changed my mind.’
‘That should do the trick. If you’ve finished, go and start packing and I’ll deal with Mr Adder.’
Dealing with Mr Adder proved trickier than James had expected. He listened in silence to James’s tale of a temperamental wife, and then said, ‘We don’t give refunds.’
‘I didn’t suppose for a minute you did,’ said James airily.
Mr Adder leaned forward. ‘Have you heard of co-dependency therapy?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I think you could do with some counselling, Mr Perth. We like to supply our customers with the best of service, and that includes looking after their mental welfare as well as their physical well-being. You appear to be in prime condition and yet you are married to a lady who gets you up in the middle of the night to run up and down the stairs. It strikes me that you have agreed to her whim to leave without protest. You have been taken hostage, Mr Perth.’
‘Oh, Agatha and I get on all right.’
Mr Adder leaned forward and tapped James on the knee. ‘Provided you always do exactly what she wants, hey?’
James put a shifty look on his face. ‘Well, it’s her money, you see.’
‘And you go along with everything she wants because she holds the purse-strings?’
‘Why not?’ demanded James. ‘I’m not getting any younger. Don’t want to go out and look for work at my age.’
A look of distaste crossed Mr Adder’s features. ‘If you choose to earn your money being at your wife’s beck and call, then there is nothing I can do for you. But I have never come across a man whose appearance was more deceptive. I would have judged you a strong character of high morals and firm convictions who could not be bullied by anyone.’
‘I am beginning to find you a trifle impertinent, Mr Adder.’
‘Forgive me. I was only trying to help.’
James rose and escaped upstairs, where he told Agatha, with a certain amount of relish, that he was now regarded as a sponger of the first order who was bullied by his wife.
To Agatha’s high irritation, the blonde beauty who led the aerobics class came out to say goodbye to James. Agatha waited angrily in the car, wondering what they were talking about. She saw James take out his notebook and write something down. Her phone number? Agatha’s jealousy flared up. James was no longer hers and therefore prey to every blonde harpy who wanted to get her painted claws into him. By the time James finished his conversation, Agatha was feeling quite weepy.
At last James climbed into the driving seat. ‘What was that all about?’ asked Agatha, trying to keep her voice light.
‘Oh, chit-chat,’ he said. ‘I think we should head straight for London to that address in Charles Street.’
The journey was completed in almost total silence, Agatha wrestling with a jumble of unwanted emotions and James immersed in his own thoughts.
At Charles Street, off Berkeley Square, they drew a blank. No Mrs Gore-Appleton had ever lived there.
‘Didn’t she pay by cheque or credit card?’ asked Agatha.
‘No, cash. It was on the records.’
‘Damn. Now what?’
‘Back to Carsely for the night. Then we’ll try Sir Desmond Derrington tomorrow.’
Agatha could not sleep that night. She was determined to find out what James had written down in his notebook while he had been talking to the aerobics woman.
She waited until she was sure that James was asleep and then crept along to his room. It was brightly lit by moonlight and she could see his trousers hanging over the back of a chair, with the edge of the notebook sticking out of the back pocket.
Keeping a cautious eye on the sleeping figure on the bed, Agatha gently eased the notebook out and carried it back through to her room. She flicked it open and turned to the last entry. In James’s cramped handwriting, which the eyes of love had taught her to decipher, ‘Co-Dependency Anonymous’, Agatha read with amazement. There followed a London address and a ‘contact’
‘That should do the trick. If you’ve finished, go and start packing and I’ll deal with Mr Adder.’
Dealing with Mr Adder proved trickier than James had expected. He listened in silence to James’s tale of a temperamental wife, and then said, ‘We don’t give refunds.’
‘I didn’t suppose for a minute you did,’ said James airily.
Mr Adder leaned forward. ‘Have you heard of co-dependency therapy?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I think you could do with some counselling, Mr Perth. We like to supply our customers with the best of service, and that includes looking after their mental welfare as well as their physical well-being. You appear to be in prime condition and yet you are married to a lady who gets you up in the middle of the night to run up and down the stairs. It strikes me that you have agreed to her whim to leave without protest. You have been taken hostage, Mr Perth.’
‘Oh, Agatha and I get on all right.’
Mr Adder leaned forward and tapped James on the knee. ‘Provided you always do exactly what she wants, hey?’
James put a shifty look on his face. ‘Well, it’s her money, you see.’
‘And you go along with everything she wants because she holds the purse-strings?’
‘Why not?’ demanded James. ‘I’m not getting any younger. Don’t want to go out and look for work at my age.’
A look of distaste crossed Mr Adder’s features. ‘If you choose to earn your money being at your wife’s beck and call, then there is nothing I can do for you. But I have never come across a man whose appearance was more deceptive. I would have judged you a strong character of high morals and firm convictions who could not be bullied by anyone.’
‘I am beginning to find you a trifle impertinent, Mr Adder.’
‘Forgive me. I was only trying to help.’
James rose and escaped upstairs, where he told Agatha, with a certain amount of relish, that he was now regarded as a sponger of the first order who was bullied by his wife.
To Agatha’s high irritation, the blonde beauty who led the aerobics class came out to say goodbye to James. Agatha waited angrily in the car, wondering what they were talking about. She saw James take out his notebook and write something down. Her phone number? Agatha’s jealousy flared up. James was no longer hers and therefore prey to every blonde harpy who wanted to get her painted claws into him. By the time James finished his conversation, Agatha was feeling quite weepy.
At last James climbed into the driving seat. ‘What was that all about?’ asked Agatha, trying to keep her voice light.
‘Oh, chit-chat,’ he said. ‘I think we should head straight for London to that address in Charles Street.’
The journey was completed in almost total silence, Agatha wrestling with a jumble of unwanted emotions and James immersed in his own thoughts.
At Charles Street, off Berkeley Square, they drew a blank. No Mrs Gore-Appleton had ever lived there.
‘Didn’t she pay by cheque or credit card?’ asked Agatha.
‘No, cash. It was on the records.’
‘Damn. Now what?’
‘Back to Carsely for the night. Then we’ll try Sir Desmond Derrington tomorrow.’
Agatha could not sleep that night. She was determined to find out what James had written down in his notebook while he had been talking to the aerobics woman.
She waited until she was sure that James was asleep and then crept along to his room. It was brightly lit by moonlight and she could see his trousers hanging over the back of a chair, with the edge of the notebook sticking out of the back pocket.
Keeping a cautious eye on the sleeping figure on the bed, Agatha gently eased the notebook out and carried it back through to her room. She flicked it open and turned to the last entry. In James’s cramped handwriting, which the eyes of love had taught her to decipher, ‘Co-Dependency Anonymous’, Agatha read with amazement. There followed a London address and a ‘contact’
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