Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist

the moment she would be alone with James and listening to his recriminations. The trouble was that she, Agatha, had been brought up in the pre-feminist years, in the ‘yes, dear’ generation. And now that she had a man in her life, all the old patterns had re-emerged. Also men were born with an enviable ability to make women feel guilty about the smallest things, although, she admitted to herself drearily, telling a man whose wife has just been murdered that her will should see him all right had been a crazy thing to do.
    She asked George many questions about his life in the Foreign Office, hoping to repair the damage by being as pleasant and sociable as she could. George, it transpired, had been desk-bound in London, no glamorous foreign assignments. But he talked and talked. He seemed to miss his old life and his stories were all about more charismatic characters than he was himself. There is nothing quite so boring as listening to someone happily reminiscing about people one has never met, but it had the advantage of taking up most of the evening and deflecting everyone’s mind from Trevor’s outburst.
    At the end of the meal Olivia suggested they should all have coffee and brandy at the Dome. Agatha still did not want to be alone with James, and so she said that was a good idea.
    She bolted for her car before James could get to her and drove off, fumbling in her handbag for her cigarettes. She no longer liked to smoke in front of James because he flapped his hands and coughed angrily.
    She drove slowly along the coast road. By the time she got to the hotel, she decided it would be better to take James aside and get the row over with. Otherwise it would be hanging over her for the rest of the evening.
    She found James waiting for her by the reception desk. ‘Before you start,’ said Agatha, ‘I’ve an interesting bit of news. Before we arrived in the bar this evening, that lot were having a terrible row. Trevor accused George of having made a pass at Rose and Harry called Rose a slut and Trevor tried to punch him.’
    His eyes narrowed. ‘How did you find that out?’
    ‘Charles told me,’ said Agatha, and then wished she had said a waiter had told her.
    ‘So that’s what kept you,’ said James furiously. ‘Let me tell you this, Agatha: this is a small, gossipy place, and you are the one who’s getting the reputation as slut.’
    ‘That’s unfair. He came up to speak to me when I was getting in my car and then Pamir arrived and that’s what kept me.’
    ‘I don’t believe you,’ shouted James. ‘And what about your behaviour this evening? We were going to approach the subject of Rose’s money tactfully, remember? But oh no, you just blurt it out. Damn it, Agatha,’ he roared. ‘I could kill you.’
    A girl and a man behind the reception desk froze and stared at both of them, as did several tourists.
    James muttered something and turned on his heel and headed for the bar.
    Agatha stood for a moment, numb. And then she began to feel very angry indeed. How dare James go on as if he owned her? Why was all his passion confined to bad temper? Well, she was not going back to the villa tonight. She would take a room here and enjoy some peace and quiet.
    She fished in her handbag for her credit cards and booked a room for the night. Then, feeling as if she had at last asserted her independence, she walked along to the bar. There was a silence when she joined the others and she had an uncomfortable feeling that they had been discussing her.
    She sat down next to Harry on the opposite side of the table from James, avoiding his eyes.
    Agatha asked for coffee but refused brandy, saying she had drunk enough.
    ‘Oh, come on, Agatha,’ urged Olivia. ‘The night is young, even if we aren’t.’
    ‘Speak for yourself,’ said Agatha. ‘But I am tired of rotting what brain cells I have left with booze.’
    ‘That’s put a damper on things,’ said Harry.
    Agatha waved the waiter over. ‘I don’t want any coffee,’ she said firmly. ‘No coffee.’
    She stood up again. ‘I’m going to bed. I want a nice comfortable hotel room, so I’ve booked in here for the night.’ And before anyone could say anything, she walked off.
    James’s remarks were beginning to hurt and hurt badly, so badly she had a mad idea that she might have bruises on her stomach. She hesitated a moment, wondering whether to go back to the villa to get her nightgown and toothbrush and a change of clothes, but suddenly wanted