Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist

poisonous snakes were in the mountains and the harmless snakes at the coast. ‘But,’ went on the voice, ‘the other day I found one of those harmless snakes in my kitchen sink in Kyrenia. I decided just to leave it and after some time it emerged with a rat in its mouth, which all goes to show you what useful creatures snakes are.’
    Lady, I wouldn’t even have a cup of tea in your kitchen, thought Agatha with a shudder.
    She tried on the black dress. It was a simple sheath and short enough to show plenty of leg. Perhaps some gold jewellery to brighten it up? Agatha sat down and carefully made up her face in her ‘fright’ mirror, one of those magnifying ones which showed every pore. Then she walked through the bathroom and into James’s room where there was a long mirror. Her make-up looked like a thick beige mask and the dress was a mistake. She went into the bathroom and scrubbed off her make-up. Time to start again.
    It was only when James shouted up the stairs, ‘Agatha, are you ready?’ that Agatha at last made up her mind what to wear. She put on a white satin blouse and a black pleated skirt, high heels and restrained make-up, and hung some gold chains round her neck. Not exciting, but all she could think of in the final rush.
    ‘I think we should take both cars,’ she said when she joined James, who was waiting impatiently.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘In case we have to split up for some reason.’
    ‘You mean, in case you go off with Charles.’
    ‘Don’t be so silly.’
    ‘It was a practical observation based on events, Agatha.’
    Agatha felt herself beginning to blush, but she said, ‘I have no intention of going off with Charles. But something may happen – we may become separated.’
    ‘I don’t want to stand here arguing all night. Take your own bloody car if you want!’
    They both left the villa in angry silence and went to their respective cars.
    When Agatha got to the end of the road, she saw the petrol gauge was registering empty and so turned right towards Lapta to the nearest garage, instead of left towards Kyrenia. Two huge trucks were blocking the petrol pumps and she had to wait patiently until one of them left. Then she found, because she had taken a smaller bag for evening rather than the large one she usually carried, that she had left all her money back at the villa. She explained, apologized and hurried back to find some money. Then, when she got back to the garage, the proprietor was on the phone and so she had to wait again until he had finished his call. She paid and set out on the road to Kyrenia.
    Somehow the homesickness she had felt earlier would not leave her. She longed to be driving down the winding country lanes that led to Carsely, to her thatched cottage, to all the comforts of home. She was almost beginning to dislike James, and yet somehow that craving for love from him would not go away. She hit the steering wheel angrily with her hand. ‘I wish he would die,’ she said out loud.
    She parked on the pavement outside a house. A man opened his front door and stared at her car, which was blocking it.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Agatha, who had just got out. ‘I’ll move it.’
    The man smiled, showing gold teeth. ‘No problem,’ he said cheerfully.
    How easygoing they were, marvelled Agatha. If someone drove up on the pavement and blocked my gateway back home, I’d give them a mouthful and call the police.
    Bert Mort, the Israeli businessman, was just checking out of the hotel when Agatha arrived. He threw her a guilty look.
    ‘Where is your wife?’ asked Agatha sweetly.
    ‘Gone back home ahead of me. Look, Agatha, I’m truly sorry.’
    Agatha relented. ‘What puzzles me, Bert, is how you could even look at an old bag like me with such a gorgeous wife.’
    He gave a rueful smile. ‘Don’t put yourself down, Agatha. You’ve got great legs.’
    ‘Agatha!’ James stood there, glowering.
    ‘Coming,’ said Agatha meekly. ‘Goodbye, Bert. Safe journey.’
    ‘They’re in the bar,’ said James. ‘I thought we should approach them together.’
    They walked through the lounge and towards the bar. ‘I feel nervous,’ said Agatha.
    ‘Just think of your great legs and you’ll feel better,’ said James acidly.
    Agatha bit back an angry reply, for they had now reached the entrance to the bar.
    Olivia gave them a bleak look, Trevor looked surly and angry, and George Debenham put a protective arm around his wife’s shoulders as if to guard her from