Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

"I've got a room," said Charles lazily. "Let's go to bed."

"I don't like casual sex, Charles."

"Who said it was casual?"

"You've proved in the past that it was casual."

"Then let's just cuddle up."

Agatha felt tipsy and tired and suddenly reluctant to be left alone.

"All right, she said. But vanity made her go into the bathroom and put on some light make-up. When she returned, Charles had put on his pyjamas and was lying tucked up in bed, fast asleep.

So much for romance, thought Agatha, getting in beside him. Scrabble, curled up on a chair, watched her curiously. The bedside light on Charles's side of the bed was burning. She leaned across him to put it out but before she could, his eyes opened and he smiled at her and wrapped his arms around her.

"None of that," said Agatha, trying to pull free. He kissed her and then said mischievously, "None of what? None of this?" He kissed her again. Janine's voice that Agatha would never have sex again suddenly sounded in her ears.

She told herself later that it was only to prove Janine wrong that she did.

Inspector Jimmy Jessop drove to the Garden Hotel. The results of the autopsy had come through. The colonel had died of natural causes. It was nearly midnight but he knew Agatha would thank him for letting her know as soon as possible. He wanted to tell her in person, to see the relief in her eyes.

He parked outside the Garden and walked in. Daisy came up to meet him, her face still swollen with crying and her eyes glittering oddly. Behind the desk, the night porter snored gently.

"Going to see Agatha?" asked Daisy.

"Yes."

"Just go up," said Daisy. "Her room's number nine."

Jimmy hesitated and looked towards the desk. "I should phone first."

"She's not receiving calls."

"Oh, in that case ..."

Jimmy headed for the stairs. Daisy gave a little smile and went back into the lounge.

Jimmy knocked softly at Agatha's door. There was no reply. He tried the handle. The door was unlocked. He opened it quietly.

The tableau that met his eyes was illuminated by a bedside lamp. There was a pair of man's striped pyjamas lying crumpled on the floor and Agatha's night-dress was hanging off the end of the bed.

Agatha herself was naked and wrapped in the arms of a man Jimmy did not know.

He retreated ever so quietly, closing the door with great care. He walked stiffly down the stairs and shook the night porter awake and demanded writing paper and an envelope.

Then he sat down and wrote Agatha Raisin a blistering letter, telling her exactly what he thought of her. A certain fairness prompted him to also tell her that the colonel had died of natural causes. She was therefore free to leave Wyckhadden and he never wanted to see her face again. He asked for his ring back. He sealed the letter and told the night porter to take it up and slide it under her door.

Agatha was the first to awake the following morning. She twisted round and looked at Charles's sleeping face, her first weary thought, Oh God, I've done it again. She pulled her night-gown up from the end of he bed and slipped it on. It was then she saw the envelope. She picked it up and sat down on the end of the bed and opened it.

She turned brick-red with shame and mortification. She pulled the letter down and pulled off the engagement ring and put it on the bedside table. Jimmy's letter made it perfectly clear that he had seen her in bed with Charles. There was no way she could lie herself out of this one. And yet, at the root of all her shame was a little feeling of relief.

She prodded Charles in the ribs. "Wake up!"

Charles struggled awake. "What's the rush, dearest? I drove through this dismal little town last night, you know. Not the sort of place you leap out of bed for and with a glad cry go to explore."

"Shut up and listen," growled Agatha. "Jimmy walked in last night and found us in bed together. He's broken off the engagement. He wants his ring back."

"Let me see it."

Agatha handed him the ring. He held it up to the light, squinted at it, and handed it back. "Let him have it. Not worth keeping."

"It's all your fault," howled Agatha, goaded by his indifference.

"Show me the letter. Come on. You never even loved him, so don't pretend."

Agatha gave him the letter. He read it carefully. "Sounds like a good straight decent man. Not for the likes of you, Aggie."

"How dare you!"

"And you're off the hook. You can come back with me."

"Charles, do you not feel any remorse?"

"No, not a tittle, and neither would you if you hadn't been caught out." He rose and strolled into the bathroom and closed the door.

Agatha reached for the phone to call Jimmy and then decided against it. What could she say? How could she explain herself? To say that she felt nothing for Charles would make her seem even more of a slut.

The phone rang. She picked it up gingerly as if it might bite and said a cautious "Yes?"

"This is Mr. Martin, Mrs. Raisin."

"How can I help you?"

"I believe you have a man in your room."

"So what?" said Agatha crossly. "This is the nineties."