Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death

great bulk of the abbey loomed over the houses on the left.
    Great English abbeys and minsters always reminded Agatha more of the power of the state, the crown and the army than the power of God.
    She parked the car. Number 5 was a trim little house, like a mews house.
    The lights were on behind the windows.
    Agatha knocked on the pretentious brass knocker in the shape of a grinning demon.
    There was a clack of high heels from the other side of the door and then Portia opened it, the light from the hall shining on her blonde hair.
    ‘Come in, Mrs Raisin.’
    She led the way into a small living-room done in shades of green: green carpet, green-and-gold curtains, green linen-fabric upholstery on the sofa and two armchairs. On the walls were various photographs of Portia.
    ‘Sit down,’ said Portia abruptly. ‘I want to get this over with.’
    ‘Okay. Let’s have it.’
    ‘I am having an affair with Guy Freemont,’ said Portia.
    ‘Really?’ Agatha wondered why she didn’t feel more surprised.
    ‘Yes, really. He is only amusing himself with you. I think he’s got a mother complex. I want you to back off.’
    ‘Are you engaged, married?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Then what’s it got to do with you, sweetheart?’
    ‘You are making a laughing-stock of yourself. Everyone is laughing at you. Someone at the office said the other day, “Who’s that old woman I saw with Guy the other night? His mother?”’
    Agatha stood up. Her legs felt like lead. She felt unutterably weary. She looked down at Portia.
    ‘Get stuffed, you dreary bag,’ said Agatha. ‘Get double stuffed. And you think you could do my job in public relations? Well, you can’t sleep your way into column inches. It’s been tried by sluts like you and it doesn’t work. Don’t ever phone me or speak to me again.’
    She marched to the door. Portia followed her and caught her arm. ‘He’s seeing you for dinner tomorrow. Don’t go!’
    ‘Get off! ’ Agatha rammed her elbow into Portia’s ribs, jerked open the door and unlocked her car.
    ‘I’m warning you!’ screamed Portia.
    ‘Join the queue, darling.’ Agatha got into the car and drove off, her hands damp on the steering-wheel. This case had been too much for her. But she was going on that date with Guy. That blonde bitch was not going to tell such as Agatha Raisin what she could or could not do!

Chapter Nine

    The following morning, Bill Wong called on Agatha. He looked depressed and weary.
    ‘How did you get on with Mary Owen?’ asked Agatha.
    ‘She denied everything. She said your accusation was fantastic and she thought you deranged. I won’t repeat the rest of the insults.’
    ‘This case is getting you down.’
    ‘It’s not just the case, Agatha. It’s Sharon.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘At first she said she couldn’t go out with me because her mother was visiting or her hair needed washing or things like that, so I asked her straight out if we were finished and she said yes. I don’t know what happened. We were getting on so well together.’
    Agatha took a deep breath. ‘Bill, do you think your mother frightened her off?’
    ‘Mum? How?’
    ‘Well, by talking about marriage and about Sharon and you living with them.’
    ‘Why would that frighten her off?’
    ‘Bill, no woman wants to live with the in-laws, no matter how nice they are.’
    ‘But Sharon would have said something.’
    ‘Not necessarily. You hadn’t even proposed to her. She might think she was being hustled towards marriage.’
    He buried his hands in his thick dark hair. ‘I never thought of that.’
    Agatha shook her head. Bill was highly intelligent when it came to police work but when it came to dealing with women, he was as thick as two planks.
    ‘Anyway, enough of my love life. What about yours?’
    ‘A mess. James has taken off again and I think it’s because he anticipated trouble from Mary Owen and her sister, so he cleared off, leaving me to deal with any trouble on my own.’
    ‘That doesn’t sound like James.’
    ‘That’s very like James. He did the same thing to me in Cyprus. So I’m seeing Guy Freemont this evening and now I don’t really want to see him. It was Portia warning me off . . .’
    ‘Portia? Portia Salmond, the secretary?’
    ‘The same. She said she was having an affair with Guy.’
    ‘Messy. Do you really fancy Guy?’
    Agatha sighed. ‘Only when my ego is battered, as it is now. I’m flattered that a younger man, a handsome man, should want my company. But I