for and then considered in time that James did not know of her low beginnings and was merely being infuriatingly practical.
‘Buy it yourself,’ she muttered.
‘I might at that. Get packed. I’ve booked us in at the health farm. It’s called Hunters Fields. We’re expected there this evening. I’ll take Roy’s notes with us. Don’t look so miserable. Forget about your cottage for the moment. We’ll think of something.’
‘What? Snakes through the letterbox?’
‘Something like that.’
Agatha went to call on Mrs Bloxby before they left. ‘So you and James do seem to be getting on very well,’ said the vicar’s wife.
‘The only reason we are getting on well is because James has all the sensitivity of a rhinoceros,’ said Agatha drily. ‘He’s checking us into this health farm as man and wife.’
‘Perhaps he is using that as an excuse for you to really get together again,’ ventured Mrs Bloxby. She looked at Agatha’s set face and added hurriedly, ‘Perhaps not. He is a most unusual man. I think he keeps his mind in little compartments. The compartment of romantic Agatha has the door firmly shut on it while the compartment with Agatha as friend is open. It’s better than nothing, or is it agonizing?’
‘Not really,’ said Agatha. ‘I find I can’t think of him in the old way any more.’
‘Because that would mean hurt?’
‘Yes,’ said Agatha gruffly and her small eyes filled with tears.
‘I’ll make some tea,’ said Mrs Bloxby, tactfully going off and allowing Agatha time to recover.
‘If only I could get my old cottage back,’ mourned Agatha when Mrs Bloxby returned with the tea-tray. ‘James is so well organized, I feel superfluous. I want my own things about me again.’
‘I called on Mrs Hardy.’ The vicar’s wife carefully poured tea into two thin cups. ‘She made a little speech about keeping herself to herself, that kind of thing. In fact, she was quite rude. Perhaps you should look for somewhere else?’
‘I’ll have to,’ said Agatha. ‘I’m embarrassed by the fact that so many people have refused to take their presents back, including you. I know you don’t suspect us of the murder, but I suppose most people in the village do, and that is why they really don’t want to have anything to do with us.’
‘It’s not quite that. Yes, lots of people did suspect you of the murder, but then good sense asserted itself and they became ashamed of themselves. The reason they do not want their presents back is because they think, because of the way you are both going on, that you and James will get married after all, and they do not want to be troubled by finding a suitable card and wrapping all over again.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Agatha harshly. ‘Then they are doomed to disappointment.’
Mrs Bloxby changed the subject and regaled Agatha with some of the more innocent village gossip until Agatha finally took her leave.
Hunters Fields was a large mansion set in pretty parkland. When James told Agatha what they were charging, Agatha blinked in sheer horror. James insisted on paying the astronomical prices, saying he had recently been left a legacy by an aunt and was comfortably off.
They were shown to a spacious room on the first floor by a pretty receptionist who said the director would be with them shortly to explain the programme and the facilities of the centre.
The room had twin beds set well apart. They had just finished unpacking and hanging away their clothes when the director entered. He was a smooth-faced man with silver hair, well-tailored clothes, small gold-rimmed glasses and a benign air. He introduced himself as Mr Adder.
‘The most important thing,’ he said, ‘is for our resident doctor to examine you both in the morning. We are careful about that. We do not like to subject our clients to too strenuous a programme if they are not up to it.’ His eyes surveyed Agatha and James. ‘You, Mr Perth, look too fit to need our help.’
‘It
‘Buy it yourself,’ she muttered.
‘I might at that. Get packed. I’ve booked us in at the health farm. It’s called Hunters Fields. We’re expected there this evening. I’ll take Roy’s notes with us. Don’t look so miserable. Forget about your cottage for the moment. We’ll think of something.’
‘What? Snakes through the letterbox?’
‘Something like that.’
Agatha went to call on Mrs Bloxby before they left. ‘So you and James do seem to be getting on very well,’ said the vicar’s wife.
‘The only reason we are getting on well is because James has all the sensitivity of a rhinoceros,’ said Agatha drily. ‘He’s checking us into this health farm as man and wife.’
‘Perhaps he is using that as an excuse for you to really get together again,’ ventured Mrs Bloxby. She looked at Agatha’s set face and added hurriedly, ‘Perhaps not. He is a most unusual man. I think he keeps his mind in little compartments. The compartment of romantic Agatha has the door firmly shut on it while the compartment with Agatha as friend is open. It’s better than nothing, or is it agonizing?’
‘Not really,’ said Agatha. ‘I find I can’t think of him in the old way any more.’
‘Because that would mean hurt?’
‘Yes,’ said Agatha gruffly and her small eyes filled with tears.
‘I’ll make some tea,’ said Mrs Bloxby, tactfully going off and allowing Agatha time to recover.
‘If only I could get my old cottage back,’ mourned Agatha when Mrs Bloxby returned with the tea-tray. ‘James is so well organized, I feel superfluous. I want my own things about me again.’
‘I called on Mrs Hardy.’ The vicar’s wife carefully poured tea into two thin cups. ‘She made a little speech about keeping herself to herself, that kind of thing. In fact, she was quite rude. Perhaps you should look for somewhere else?’
‘I’ll have to,’ said Agatha. ‘I’m embarrassed by the fact that so many people have refused to take their presents back, including you. I know you don’t suspect us of the murder, but I suppose most people in the village do, and that is why they really don’t want to have anything to do with us.’
‘It’s not quite that. Yes, lots of people did suspect you of the murder, but then good sense asserted itself and they became ashamed of themselves. The reason they do not want their presents back is because they think, because of the way you are both going on, that you and James will get married after all, and they do not want to be troubled by finding a suitable card and wrapping all over again.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Agatha harshly. ‘Then they are doomed to disappointment.’
Mrs Bloxby changed the subject and regaled Agatha with some of the more innocent village gossip until Agatha finally took her leave.
Hunters Fields was a large mansion set in pretty parkland. When James told Agatha what they were charging, Agatha blinked in sheer horror. James insisted on paying the astronomical prices, saying he had recently been left a legacy by an aunt and was comfortably off.
They were shown to a spacious room on the first floor by a pretty receptionist who said the director would be with them shortly to explain the programme and the facilities of the centre.
The room had twin beds set well apart. They had just finished unpacking and hanging away their clothes when the director entered. He was a smooth-faced man with silver hair, well-tailored clothes, small gold-rimmed glasses and a benign air. He introduced himself as Mr Adder.
‘The most important thing,’ he said, ‘is for our resident doctor to examine you both in the morning. We are careful about that. We do not like to subject our clients to too strenuous a programme if they are not up to it.’ His eyes surveyed Agatha and James. ‘You, Mr Perth, look too fit to need our help.’
‘It
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