Agatha Raisin and Kissing Christmas Goodbye (7 page)

‘We all agreed we would give you your presents when the brandy and coffee are served.’

‘If you mean the end of the meal, fine,’ said Phyllis. ‘But you know I don’t like brandy. You’re all going to have some of my elderberry wine. Agatha,’ she
shouted down the table, ‘I pick my own elderberries and make my own wine. Nothing like it.’

‘I’ll bet,’ muttered Charles gloomily.

As the coffee was served, one by one the family rose and went out, returning with their presents. Not one of them, it seemed, had thought it necessary to loosen the purse strings to buy the old
woman a decent present. Several gave books which Agatha recognized as ones currently on sale in the sort of bookshops that specialized in remainders. Jimmy gave his mother a hot water bottle in the
shape of a teddy bear. Fran gave her a necklace. Agatha had seen one just like it recently in the jewellery section of Marks & Spencer.

Sadie stared at Agatha and Charles. ‘Haven’t you brought Mother a present?’

‘Hadn’t time to drop into the thrift shop,’ whispered Charles.

Agatha could feel laughter bubbling up inside her. She tried to suppress it but up it came and she laughed and laughed.

Phyllis’s voice cut across the laughter. ‘I didn’t tell Agatha it was my birthday,’ she said.

Agatha recovered, mopped her eyes and apologized while they all looked at her suspiciously.

Then just as they were all, with the exception of Phyllis, grimacing over their elderberry wine, eight-year-old Jennifer piped up. ‘My gran,’ she said, meaning Sadie, ‘says
it’s not worth giving you anything good cos you’re out to screw the lot of us.’

There was a shocked silence. Then Jennifer’s mother, Lucy, said, ‘The dear child was only joking. It’s that dreadful state primary school she goes to. If she went to a private
school, she wouldn’t speak like that.’

Phyllis rose to her feet. ‘I’m tired,’ she announced. ‘We will meet at six o’clock for high tea.’

‘Oh,
Mother,’
groaned Sadie. ‘No one, but no one, has high tea any more.’

‘I do,’ said Phyllis firmly.

‘Wanna go home!’ screamed Jennifer.

‘A very good idea, darling,’ said her mother, Lucy.

Jennifer’s grandmother, Sadie, chimed in. ‘Yes, do go, my darlings. She’s not going to leave us anything no matter how long we stay here.’

‘Good idea,’ echoed Annabelle. ‘I’m leaving as well.’

‘Come on,’ Charles said to Agatha, ‘let’s go for a walk.’

Outside, Charles looked at the sky. ‘I think the Indian summer’s finally coming to an end. What an awful lunch.’

‘You mean dinner,’ Agatha corrected him. ‘At least with Annabelle, Lucy and the horrible child gone, it will mean fewer people to watch. That leaves Sadie, Sir Henry, Fran,
Bert, Jimmy and Alison. And I can’t see one of them as a potential murderer.’

‘Let’s suffer it all until tomorrow. Or do you want to leave now?’

‘Phyllis is paying me for the whole weekend. Don’t abandon me, Charles.’

‘Of course not,’ said Charles, who was already planning to get a friend to phone him with some urgent news that would give him an excuse to leave.

‘I think they all might still be in the dining room,’ said Agatha. ‘It might be a good idea to listen. That’s the dining room over there. I can see Sir Henry pacing up
and down and waving his arms. The windows are open. If we stroll nearer and stand behind those laurel bushes, we should be able to hear everything.’

They made their way cautiously forward until they were screened by the bushes. Sir Henry’s well-articulated voice reached their ears. ‘I have tried to reason with her. Cutting off
her own flesh and blood.’

Bert said, ‘What about you pleading with her, Jimmy? You were always her favourite.’

Jimmy’s voice reached Agatha and Charles, loaded with venom. ‘Favourite?’ he spat out. ‘Chained to that bloody shop. How are your bunions this morning, Mrs Smith? Pah!
And now they all hate me because she’s selling up here. I’ll soon be in debt. I asked her to help me out and she said it was up to me to run a successful business.’

Sadie chimed in. ‘I happen to know she’s changing something in her will.’

There was a startled silence.

‘She told me,’ said Sadie. ‘She enjoyed telling me. She’s going to alter it next week. She said she’d been on the phone to her solicitor the day before she spoke to
me. She’s going to leave it all to build a technical college in Daddy’s name. She’s going to start the building of it as soon as she sells this place, and if she dies, she’s
making sure the building goes on. And she’s leaving the college to the state, so we can’t even sell it.’

