Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham

me in?’
    ‘Not tonight. I’ve had too much to drink. The next dinner’s on me.’
    ‘I’ll keep you to that.’ He bent to kiss her. Mrs Friendly’s frightened face rose up in Agatha’s mind and she turned her face so that his kiss landed on her cheek. ‘Goodnight,’ she said hurriedly and left him standing by the car, looking after her.
    Agatha pottered about her house and garden the following day. It had rained during the night but the day was once more hot and stifling. The newspapers reported it was the hottest August in England since records had begun. There seemed to be a plague of mosquitoes and the Cotswold spiders were everywhere. Agatha did not like killing spiders and scooped the beasts up in kitchen paper and threw them out into the garden. One was descending from the kitchen ceiling in front of her eyes. She glared at it and it hurriedly retreated upwards, almost as if it were hauling itself up hand over hand.
    She was wearing a washed-out cotton caftan she had bought years ago, with nothing underneath. On the kitchen floor, still in its box, was an electric fan she had bought in Evesham. She sighed. She tore open the box and lifted it out. It was in pieces. Did nothing come whole these days? She read the instructions carefully but could not unscrew one piece so as to attach the fan. She was just about to kick the infuriating thing across the floor when the doorbell rang.
    Would she ever stop going to answer the door without hoping with all her heart that when she opened it James Lacey would be standing on the doorstep?
    But it was Charles who stood there, looking cool and barbered.
    ‘Come in,’ said Agatha, her voice curt with disappointment. ‘What brings you?’
    ‘Got bored.’ He followed her into the kitchen.
    ‘You can make yourself useful. I can’t put that fan together.’
    ‘Make us a cup of coffee and I’ll do it.’
    Charles worked away busily at the large pedestal fan. ‘Have you got one of those screwdrivers with the little cross at the head, Aggie?’
    ‘In that box on the kitchen table. How do you want your coffee?’
    ‘As ever. Milk, no sugar. If you loved me, Aggie, you would remember.’
    ‘There’s your coffee, Charles. I’m going upstairs to put some clothes on.’
    Agatha went upstairs, took a quick shower, towelled and dressed in shorts and a cotton top.
    When she went back to the kitchen, the fan was spinning busily.
    ‘How clever of you, Charles,’ said Agatha. ‘What a relief! How did you get that big screw undone?’
    ‘You unscrew it clockwise.’
    ‘Now, how was anyone supposed to know that?’ Agatha sat down at the kitchen table. ‘I may have stumbled across a mystery, Charles.’
    ‘What bleeding body have you tripped over?’
    ‘No body.’ She told him about overhearing the pleading woman while she was in the toilet at the hairdresser’s. ‘Then I went out with this Mr John for dinner and as we were leaving, we ran into Mrs Friendly.’
    ‘Who is she?’
    ‘Newcomer to Carsely. Arrived last winter. Has one of those little cottages opposite the church. Mr John said she must have been looking at someone in the restaurant behind us but I’ll swear it was him she was frightened of.’
    ‘Is there a Mr Friendly?’
    ‘Yes, he’s a building contractor.’
    ‘Do you think this hairdresser could have got his leg over, or maybe he’s indulging in a spot of blackmail?’
    Agatha’s eyes gleamed. ‘I thought of blackmail. The way women talk to their hairdressers! You should hear them.’
    ‘Let’s go and see this Mrs Friendly.’
    Agatha shifted uneasily. ‘What? Now?’
    ‘Why not? Don’t beat about the bush. Ask her why she was so frightened.’
    ‘Shouldn’t I phone first?’
    ‘Let’s surprise her.’
    ‘All right,’ said Agatha reluctantly. ‘I’ll put the cats out in the garden and lock up.’
    Mrs Friendly’s cottage was small and neat, two-storeyed, with no garden at the front.
    They rang the bell. The door was opened by a very hairy man. He was wearing a tank top and shorts and grizzled hair sprouted all over his body. He had tufts of hair in his ears and hair sprouting out of his nose. His eyes were surprisingly weak and pale, peering at them from out of all this hairy virility. He must have been nearly sixty and Agatha thought he looked thoroughly unpleasant.
    Agatha introduced herself and Charles and said they had called to see Mrs Friendly.
    ‘Why?’ His voice was thin and high.
    ‘Ladies’