Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham

John’s assistant,’ said the receptionist, Josie. Agatha was about to cancel her appointment, but she got a glimpse of herself in one of the many mirrors. Her hair looked limp and sweaty.
    Yvette washed her hair and then she was led through to the ministrations of Mr Garry, who proved to be a youth who chattered endlessly about shows he had seen on television. Agatha interrupted the flow by asking, ‘What’s Mr John got?’
    ‘He phoned in to say he was under the weather. He didn’t say exactly what it was.’
    ‘Does he live in Evesham?’
    ‘Yes, one of those villas on the Cheltenham Road.’
    Agatha’s hair emerged as shiny and healthy as it had recently become, but she was unhappy with the style, which looked slightly rigid. Normally she would have complained and made him do it again, but she was tired of sitting in the hairdresser’s. As she was paying for her hair-style, she saw a framed certificate behind the desk. So Mr John’s second name was Shawpart.
    She went along to the post office and asked for a phone book and found only one Shawpart. She took a note of the number in Cheltenham Road and, swinging round into the traffic, headed in that direction. As she crossed the bridge over the river Avon, she noticed the water was greenish black and very still under a lowering sky.
    Up the hill, past the garage, past the hospital and along in the direction of the by-pass she went, until she found Mr John’s house, a fairly large modern villa. She parked outside and walked up the short path and rang the doorbell.
    There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of the traffic humming past her on the road behind her. The sky above was growing even darker. Then she faintly heard the sound of shuffling footsteps, like those of a very old man.
    She suddenly wished she had not come. The door swung open on the chain.
    ‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Mr John’s voice. ‘Come in.’
    He unlatched the chain and stood back. The hallway was in darkness. He led the way into a sitting-room and switched on a lamp and turned around.
    Agatha let out an exclamation. His face was black with bruises.
    ‘What on earth happened to you?’ she asked. ‘Car accident?’
    ‘Yes, last night. Some drunken youth ran into me and I hit the windscreen.’
    ‘Didn’t you have an air bag? Or didn’t you have your seat-belt on?’
    ‘I don’t have one of those models with an air bag. I’d just started to drive off, so I didn’t have a seat-belt on.’
    ‘What did the police say?’
    ‘I didn’t bother reporting it. I mean, what could they do? I didn’t get the number of the other car.’
    ‘But you have to report it to the police! The insurance –’
    ‘Oh, just leave it. I don’t want to talk about it. What do you want?’
    Agatha had planned to be flirtatious, but confronted with his black-and-blue face, she did not quite know how to begin.
    ‘I heard you were ill,’ she began, ‘and was concerned about you.’
    ‘That was nice of you.’ He rallied himself with an effort. ‘Can I offer you something? Tea? Something stronger?’
    ‘No, don’t trouble. How long have you lived here?’
    ‘Why?’
    Agatha blinked. ‘Just wondered. Here.’ She fumbled in her handbag. ‘Just a silly little present I got you.’ She handed him the Asprey’s box.
    He opened it and stared down at the heavy gold cuff-links nestling in their little bed of velvet.
    Suddenly his face and manner were transformed. ‘How beautiful. And how very, very generous. I don’t know what to say.’
    He came across to her and bent down and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Now, we really must have a drink to celebrate. No, we must. I insist.’
    He went out and returned after a few moments carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses. He expertly popped the cork, filled the glasses and handed one to Agatha.
    Agatha raised her glass. ‘Here’s to friendship,’ she said.
    ‘Oh, I’ll drink to that. I do need a friend.’ His voice had a ring of sincerity for the first time. I wonder if I’ve been mistaken about him, thought Agatha.
    He sat down and held his tulip glass in one slender hand. ‘You were asking how long I had lived here? About a year. I had been working in Portsmouth and I wanted a change of scene. I saw in the Hairdresser’s Journal that this business in Evesham was going for sale. When I first came to Evesham, I looked the place over. It seemed neither go-ahead, nor sophisticated. But there was something about the sheer