“There, now,” said George. “No one could call you silly.”

The food arrived. Fred talked animatedly to George about people Agatha did not know. The pair seemed to have forgotten her existence.

At least she would have George to herself when he ran her home. Her mind drifted off. She would invite him in for a drink. Perhaps light the logs in the fire. Soft lights. She would be comforting. Get him to talk about his wife. Sit next to him on the sofa and hold his hand, and…

“Oh dear, what’s the matter, George? Are you getting one of your migraines?”

“I think I’ve got one coming on,” said George, “but I’ve got to run Agatha home.”

“I’ll do that,” said Fred. “Off you go and take your pills.”

At that moment, Charles sauntered into the pub. “Hi, Aggie.”

“Oh, Charles,” said Agatha with relief. “Can you run me home? George here has a migraine coming on.”

“What about a drink first?”

“We’ll get one at my place.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Agatha made hurried introductions. Charles smiled at Fred but was soon hustled out of the pub by Agatha.

“What did you do to upset that fair maiden? Her eyes were red,” said Charles as he drove off.

“She was complaining about me wanting to smoke.”

Charles grinned. “And you blasted her?”

“Not quite. There was no reason for her to start to cry. You know, I am sure that one can cry at will. Nasty little actress. Also, she was around setting up the dreary tombola stand at dawn before the fête got started. She could easily have sneaked into the tent and put LSD in the jam.”

“You’re jealous. You are ruthlessly pursuing George and I bet you don’t even know the first thing about him.”

“Talk about something else,” growled Agatha.

“Okay. Don’t you think it’s possible that one of the young people at the show doctored the jam?”

“No. They weren’t interested in any of the exhibits.