Read Online Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryham by MC Beaton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: MC Beaton
Tags: B002RCZAK4
Ads: Link
lights and a Stubbs stolen? Not like you. Where’s your curiosity?’
‘It first got washed away in the rain and then, when you said you’d forgotten your wallet, I realized your company was not going to alleviate the boredom.’
‘Nasty!’
‘But so true.’ The firelight flickered on Charles’s well-barbered neat features. Oh, why couldn’t it be James sitting opposite?
The pub began to fill up. Agatha saw the three husbands come in, Henry, Jerry and Peter, minus wives.
Jerry was complaining about PC Framp. ‘I’m glad that lazy hound of a copper has to stand out in the rain all night outside the manor. Mind you, it’s a case of bolting the stable door after the horse has fled. I hope he gets pneumonia. I’ve never forgiven him for that time he pulled me over on the Norwich road because one of my brake lights was out. He refused to let me drive on and I had to get a cab home.’
‘Yes, you told us . . . . many times,’ commented Peter Dart, leering at Rosie.
‘What a waste of champagne,’ said Agatha, half to herself. ‘I haven’t done any good there at all.’
‘What?’ asked Charles. ‘What are you muttering about?’
‘Those three men at the bar neglect their wives to come in here and goggle at Rosie. So I brought the wives in and threw a champagne party. They told me their husbands were going to find another pub, but there they are again. Do you think Rosie is really innocent? Do you think she flirts?’
‘I think when a woman looks like Rosie, she doesn’t need to flirt. And what are you doing interfering in village marriages? No wonder murders follow you around.’
Agatha felt a spasm of dislike for Charles. ‘Let’s go,’ she said. ‘I’m bored.’
They had a supper of microwaved curry. Charles settled down to watch television. Agatha had forgotten that he had a tremendous appetite for rubbishy television. She said crossly that she was going to bed but he was watching a movie called Monsters of the Dark and did not hear her.
Agatha went grumpily up to bed. She stared at her face in the bathroom mirror. The rain had washed all her make-up off. She felt old and unattractive. She had a leisurely bath. Then she climbed into bed, propped herself up on the pillows and looked through the selection of paperbacks she had placed on the bedside table. She had bought a selection of light reading. There was a large blockbuster which claimed to be, according to the blurb, ‘erotic and unput-downable’. Agatha flicked through it. Gucci labels and crumpled bedsheets. The next came under the category of chick-lit, or rather one of those women’s books, a romance clothed in a convoluted literary style. She discarded that. The next was an Aga saga, a novel set in a village where a well-heeled middle-aged woman found out her husband was unfaithful to her. Agatha was very much of her roots and found it hard to believe that anyone who had money in the bank could suffer in the same way as someone poor. She often felt her yearning for James was ridiculous. She put that aside and settled for a hard cop novel set in the deep southern states of the United States. After a few pages the book slipped from her hand.
Charles came into her room later to say good night. He switched out her bedside light and kissed her on the forehead. Agatha stirred and muttered something but did not wake.
She was dreaming of James. They were on a Mediterranean cruise. She could feel the sun on her cheek. They were leaning against the rail. James turned and smiled down at her. ‘Agatha,’ he said.
‘Agatha! Agatha!’ In her dream, Agatha wondered why James was suddenly shouting at her. Then she woke up with a start, realizing it was morning and someone was banging at the door downstairs and shouting her name.
She pulled on a dressing-gown and hurried down the stairs, nearly tripping over the cats, who snaked around her ankles.
She wrenched open the door. Amy Worth stood there, her eyes dilated with
‘It first got washed away in the rain and then, when you said you’d forgotten your wallet, I realized your company was not going to alleviate the boredom.’
‘Nasty!’
‘But so true.’ The firelight flickered on Charles’s well-barbered neat features. Oh, why couldn’t it be James sitting opposite?
The pub began to fill up. Agatha saw the three husbands come in, Henry, Jerry and Peter, minus wives.
Jerry was complaining about PC Framp. ‘I’m glad that lazy hound of a copper has to stand out in the rain all night outside the manor. Mind you, it’s a case of bolting the stable door after the horse has fled. I hope he gets pneumonia. I’ve never forgiven him for that time he pulled me over on the Norwich road because one of my brake lights was out. He refused to let me drive on and I had to get a cab home.’
‘Yes, you told us . . . . many times,’ commented Peter Dart, leering at Rosie.
‘What a waste of champagne,’ said Agatha, half to herself. ‘I haven’t done any good there at all.’
‘What?’ asked Charles. ‘What are you muttering about?’
‘Those three men at the bar neglect their wives to come in here and goggle at Rosie. So I brought the wives in and threw a champagne party. They told me their husbands were going to find another pub, but there they are again. Do you think Rosie is really innocent? Do you think she flirts?’
‘I think when a woman looks like Rosie, she doesn’t need to flirt. And what are you doing interfering in village marriages? No wonder murders follow you around.’
Agatha felt a spasm of dislike for Charles. ‘Let’s go,’ she said. ‘I’m bored.’
They had a supper of microwaved curry. Charles settled down to watch television. Agatha had forgotten that he had a tremendous appetite for rubbishy television. She said crossly that she was going to bed but he was watching a movie called Monsters of the Dark and did not hear her.
Agatha went grumpily up to bed. She stared at her face in the bathroom mirror. The rain had washed all her make-up off. She felt old and unattractive. She had a leisurely bath. Then she climbed into bed, propped herself up on the pillows and looked through the selection of paperbacks she had placed on the bedside table. She had bought a selection of light reading. There was a large blockbuster which claimed to be, according to the blurb, ‘erotic and unput-downable’. Agatha flicked through it. Gucci labels and crumpled bedsheets. The next came under the category of chick-lit, or rather one of those women’s books, a romance clothed in a convoluted literary style. She discarded that. The next was an Aga saga, a novel set in a village where a well-heeled middle-aged woman found out her husband was unfaithful to her. Agatha was very much of her roots and found it hard to believe that anyone who had money in the bank could suffer in the same way as someone poor. She often felt her yearning for James was ridiculous. She put that aside and settled for a hard cop novel set in the deep southern states of the United States. After a few pages the book slipped from her hand.
Charles came into her room later to say good night. He switched out her bedside light and kissed her on the forehead. Agatha stirred and muttered something but did not wake.
She was dreaming of James. They were on a Mediterranean cruise. She could feel the sun on her cheek. They were leaning against the rail. James turned and smiled down at her. ‘Agatha,’ he said.
‘Agatha! Agatha!’ In her dream, Agatha wondered why James was suddenly shouting at her. Then she woke up with a start, realizing it was morning and someone was banging at the door downstairs and shouting her name.
She pulled on a dressing-gown and hurried down the stairs, nearly tripping over the cats, who snaked around her ankles.
She wrenched open the door. Amy Worth stood there, her eyes dilated with
Similar Books
