Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist

keeping the press out. They’re absent this morning because Pamir is giving a press conference in Nicosia.’
    Charles appeared and stood looking down at them with a quizzical expression on his face. ‘Join us for a drink,’ said George, looking up.
    And that was a mystery, too, thought Agatha as they followed George to the bar. Charles had grossly insulted them, she herself annoyed them, and yet they continued to be friendly, in the odd way they continued to be friendly to Trevor and Angus.
    Olivia was not wearing a swimming costume but a sundress. She was knitting a sweater, her fingers moving quickly. ‘I didn’t bring any warm clothes,’ she said to Agatha. ‘I got some wool to make myself a sweater. We were wondering whether to go to the British High Commission and ask for help to get us all home.’
    ‘I think they’ll want us to stay until the murders have been solved.’
    Olivia stopped knitting. For the first time she looked lost and miserable. ‘I don’t think they’ll ever find out who did it. We’ll be here for years and years.’
    ‘They can’t keep us much longer,’ said Charles.
    Angus said, ‘Puir auld Harry. He was in better form yesterday than I have ever seen him.’
    ‘It’s amazing you didn’t spot him on the beach,’ said Charles.
    ‘We were looking for someone walking along by the sea,’ explained George. ‘We weren’t looking for anyone lying down with a newspaper over their face. I pointed out to Pamir it was a Turkish Cypriot newspaper, not an English one.’
    ‘And what did he say?’ asked Agatha.
    ‘That there are rubbish bins on the beach and one of us could have taken it out and covered Harry with it,’ said Olivia. ‘I’m getting burnt. I’m going to go up to my room to get some sun-cream. Come with me, Agatha. I feel the need for some female company.’
    ‘Wait till I change,’ said Agatha. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
    When she emerged from the changing cubicle, Olivia was waiting for her. They walked together into the hotel. Tourists were checking in, tourists were checking out, all holidaymakers, all free from suspicion of murder, thought Agatha.
    ‘I wish I were one of them,’ said Olivia as they walked to the lift. ‘Someone with an ordinary life. Someone who’s had a relaxed holiday and is going home without a care in the world.’
    When they reached Olivia’s room, she found the sun-cream and went into the bathroom. ‘Help yourself to a drink,’ she called. ‘I won’t be long.’
    ‘I don’t want a drink,’ Agatha shouted back. ‘I’ve drunk enough on this so-called holiday to last me a lifetime.’
    At last Olivia emerged, her bony shoulders gleaming with cream. She sat down wearily. ‘Where’s James?’ she asked. ‘Any news?’
    Agatha shook her head. ‘He’s somewhere in Turkey. That’s all I know.’
    ‘Poor you. Why did he go off like that? Was it because of Charles?’
    ‘No, no. James has always been strange.’
    ‘Bit thick, leaving you alone to face the music.’
    Agatha thought it was a bit thick as well but she wasn’t going to tell Olivia that.
    ‘Your husband told me that Harry was paying for this holiday,’ said Agatha. ‘I hope being made to stay on isn’t running you into debt. George must be worried sick.’
    Olivia looked at her in surprise. ‘Why should George be worried sick?’
    ‘Because of all his losses on the stock exchange.’
    ‘What?’ Olivia’s eyes bulged with amazement. ‘How did you hear that?’
    ‘Pamir told me,’ said Agatha, not wanting to betray how she had come by the information. ‘Didn’t you know?’
    ‘No, I let George handle all the money affairs. Always have. It can’t be true.’
    ‘It seems to be. The police appear to have gone thoroughly into our backgrounds.’
    Olivia had gone very white. Agatha felt miserably sorry for her and wished she had not said anything.
    ‘Did Harry know?’ asked Olivia.
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Agatha. ‘Perhaps he might have left both of you something in his will.’
    ‘That’s a terrible thing to say.’
    ‘Practical, though.’
    Olivia’s eyes clouded over. ‘Was that the attraction of Rose? Money? George said she was really good fun and very bright and that I was being the most dreadful snob, but she was awful.’
    ‘Again, I don’t know,’ said Agatha. ‘I wish I hadn’t told you about your husband’s losses.’
    ‘I’d need to know sooner or later. Oh, God, now Harry’s dead, we’ll need to pay this