‘This morning.’ He sat down wearily in an armchair.
‘And why are you here?’
‘I couldn’t think of anywhere to go.’
‘Aren’t you living with your parents?’
‘They got me a flat. They keep looking at me with such disappointment in their eyes, I can’t bear it.’
‘I can understand them,’ said Toni. ‘I went for a job at Mixden because I thought Agatha had driven you into the army. When he suggested I spy on her, I walked out. Agatha can be infuriating and meddling, but I owe her a lot.’
‘I wish I could work for her again. I mean, if I hadn’t had that flash of genius about searching car salesrooms, maybe no one would have got on to Tulloch.’
‘Simon! She wouldn’t even have you gift-wrapped. And you said how much you hated working for her!’
‘I know. But she did save my life. Maybe the reason she annoys me is because there’s a good bit of Agatha in me.’ He leaned forward. ‘Look, Toni, just suppose she did say yes, what would you feel about it?’
‘Do you mean romantically or professionally?’
‘Professionally.’
‘I don’t know. I would like someone of my own age around. I seem to have got divorced from all my old school friends. I’m the odd girl out. I don’t like binge drinking. They like to go to clubs on a Saturday night and get wasted.’
‘Nobody loves me either,’ said Simon gloomily.
‘Yeah. But you deserve it.’
‘Fancy going to a movie?’
‘What kind of movie?’
‘There’s a rerun of Gigi at the Classic. But you’ve probably seen it.’
‘No,’ said Toni. ‘That’s one I missed.’
‘Come on, then. Great musical. Great fun. What else were you planning to do?’
‘All right. But don’t get any ideas!’
‘None. I promise. I’m off women.’
‘I’ll just get my bag.’
Roy returned in high good humour. ‘I’ve got a surprise for you.’
‘What now?’ asked Agatha. Her cats slid off her and disappeared into the long grass of the garden.
‘I’ve found someone to do your garden.’
‘Big deal. Look, I’m grateful. But I could have found someone myself. Who is this fellow? Or is it a woman?’
‘No, he’s just moved into the village.’
‘Gnarled and creaking?’
‘Gorgeous. I’m telling you, babes, he’s to die for.’
‘How did you meet this paragon?’
‘I happened to mention to Mrs Bloxby that your garden was a mess.’
‘Oh, really? Was that part of your therapy session?’
‘It was after we’d had our little talk. Don’t get bitchy.’
‘I,’ said Agatha Raisin, ‘am never bitchy.’
‘Yes, well, never mind that,’ said Roy hurriedly. ‘Mrs Bloxby happened to mention that there was an incomer, George Marston, who does gardens. He lives in a cottage at the village end. The one called Wisteria Cottage.’
‘Didn’t old Mrs Henry live there?’
‘You really are out of touch. She died last year. So I went there and this Adonis answered the door. He says he does gardening and all sorts of odd jobs.’
‘What age?’
‘Hard to tell. Not young. Maybe early forties. Posh accent.’
Agatha winced. Early forties seemed young to her. ‘So why is this posh-accented beauty offering himself as a labourer?’
‘Why don’t you phone him and ask him? Come on, Aggie. Just look at your garden.’
‘Oh, all right. What’s the number?’
‘Here’s his card.’
Agatha phoned. The cultured voice at the other end said he would be along in a few minutes.
‘Can’t be getting that much work if he’s so eager,’ she said. ‘The sun is over the yardarm or whatever. I’m going to have a gin and tonic. What about you?’
‘I’ll have the same.’
They sat over their drinks in the garden. It was a beautiful Cotswold day, with fleecy clouds drifting against a dark blue sky.
There came a ring at the doorbell. Roy shot to his feet. ‘I’ll get it!’
Agatha waited, suddenly glad of the diversion.
Roy entered the garden followed by a tall man. Agatha was wearing sunglasses. She took them off and stared at the vision before her.
George Marston was over six feet tall, with thick grey blond hair and green eyes in a square, tanned face. His body under his dress of chinos and sweatshirt looked muscular.
Agatha rose to her feet. ‘Roy, get Mr Marston a drink. I have to go upstairs.’
Putting on an extra layer of make-up, thought Roy.
Agatha scrubbed off her make-up and carefully applied a new layer. She slipped out of the loose cotton dress she had been wearing and changed into a gingham blouse, tight jeans and wedge-heeled sandals. She looked in the mirror. Country but sexy, she thought with satisfaction. There was a lot to be said for fear and misery. One lost weight. She went back downstairs.
‘Now, Mr Marston . . .’
‘George, please.’
‘George. I run a detective agency and recently have been under threat, so don’t think me rude if I ask you a lot of questions.’
He smiled. Agatha’s heart gave a lurch. ‘Fire away,’ he said.
‘First of all, what is your background?’
‘I was in the army.’
‘For how long?’
‘Twenty years.’
‘When did you leave?’
‘Eight months ago.’
‘May I ask why?’
‘Certainly.’ He rolled up his left trouser leg, showing an artificial limb. ‘Present from Afghanistan,’ he said.
‘How awful,’ said Agatha.
‘It’s all right. I’ve got used to it. I’m good at all sorts of things – carpentry, gardening, things like that.’
‘Well, I see no reason why you don’t join me for a drink and then you can start right away. What are your rates?’
‘Eight pounds an hour.’
‘I feel obliged to tell you that the going rate in Carsely is ten pounds an hour.’
‘To be frank,’ he said, ‘I need the work and thought I would get it if I were a little bit cheaper.’
‘We’ll see how you go,’ said Agatha. ‘If your work is okay, you can earn the going rate. Now, what would you like to drink?’
‘Is that gin and tonic? I’d like one of those. I see an ashtray on the table. Mind if I smoke?’
‘Of course not. I smoke myself. Roy, be an angel and get George a drink.’
When Roy had gone indoors, George settled in a chair and said, ‘Isn’t that the young man who was kidnapped?’
‘Yes. The whole thing has been frightening and I’m just getting over it.’
‘Tell me about it.’
So Agatha did, while Roy returned with George’s drink and then sat in sulky silence, feeling he was being ignored.
‘You’ve certainly been through the wars,’ he said when Agatha had finished. ‘Look, if you don’t mind, I’ll get started.’
‘The gardening things and the mower are all in the shed at the bottom of the garden,’ said Agatha. ‘I’ll show you.’
He worked all weekend. Roy complained that he had been ignored because Agatha could hardly bear to leave the house, preferring to sit out in the garden and admire her new acquisition.
‘Don’t fall for him,’ warned Roy when he left. ‘I mean, what a cliché!’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Middle-aged woman lusts after gardener.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
When Agatha returned to her cottage, she had an impulse to invite George out for dinner. If Charles had turned up or if James had returned home, she would have decided against it. But she felt lonely.
The garden was being rapidly restored. George was putting away the tools in the shed when Agatha called to him, ‘Like a drink?’