Out.’
‘Okay.’ He got to his feet. ‘Let me know how you get on.’
‘I haven’t said I’ll do it.’
‘Think about it, Aggie. Think about it.’
Charles was right. Agatha could not bear to drop what she was beginning to consider ‘her case’.
She drove to Moreton-in-Marsh station early the next morning and joined the commuters on the platform. Then the woman who manned the ticket office came out and shouted, ‘There will be no
trains due to a shortage of engine drivers.’
Cursing, Agatha walked back over the iron bridge to the car park. She got in her car and drove to Oxford and took a train from there to Paddington. From Paddington, she took a taxi to
Asprey’s in Bond Street. In the almost religious hush of the great jeweller’s, she examined trays of cuff-links, finally selecting a heavy, solid-gold pair and paying a price for them
which left her feeling breathless.
She then travelled to the City to see her stockbroker and be reassured that her stocks and shares were prospering. As she was in the City, she called at Pedmans to see Roy Silver, a public
relations officer who had originally worked for her before she had sold out to Pedmans.
‘I haven’t heard from you for a while,’ said Agatha, reflecting that Roy looked as weedy and unhealthy as ever. But obviously he was doing well. Her practised eye noticed that
his suit was Armani.
‘I’ve been very busy, sweetie. How’s life in Boresville?’
‘I thought you liked the country. You’re always saying how lucky I am.’
‘A passing aberration. Sophisticates like me would wilt in the country.’
‘You’re joking, of course.’
‘Not really. What are you doing anyway? Village fêtes?’
‘No, much more exciting than that,’ said Agatha, but remembered that she had to arrange the teas for Ancombe and had better get back and call a catering company.
‘Murder?’
Agatha wanted to brag. ‘I’m chasing a blackmailer.’
‘Tell me about it.’
So Agatha did.
Roy was intrigued. ‘Tell you what, I’ll come down this weekend and help you.’
He hadn’t bothered phoning her for a long time, so Agatha said huffily, ‘Can’t. I’m busy this weekend.’
When she got home, she phoned the hairdresser’s and made an appointment for the day after the next. The following day was the concert at Ancombe. Then she phoned a top
catering firm in Mircester and ordered sandwiches, cakes and hot savouries to be delivered to her early the following morning. Agatha meant to convey the goodies to the concert herself and produce
them as her own.
On the following morning, she transferred all the catering firm’s supplies into her own boxes and put them in the boot of her car and drove to Ancombe.
With the good excuse that she could not watch the concert because she would be too busy preparing the teas, she escaped into an adjoining hall where three schoolgirls had been drafted to help
her put out the tables and chairs. The hall smelt like all church halls, dusty and redolent of dry rot and sweat. The church hall was not only used by the Scouts but by an aerobics class as
well.
She could hear Miss Simms’s voice raised in shrill song. If it was meant to be Cher, then it was a Cher in the process of getting liposuction.
Agatha heated trays of savouries in the oven and spread cakes and sandwiches on plates. It looked a magnificent feast.
Finally she heard the strains of ‘God Save the Queen’ – the Ancombe ladies were traditionalists – raised in song. Then there was the scraping back of chairs and they all
came filing in, exclaiming in delight at the spread laid out for them.
But Mrs Darry was not amongst them. What a lot of money I do waste on pettiness, thought Agatha with a rare pang of remorse.
There was no Mrs Friendly either, so she could not even continue her investigation.
By the end of the event, she felt tired and sticky. Mrs Bloxby stayed behind to help Agatha load and stack empty foil trays in her car.
‘You
‘Okay.’ He got to his feet. ‘Let me know how you get on.’
‘I haven’t said I’ll do it.’
‘Think about it, Aggie. Think about it.’
Charles was right. Agatha could not bear to drop what she was beginning to consider ‘her case’.
She drove to Moreton-in-Marsh station early the next morning and joined the commuters on the platform. Then the woman who manned the ticket office came out and shouted, ‘There will be no
trains due to a shortage of engine drivers.’
Cursing, Agatha walked back over the iron bridge to the car park. She got in her car and drove to Oxford and took a train from there to Paddington. From Paddington, she took a taxi to
Asprey’s in Bond Street. In the almost religious hush of the great jeweller’s, she examined trays of cuff-links, finally selecting a heavy, solid-gold pair and paying a price for them
which left her feeling breathless.
She then travelled to the City to see her stockbroker and be reassured that her stocks and shares were prospering. As she was in the City, she called at Pedmans to see Roy Silver, a public
relations officer who had originally worked for her before she had sold out to Pedmans.
‘I haven’t heard from you for a while,’ said Agatha, reflecting that Roy looked as weedy and unhealthy as ever. But obviously he was doing well. Her practised eye noticed that
his suit was Armani.
‘I’ve been very busy, sweetie. How’s life in Boresville?’
‘I thought you liked the country. You’re always saying how lucky I am.’
‘A passing aberration. Sophisticates like me would wilt in the country.’
‘You’re joking, of course.’
‘Not really. What are you doing anyway? Village fêtes?’
‘No, much more exciting than that,’ said Agatha, but remembered that she had to arrange the teas for Ancombe and had better get back and call a catering company.
‘Murder?’
Agatha wanted to brag. ‘I’m chasing a blackmailer.’
‘Tell me about it.’
So Agatha did.
Roy was intrigued. ‘Tell you what, I’ll come down this weekend and help you.’
He hadn’t bothered phoning her for a long time, so Agatha said huffily, ‘Can’t. I’m busy this weekend.’
When she got home, she phoned the hairdresser’s and made an appointment for the day after the next. The following day was the concert at Ancombe. Then she phoned a top
catering firm in Mircester and ordered sandwiches, cakes and hot savouries to be delivered to her early the following morning. Agatha meant to convey the goodies to the concert herself and produce
them as her own.
On the following morning, she transferred all the catering firm’s supplies into her own boxes and put them in the boot of her car and drove to Ancombe.
With the good excuse that she could not watch the concert because she would be too busy preparing the teas, she escaped into an adjoining hall where three schoolgirls had been drafted to help
her put out the tables and chairs. The hall smelt like all church halls, dusty and redolent of dry rot and sweat. The church hall was not only used by the Scouts but by an aerobics class as
well.
She could hear Miss Simms’s voice raised in shrill song. If it was meant to be Cher, then it was a Cher in the process of getting liposuction.
Agatha heated trays of savouries in the oven and spread cakes and sandwiches on plates. It looked a magnificent feast.
Finally she heard the strains of ‘God Save the Queen’ – the Ancombe ladies were traditionalists – raised in song. Then there was the scraping back of chairs and they all
came filing in, exclaiming in delight at the spread laid out for them.
But Mrs Darry was not amongst them. What a lot of money I do waste on pettiness, thought Agatha with a rare pang of remorse.
There was no Mrs Friendly either, so she could not even continue her investigation.
By the end of the event, she felt tired and sticky. Mrs Bloxby stayed behind to help Agatha load and stack empty foil trays in her car.
‘You
Similar Books
