“I am sure you mean well and that’s what you say to all your dreary customers,” said Agatha tetchily, “but I am well aware of what I look like.”

“Ah, but I haven’t done your hair before. By the time I’ve finished with you, you’ll be fighting them off with clubs.”

Agatha suddenly laughed. “You’re very sure of your skill.”

“I have every reason to be.”

“So if you’re that good, why Evesham?”

“Why not? I like Evesham. The people are nice. I am king here. I might be lost among the competition in London. There you are. Now, I’ll set the timer. Sharon, a coffee and some magazines for Mrs. Raisin.”

A woman had entered and was sitting in the chair alongside Agatha. “Ready to have your colour done again, Maggie?” Mr. John greeted her.

“If you think so,” said Maggie, gazing up at him with adoring eyes.

“Did your husband like the new style?”

“He doesn’t like anything about me.” Maggie’s voice had taken on a querulous moan. “Insults from morning to night. I tell you, John, if it weren’t for you bucking me up, I’d kill myself.”

“There, now. You’ll feel better when I’ve finished with you.”

As Agatha waited for the tint to take effect and more customers were dealt with, some by a couple of assistants, Agatha was amazed at the personal revelations that were poured into the hairdressers’ ears.

She covertly watched Mr. John as he moved about, admiring his athletic body and his blond hair, and oh, those blue, blue eyes.

Agatha began to feel alive for the first time in weeks.

The timer rang and she was escorted through to a hand-basin and the tint was washed out. Then back to Mr. John, who began to put her hair up in rollers.

“I thought it would be a blow-dry.”

“I’m going to put your hair up… Agatha. It is Agatha, isn’t it?”

A less glorious-looking hairdresser would have been told sharply that it was Mrs. Raisin. Agatha nodded.

“You’ll love it.”