Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death

had made their statements, they drove out to the water company. It was a hive of activity, not the semi-deserted place it had been when Agatha had first arrived.
    While James parked, Agatha whipped out her powder compact and peered anxiously at her face in the little mirror, all her fear of wrinkles returning now that she was to see Guy.
    In reception they waited until Portia came to fetch them. She smiled at James and Roy but not at Agatha. She was wearing a tailored jacket over tailored shorts which exposed her long, long legs in sheer black tights.
    She led them into the boardroom. Guy and Peter were waiting for them.
    ‘What’s this delegation?’ asked Guy.
    Agatha explained that they had all gone together to police headquarters to make statements and since Roy was her house guest and from head office, and James Lacey, her neighbour, had kindly driven them, she had just brought them along.
    ‘So are you going to work for us for a bit longer?’ asked Peter.
    ‘That’s what I want to discuss with you. These murders have caused a lot of bad feeling in Ancombe. I thought it might be good public relations to throw a garden party for the members of Ancombe Parish Council.’
    Guy looked amused. ‘I can’t see the press turning up for anything like that.’
    ‘It’s more of a goodwill mission than a press party,’ said Agatha.
    ‘I appreciate your motives,’ said Peter, ‘but we’ve already done enough for that village and we have to work to our budget. I cannot see the point of funding anything that doesn’t get us in the newspapers.’
    ‘Then I’ll do it myself,’ said Agatha. With James beside her, she wanted more than ever to distance herself from Guy. ‘And as a matter of fact, I’m going to stop representing you. The launch is over. The water’s on the market. There is really no need any longer to engage me.’
    Portia, who had been sitting at the end of the table, said suddenly, ‘I’ve been telling you and telling you, I am perfectly capable of doing the public relations job. The launch was a fiasco.’
    ‘I didn’t plan the rain, the murder or The Pretty Girls scandal,’ said Agatha.
    ‘I said, didn’t I, Guy, that The Pretty Girls were a bad idea?’ said Portia. ‘I mean, one heard murmurs .’
    ‘Murmurs that you didn’t bother telling me about.’ Agatha glared.
    Portia shrugged her elegant shoulders.
    ‘We don’t want to lose you,’ said Guy.
    ‘That’s very flattering.’ Agatha got to her feet. ‘But I’m going to be too busy. Give the job to Miss Sunshine over there.’
    Guy rushed to hold the door open for her. ‘Dinner tonight?’ he asked.
    ‘Can’t,’ said Agatha. ‘Got Roy staying. I’ll phone you.’
    Portia led them out to reception. Agatha nodded to her curtly and walked away. To her horror, she heard James ask Portia, ‘Are you free for dinner one evening?’
    Agatha stopped in her tracks, her shoulders rigid.
    She heard Portia laugh and say, ‘I don’t think my boyfriend would approve, but why don’t you give me your phone number anyway?’
    Agatha, with Roy behind her, walked out to James’s car and stood fuming.
    ‘He’s sure one of the Freemonts did it,’ said Roy in a soothing voice. ‘That’s why he asked her out.’
    But Agatha’s mind was full of pictures of James dining by candle-light with the beautiful Portia, James taking Portia home, James staying the night.
    ‘So do we still go ahead with the garden party?’ asked James when he joined them.
    ‘May as well. I’ll try to get them here for next Sunday. Will you stay on for that, Roy?’
    ‘Think, if you don’t mind, I’d better get back to London tonight,’ said Roy. He was considering that it was one thing to stay on with Agatha Raisin, prize PR for the water company, but quite another, in his boss’s eyes, to stay on with plain unemployed Mrs Raisin.
    Agatha flashed him a cynical look. Roy’s job would always come first.
    James dropped them at Agatha’s car and they followed him home.
    When they arrived back in Carsely, James said, ‘When are we going to discuss the arrangements for this garden party, Agatha?’
    Roy had got out of the car first and was waiting on Agatha’s doorstep.
    James and Agatha were standing outside their cars on the pavement.
    ‘If you want to work with me,’ said Agatha in a low voice.
    ‘Truce,’ said James. ‘Let’s just forget all the hard things we’ve been saying to each other. We’ve worked well together in the