‘I thought you would like the master bedroom.’
    ‘Just stop thinking for me, will you?’
    Agatha bit her lip. She had been about to say, forget it, she would stay at the hotel, but the whole reason she was there was to get him back.
    Why do you want such a cold pig? sneered a voice in her head.
    When he stopped outside the Dome, he said in a cold voice and staring straight ahead, ‘No doubt I shall see you tomorrow.’
    Agatha cracked. ‘Oh, stuff you and your stupid villa,’ she howled, tears starting to her eyes.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quickly. ‘I’m still angry at being ripped off by Mustafa and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. See here, we’ll have dinner tonight. I’ll see you in the dining-room of your hotel at eight.’
    Agatha gave a watery sniff. ‘See you then.’
    The trouble was, she thought, when she stood out on her hotel balcony and watched the surge of the grey-black Mediterranean pounding on the rocks below, that being in a foreign country made her feel lost and vulnerable.
    But they would have dinner together. In the evening, the tables were set out in the open air on the terrace. She would reserve a table at the edge overlooking the sea. She would put on her best gown.
    She walked back in and studied her face in the glass. Oh, those treacherous lines around the eyes and round the mouth! She slapped on a face pack and settled down to wait for the evening ahead.
    By five to eight, she was ready to go downstairs to the dining-room. She felt she had never looked better. Her hair was brushed and shining, her face smooth under carefully applied foundation, lipstick and mascara. She was wearing a low-cut red chiffon gown and high-heeled black patent-leather shoes. She felt sure she had lost inches already with the sauna-like heat.
    Her mind wandered off into a dream. The blustery wind had stopped blowing. They would sit at that table she had reserved earlier, looking at each