Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham

“That stuff’ll kill you,” and she says to me, “Heroin is my friend.” My own daughter on drugs! The shame of it. My neighbour says she thinks my Betty is pushing the stuff.’
    ‘Can’t your husband have a word with her?’ came Mr John’s voice.
    ‘Jim? Him! He doesn’t know she’s on the stuff and he wouldn’t believe me even if I told him. Betty’s always been able to twist him round her little finger. Daddy’s girl. Always been daddy’s girl.’
    Yvette arrived and put a towel around Agatha’s neck. The subsequent hissing of the water drowned out the rest of the conversation between Mr John and his customer.
    A hairdresser’s salon is like the psychiatrist’s couch, reflected Agatha. The things they talk about. Didn’t that woman stop to think that one of the other customers might hear her and report her daughter to the police? But no. Hairdressers and beauty salons were like the confessional. The only one liable to profit from all these confidences was the hairdresser himself.
    Agatha had her hair towelled and was led through to the salon where Mr John flashed her a smile. Josie brought him a cup of coffee in a Styrofoam container and he added two pills of artificial sweetener called Slimtex. ‘I get my coffee sent in from across the road,’ he said. ‘It’s that caff over there. Bit seedy, but they make marvellous coffee. Now, Agatha, let’s put you back together again.’
    Agatha sighed. ‘I don’t see how you can do much in this heat. It’s worse than rain.’
    ‘We’ll try.’
    He rested his hands on her shoulders and gave them a light press.
    ‘I owe you a dinner,’ said Agatha.
    ‘So you do and I’m going to keep you to it.’
    Agatha took a deep breath. ‘Are you free tonight?’
    ‘As a matter of fact, I am.’
    ‘Oh. Oh, well, shall I pick you up?’
    ‘No, I’ll call for you at eight. Josie, what are you doing standing there with your mouth hanging open? The phone’s ringing.’
    Josie fled. Mr John shrugged. ‘Young girls these days,’ he murmured.
    Agatha’s hair was restored to a glossy, smooth shine. When she left the hairdresser’s, she walked quickly to the car park, hoping she would not sweat too much and ruin the set.
    When she got home, she debated whether she should phone Charles. But she felt sulky. He had said nothing about seeing her again. He seemed to walk in and out of her life, expecting her to be available.
    She dressed with care but unfortunately not for comfort. She had read that stiletto heels were back in fashion and so had bought a gold sling-back pair, proud of the fact that she still had strong enough ankles to wear such high heels. But the heat had softened her skin and the crisscross straps on the top of her shoes dug uncomfortably into her feet.
    She decided that as she would be sitting in his car and then sitting in some restaurant or other, she could bear it. Just before he arrived, she slipped a little tape recorder into her handbag.
    Mrs Darry was walking her yapping little dog down Lilac Lane as Agatha was escorted to the car by Mr John. Agatha flashed her a triumphant look, delighted that the village bitch should witness her going out for the evening with such a handsome man. But Mrs Darry, instead of stopping and staring rudely, as she usually did, took to her heels and scurried off down the lane, dragging her protesting dog after her.
    ‘Where are we going?’ asked Agatha.
    ‘The Marsh Goose in Moreton.’
    ‘Nice,’ said Agatha but reflected gloomily that there was no smoking except in the coffee lounge. It was odd that people who did not drink could never somehow say, ‘Don’t drink in front of me,’ but smokers were always made to feel guilty. Three scientists had recently issued a report that you were more in danger of getting cancer from eating dairy products than you were from passive smoking because dairy products were a killer, but smoking brought out the puritanical beast in people.
    By the time she reached the restaurant, she craved a cigarette, but did not dare say so.
    She put her handbag on her lap, opened it and covertly switched on the tape recorder. Then she switched it off again. A noisy party of people were at the next table, making conversation between her and the hairdresser almost impossible.
    To her relief, the noisy party finally left. Agatha switched on the tape recorder again and turned a dewy-eyed look on Mr John. ‘It’s such a break from my troubles to have a quiet dinner like this