Mrs. Bloxby looked at her doubtfully. Then she said, “Do you think you are doing the right thing? I mean, men do not like to be pursued.”

“How else do you get one?” demanded Agatha angrily. She picked up a swim-suit, one-piece, gold and black, and looked at it critically.

“I have doubts about James Lacey,” said Mrs. Bloxby in her gentle voice. “He always struck me as being a cold, rather self-contained man.”

“You don’t know him,” said Agatha defensively, thinking of nights in bed with James, tumultuous nights, but silent nights during which he had not said one word of love. “Anyway, I need a holiday.”

“Don’t be away too long. You’ll miss us all.”

“There’s not much to miss about Carsely. The Ladies Society, the church fetes, yawn.”

“That’s a bit cruel, Agatha. I thought you enjoyed them.”

But Agatha felt that a Carsely without James had suddenly become a bleak and empty place, filled from end to end with nervous boredom.

“Where are you flying from?”

“ Stansted Airport in Essex.”

“How will you get there?”

“I’ll drive and leave the car in the long-stay car-park.”

“But if you are going to be away for very long, that will cost you a fortune. Let me drive you.”

But Agatha shook her head. She wanted to leave Carsely, sleepy Carsely with its gentle villagers and thatched-roof cottages, behind and everything to do with it.

The doorbell rang. Agatha opened the door and Detective Sergeant Bill Wong walked in and looked around.

“So you’re really going?” he remarked.

“Yes, and don’t you try to stop me either, Bill.”

“I don’t think Lacey’s worth all this effort, Agatha.”

“It’s my life.”

Bill smiled. He was half Chinese and half English, in his mid-twenties, and Agatha’s first friend, for before she moved to the Cotswolds she had lived in a hard-bitten and friendless world.