Alison, Bert’s wife, snarled, ‘If only she would drop dead.’

‘I’m going for a lie-down,’ said Sadie. ‘Oh, Miss Crampton, yes, you can clear the table now.’

There came a scraping back of chairs. Charles and Agatha moved away.

‘Gosh and double gosh,’ said Agatha. ‘They sound murderous.’

‘They sound like a lot of bores,’ said Charles. ‘Relax. Nothing’s going to happen.’

‘You’re right. I’ll get the dreadful high tea over with and clear off in the morning. Will you be free for Christmas dinner?’

‘Aggie, it’s October.’

‘I know, but I am going to have a really splendid old-fashioned Christmas.’

‘Your last Christmas dinner was a disaster. What’s with you and Christmas?’

‘I want to have one Christmas the way it’s supposed to be.’

‘It never is, Aggie. Grow up. People are under stress. They drink too much, they fight, they decide they’ve always hated each other. You’re a romantic.’

‘And what’s wrong with that? It’s all sex, sex, sex these days.’

‘Love usually comes along disguised as lust or because of delayed gratification like
Brave New World.’

‘I’ll show you,’ said Agatha. ‘Just turn up for my Christmas dinner, that’s all.’

‘Aha, there’s more to this than meets the eye. Where’s James?’

‘Travelling. But I’m sure he’ll be home for Christmas.’

‘And standing under the mistletoe?’

‘I’m going in,’ said Agatha crossly. ‘Oh, was that a spot of rain?’

Charles looked up at the sky. ‘Feels like it.’

‘I thought the weather would break with a magnificent thunderstorm,’ said Agatha.

‘And Phyllis would slump dead over the dining table to crashes of thunder, her dead face lit by flashes of lightning?’

Agatha gave a reluctant laugh. ‘Something like that.’

‘Stop writing scripts. Life is so often boring and predictable.’

A sullen company shuffled back into the dining room at six o’clock. Outside the windows, rain was falling steadily. They took their places as ordered by Phyllis, who took
her customary place at the head of the table. Apart from Agatha and Charles, the remainder consisting of Sadie, Fran, Sir Henry, Bert, Alison and Jimmy slumped into their chairs. High tea was
already laid out. An urn with cups, milk and sugar stood on the sideboard. A large cake stand in the centre of the table held thin slices of white buttered bread on the bottom layer, teacakes on
the second, scones on the third and ersatz-cream cakes on the top.

In front of each person was a plate containing two thin slices of shiny ham, peas, chips, as well as a bowl of peculiar-looking salad.

Agatha poked at the salad with her fork. ‘What’s in this?’

‘My own creation,’ said Phyllis proudly. ‘Parsley, grated parsnip, grated carrot, grated turnip and lettuce. Have the others gone home?’

‘Yes, Mother,’ said Jimmy. His face in the grey light from the rain-washed windows looked pale.

‘Their loss,’ said Phyllis. ‘Dig in. I’ve sent the village women home. No use paying people to serve you when you can serve yourselves.’

Phyllis made several attempts at conversation but no one replied. Agatha, unable to bear the following silence, started talking about the weather, saying that although the gardens needed the
rain, it was all very depressing. Her voice tailed off as no one seemed to be paying attention.

After another long silence, Fran suddenly picked up her bowl of salad and threw it into the empty fireplace. ‘Sod you, Mother, and your bloody rabbit food and your cheap ways. You’re
about to disinherit your own flesh and blood!’ She burst into tears and ran from the table.

To Agatha’s surprise, Phyllis’s eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘You asked for that,’ said Bert.

‘We’d better get out and find a pub this evening,’ muttered Charles to Agatha. ‘I can’t eat any of this muck.’

Jimmy half-rose from the table. ‘Mother, I want to sell the shop!’

‘It’s in my name, son. You’ll get the title deeds when I’m dead.’

In a bitter little voice, Jimmy said, ‘And when will that be?’

Phyllis looked shocked and hurt for the first time since Agatha had met her.

She rose to her feet and stumbled. An odd expression crossed her face. She tried to take a step and fell over on the floor. Jimmy rushed to help her to her feet.

‘I’m tired, that’s all,’ said Phyllis. ‘Help me to my room.’

She staggered as if she were drunk as her son supported her out of the dining room.

‘I think you’d better call a doctor,’ said Agatha.

‘She’s had turns before,’ said Bert. ‘She’s got a weak heart. She always comes around if she gets a rest.’

‘I still think you should call her doctor,’ insisted Agatha. ‘Give me his name and I’ll call him.’

