So Agatha had made the appointment and here she was in Evesham, a town situated some ten miles from her home village of Carsely.

The cynics say Evesham is famous for dole and asparagus. Situated beside the river Avon in the Vale of Evesham, the Garden of England, well-known for its nurseries, orchards, and, of course, asparagus, Evesham nonetheless can present itself to the visitor who comes to see its historical buildings as a down-at-heel town. Despite the increasing population, shops keep closing up and the boards over the windows are decorated with old Evesham scenes by local artists, so that sometimes it seems a town of pictures and thrift shops. Enormous fecund women trundle push-chairs with small children. The fashion they favour is leggings topped by a baggy blouse. As columnist and TV celebrity Ann Robinson said, she thought leggings came along with push-chairs and babies.

Agatha sometimes thought that a lot of the clothes shops closed down because the buyers would not look out of the window at the size of the female population and stocked only up to size sixteen instead of up to size twenty-two.

She walked over to the High Street, not even stopping to look at the magnificent bulk of the old churches. Agatha was not interested in history as was James Lacey, the love of her life, her neighbour, who was off once more on his travels, leaving his cottage deserted and Agatha depressed and with grey hairs on her head.

The hairdresser’s was simply called Mr. John. Mrs. Bloxby had urged Agatha to make sure she got Mr. John in person.

And there it was, glittering in the heat of the High Street, a discreet shop frontage with MR. JOHN emblazoned in curly brass letters over the door.

Agatha pushed open the door and went in. No air-conditioning, of course. This was Britain and there were too many recent memories of cold summers for shopkeepers to decide to put in air-conditioning.