Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist

bother to spend time with her. The fact was that Agatha had become so demoralized by her chilly relationship with James that she could not imagine any man wanting to spend any time at all in her company.
    She rolled over and headed back for the beach, suddenly hungry.
    Charles joined her, in swimming trunks and with not a hair out of place, as she laid out what began to look like a very uninteresting picnic on a cloth on the beach.
    ‘Don’t you tan?’ asked Agatha, glancing at his white, smooth chest.
    ‘I never tan. I don’t know why. Thick English skin or something. What goodies do we have? Dear me. I hope you’ve brought an English can opener for that salmon, Aggie. The Turkish Cypriot ones don’t work.’
    But Agatha had only a local can opener, which ran around the rim of the tin of salmon without piercing it at all.
    ‘There’s bread and cheese and things,’ she said defiantly. ‘And I got some cakes.’
    ‘There’s a restaurant there.’
    ‘Oh, all right,’ grumbled Agatha. ‘I’ll pack all this up again and have it for supper.’
    She then set about performing the tricky business of drying herself and slipping off her swimsuit under her dress and hauling on her knickers over wet and salty thighs. Charles wrapped a large beach towel around his waist and removed his swimming trunks and put on his underwear and trousers and then a shirt without any of the struggles Agatha was enduring.
    They put the unwanted picnic and swim-suits in the car and headed for the restaurant.
    Charles ordered wine despite Agatha’s protests that sooner or later they would be stopped and breathalysed. ‘Not if we keep within the speed limit,’ said Charles. ‘Anyway we can have a sleep on the beach afterwards.’
    ‘You forget why we came,’ said Agatha. ‘To go and look for the others.’
    ‘Later. Let’s not spoil the day.’
    Agatha ate kebab and looked out on to the beach. It was a tranquil scene. The water was crystal-clear. She wondered where they put their sewage. Then a sudden longing for James hit her like a wave. How could he go off, just like that? Had she ever really known him?
    ‘He’ll probably turn up in Carsely sooner or later, after playing Lawrence of Arabia or whatever he’s doing,’ said Charles, guessing her thoughts.
    ‘You can’t play Lawrence of Arabia in Turkey,’ said Agatha with a watery smile. ‘I don’t want to eat any more. May I have a cigarette?’
    ‘Of course. And give me one as well.’
    ‘Don’t you ever buy any for yourself?’
    ‘No, that would mean I would have to admit to myself that I smoke. Besides, smokers are usually all too eager to pass out their fags. Make another addict like themselves.’
    ‘I shouldn’t give you one.’
    He leaned forwards and extracted one from her packet and lit it up.
    ‘So we’ll order coffee,’ he said, ‘and go and find your suspects. Isn’t it peculiar the way they all seemed to have worked each other up to the idea that your interference could cause trouble? Maybe one of them wanted you warned off.’
    ‘Maybe. I’m frightened someone will have a go at me again. One of them is taking me seriously. James shouldn’t have left me to face this alone.’
    ‘I’m here.’
    ‘True, but . . .’
    ‘I lack gravitas. Bad-tempered people always carry weight.’
    ‘James is not bad-tempered!’
    ‘If you say so.’
    Agatha thought of James. She had to admit that he had been bad-tempered since she arrived, but finding yourself in the middle of a murder was enough to make anyone bad-tempered, she thought defensively, to keep the idea at bay that it was her unwelcome pursuit of him that had turned him nasty.
    ‘I suppose you expect me to pay for this,’ said Agatha.
    ‘Yes, thank you.’
    ‘You are a cheapskate.’
    ‘No, Aggie, I am your modern man. You wanted equal rights and that means equal expenses. If you stop bitching I’ll take you to dinner tonight.’
    ‘James might be back.’
    ‘Dream on. Now the path from this beach only leads to the old harbour. I had a look at your guidebook. We’d better drive round.’
    ‘No sleep?’
    ‘No, I’m awake now.’
    They drove round to the site and parked outside the old amphitheatre. A bearded guide in a battered sports jacket was just about to take a party around. ‘I am Ali Ozel,’ he introduced himself after waving them over. ‘You may join my tour if you like.’
    ‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Charles, ‘but we’re looking for some