‘You are not family,’ said Bert crossly. ‘There’s no need to make a fuss.’

Upstairs afterwards, Charles joined Agatha in her room. ‘I went along to see how Phyllis was doing. Fran was coming out of her room. She said she was fine, so no
poisoning. I mean if she had been poisoned, there would have been vomiting or convulsions. Let’s get out of here for a couple of hours and find a pub.’

‘Not the local. Somewhere else,’ said Agatha.

Feeling much restored after a pub dinner of sausage, egg and chips, Agatha and Charles returned to the manor. ‘Lead me to Phyllis’s room,’ said Agatha. The
sounds of television coming from the drawing room reached their ears. ‘They’re all probably downstairs watching the box.’

‘Follow me,’ said Charles.

He led the way upstairs and along a corridor. ‘It’s been done up like a hotel,’ he said. ‘The big bedrooms seem to have been split in two. Here we are.’ He rapped
gently on the door.

No reply.

‘Go on in,’ urged Agatha.

Charles turned the handle and they both walked in. By the light of a bedside lamp they could see Phyllis.

Agatha walked forward and looked down at her. ‘Charles,’ she said shakily, ‘I think she’s dead.’

Phyllis was lying on top of the bedclothes dressed in what she had been wearing for high tea. Bits of salad stuck to her black top.

Charles felt for a pulse and found none.

Fran’s voice sounded from the doorway: ‘What are you doing?’

‘I think your mother’s dead,’ said Agatha.

Fran rushed up to the bed. She stared at her mother for a brief moment and then reached to pick up the bedside phone.

‘Let’s leave the room as it is,’ commanded Agatha. ‘Phone from downstairs.’

‘What . . .?’

‘I think your mother may have been murdered.’

‘You’re stark staring mad. I will phone the doctor and you’ll find it was a heart attack.’

‘I am not a friend of your mother,’ said Agatha. ‘I am a detective. She invited me here because she told me she suspected a family member would kill her.’

Fran turned paper-white. Agatha registered that the news that she was a detective and that Phyllis had suspected one of her family might murder her had shocked Fran more than the death of her
mother.

‘It’s all madness,’ whispered Fran. ‘I’ll phone from downstairs.’

‘Let’s leave and lock the door. We’ll wait for the police.’

The news spread throughout the house and they all gathered in the drawing room.

‘Dr Huxley is on his way,’ said Fran.

‘Didn’t you call the police?’ demanded Agatha.

There came a shocked chorus of Whys?

‘Because,’ said Agatha loudly above the babble, ‘as I told Fran, I am a detective hired by your mother to protect her this weekend. She thought one of you might try to kill
her.’

‘She was old,’ said Sir Henry. ‘Losing her marbles. There’s proof of it. Here’s the doctor now.’

Agatha quickly scanned the faces around the room. They betrayed various levels of shock and apprehension but not one of them was grieving.

Bert went to the door and ushered the doctor in. ‘Here’s the key to her room,’ said Agatha. ‘I thought it better to lock it until the police get here.’

Dr Huxley was a small, thin, fussy man. He took the key from her and said firmly, ‘I am sure I will find that Mrs Tamworthy died of a heart attack. Her heart was not strong. She was taking
heart medicine.’

Bert led the doctor upstairs.

‘I’m going out for some air,’ said Agatha.

‘It’s pouring,’ said Charles.

‘Don’t care.’

Agatha went outside and pulled out her mobile phone and called Mircester police and spoke rapidly.

Then she hurried back inside.

‘As soon as the doctor leaves,’ said Sadie to Agatha, ‘you can jolly well pack your bags and go. This is our house now and you are not welcome.’

Silence fell as they all waited.

After what seemed an age, the doctor came down the stairs. ‘Mrs Tamworthy died peacefully in her sleep when her heart stopped. I have signed the death certificate and given it to Mr Albert
Tamworthy.’

Fran turned glittering eyes on Agatha. ‘You see? Now, get out.’

Agatha heard police sirens in the distance and said, ‘I’ve called the police.’

There came outraged cries all round. Then Fran flew at Agatha in a rage. Agatha dived behind an armchair. Fran reached over it and seized her by the hair. Charles dragged her off.

‘You have no right to question my judgement,’ said the doctor when the protests and shouts had died down.

The sirens wailed their way up the drive.

Then there came a loud knocking at the front door and a cry of ‘Police!’

Bert went to answer it. Detective Inspector Wilkes came in, followed by Bill Wong. Bill was a friend of Agatha’s. Behind them came four police constables.