Free Agatha Raisin and the Day the Floods Came by MC Beaton Page B

sort of man orders his fiancée to get a bikini wax before the wedding? I mean, a lot of women who are going on their honeymoon get it done as a matter of course, not because of sex, but because of those thong swimsuits or even the ones that are high-cut on the leg.’
    ‘How do you know all this?’
    ‘I’m not totally cut off from the world.’
    ‘But Zak was genuinely upset about her death. Those weren’t fake tears.’
    ‘Keep an open mind and do be careful, dear Mrs Raisin.’
    ‘I’ll have John to look after me.’
    ‘May I give you some advice?’
    ‘I hate it when people say that. Okay, go on.’
    ‘I think it’s important you have some sort of protection during your inquiries,’ said Mrs Bloxby. ‘But men do not like needy women. Believe me, they can smell needy across two continents. Please do not think of him in terms of romance. I think he could be easily driven away.’
    ‘I don’t fancy him,’ said Agatha sulkily. ‘You seem to think I’m like some sort of teenager.’
    That was what the vicar’s wife did think but she refrained from saying so.
    Half an hour after Mrs Bloxby had left, the doorbell went again. Agatha gave a nervous shiver but reassured herself that the sun was shining brightly outside, and the villain or villains, whoever they were, surely did not know her real identity. Unless they followed you home, came the heart-stopping thought. She peered through the spyhole she’d had installed in the door. At first she did not recognize the man standing outside, and then, with surprise, she did. She opened the door.
    ‘Charles?’
    It was indeed Sir Charles Fraith, her old friend and sometime lover. But instead of being small, and neat and slim, he was decidedly chubby. His hair had thinned and he had a double chin.
    ‘Come in,’ said Agatha. ‘I’ve a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Although I shouldn’t even be speaking to you. Why didn’t you invite me to your wedding? I could have flown over to Paris.’
    Charles sat down at the kitchen table. ‘I couldn’t. You see, I’d told my wife, Anne-Marie, that we’d once been . . . er . . . intimate. It came up, sort of, when I was telling her about some of the murder cases we’d been involved in. She ordered me not to invite you.’
    ‘So what does she think about you being here today?’
    ‘She doesn’t know. I don’t like to upset her. She’s expecting twins.’
    Agatha put a mug of coffee down in front of him. ‘So what did you come for?’ she demanded harshly.
    ‘Curious to see how you were getting along.’
    ‘Splendidly, thank you.’
    ‘Any news of James?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Any murders? What about this business in Evesham?’
    ‘Nothing to do with me,’ lied Agatha. ‘Look, Charles, I wish you would just finish your coffee and go. I’m sore because you didn’t invite me to the wedding. Even though you had blabbed to your bride about me, you could have insisted, or at least have had the guts to phone me up and tell me about it.’
    ‘I told you. I let slip about us to Anne-Marie and so she wouldn’t let me invite you. I didn’t want to rock the boat. I don’t want to have a failed marriage like yours, Aggie. Marriage takes work,’ he said pompously.
    Agatha leaned across the table and slid his coffee mug away from him. ‘Get out, Charles. I’d forgotten how insensitive you can be.’
    ‘What about a kiss for old times’ sake?’
    ‘OUT!!!’
    ‘No need to get sore. I’m going.’
    He walked off stiffly, giving Agatha a good view of his now large bottom.
    Agatha ran to the door and shouted just as Charles was getting into his car, ‘And don’t come back!’
    Agatha then saw John Armitage, who was entering his front door with a bag of groceries, staring at her and gave him a weak smile before retreating indoors.
    ‘I hate it when people change,’ grumbled Agatha to her cats. Charles had really only changed in appearance, but to admit that to herself would have made Agatha feel worse.
    On Sunday,