Agatha Raisin: Hiss and Hers (20 page)

‘Do you think he's gay?' asked Agatha.

‘Could be. But no one's heard anything about that.'

‘Address?'

Reg took out his iPhone and flicked through it. ‘Here we are. Number five Chepstow Lane, Notting Hill.'

Agatha took a note of it.

‘Do your best,' said Reg. ‘I'll be going back without a story.'

‘Well,' said Agatha, ‘you could slant it this way. Village still in fear. Murders unsolved. Even Jessica Fordyce frightened to open her door. You never know who might be calling on you in this once rural idyll and blah, blah, blah. Terrified villagers frightened of snakes.'

‘Good idea. I'll join the others, wait till they pack up and get my photographer to take some pictures. Want to give me a quote?'

‘Not me,' said Agatha. ‘The police have told me to keep out of it.'

Agatha returned to her cottage, depressed because the other members of the press had shown no interest in her. She was yesterday's news.

She saw Charles's car outside her cottage. He had a set of keys and had let himself in. He was sitting in the garden with both cats on his lap.

‘Nice to see you,' said Agatha. ‘Haven't seen you for a bit.'

‘Doing this and that. Bring me up to speed on the unsolved murders.'

He listened carefully and when Agatha had finished, he said, ‘What do you plan to do?'

‘I think I'll go up to London tomorrow and watch his flat. I want to see what he does, where he goes and who his friends are.'

‘I'm bored. I'll come with you.'

‘Are you finished with Petronella?'

‘Of course.' Charles suddenly grinned. ‘Private detectives. They're all over the place.'

‘We'd better check tomorrow morning and make sure Jessica's car's gone. No point in going to London if the pair of them are still down here. And I'll see if Reg knows which tour company he worked for. I'd like to know if he got sacked for something.'

Agatha went into her office the following morning to allocate work. ‘Where are you off to?' asked Simon.

‘Just chasing a lead,' said Agatha. ‘I'll let you know if anything comes of it.'

Simon had plans of his own. He had taken the phone number of the make-up girl, Hattie Chivers, while he had been watching the filming in the Malverns. He had phoned her up and had arranged to meet her for dinner in London that evening. He wanted to find out as much as he could about the relationship between Jessica and Rex.

Toni watched him anxiously. She planned to keep an eye on him. She felt sure Simon was going to do something very silly – or dangerous.

Rex lived in a mews house in Chepstow Lane. Charles was driving and managed to squeeze his old BMW into a parking space opposite Rex's house.

Through a slit in the downstairs curtains, they could see a light burning. But it was the sort of thing people did for security when they went out. If Rex had already gone out on the town for the evening, thought Agatha, it was going to be a long wait.

But after ten minutes, a taxi drove up and Rex got out. He went into his house but the taxi stayed outside with the meter running. ‘Get ready to follow the taxi,' said Agatha.

After a short time, Rex came out and the taxi drove off. Charles waited until it reached the end of the lane and then began to follow.

After some time, when the taxi began to cross Westminster Bridge, Agatha said impatiently, ‘Where on earth is he going?'

‘Need to keep after him till we find out,' said Charles placidly.

The taxi went on into Lambeth, turned down a side street and stopped in front of a club called Pink Peter. ‘I think that answers the question of whether he's gay or not,' said Charles. ‘I'd better park and go in after him. I hope he doesn't know what I look like. You'll have to wait for me.'

‘Will you be safe?' asked Agatha anxiously.

‘I'll be safer in a gay club than I'd be in some pubs I know,' said Charles. ‘Wish me luck.'

As he cautiously approached, Charles saw that young men going in were holding up membership disks. He hung back until a noisy crowd arrived and joined them. He eased into the centre of the group, and was swept in past the doorman.

Rex was sitting at the bar with a young man. Charles took a seat at the far end of the bar. A few couples were dancing on a small dance floor. The music was Cole Porter. It all seemed very discreet and retro. Blown-up photos of Marlene Dietrich and Judy Garland in
The Wizard of Oz
decorated the walls.

‘Well, if it isn't Charles Fraith,' said a voice in his ear.

Charles stared up at the beefy features of someone he knew. ‘Why, Buffy!' he exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘Same as you,' said Bernard Buff-Jerryn.

‘Didn't know you were a friend of Dorothy's,' said Charles. ‘Aren't you married?'

‘What's that got to do with it?' demanded Buffy.

‘Just wondered.' Rex and the young man got to their feet, went to a staircase in the corner of the room and began to mount the stairs. ‘What's up there?' asked Charles.

‘Rooms for a bit of you-know-what. Interested?'

‘Not me. Wasn't that Rex Dangerfield who just went upstairs?'

‘Yes. We get a lot of celebs in here. This your first time?' Buff put a heavy hand on Charles's knee.

Charles gently removed it. ‘I'm detecting, Buffy.'

‘You can't do that! The thing about this club is that it's the most discreet in London. I've got my reputation to consider. I'm a Liberal MP, or have you forgotten?'

‘I won't say a word, Buffy. Does Rex come here a lot?'

‘I'm off. If you aren't out of here in the next few minutes, I'm getting you thrown out,' said Buffy.

Charles slid off the bar stool and made his way to the door and out into the street.

‘I daren't wait any longer,' said Charles when he joined Agatha. ‘Rex is definitely gay. I met an old school friend. Last person you would suspect. Roly-poly politician, wife and two kids. What do we do now?'

‘Let's go somewhere for dinner,' said Agatha. ‘I've a feeling I've been looking at this case the wrong way around.'

Simon and Hattie Chivers were having dinner in Rules in Covent Garden. Looking down the prices on the menu, Simon could only be glad that his parents had relented and had reinstated his allowance.

Hattie was thin to the point of emaciation. Her arms were like sticks. Her brown hair was lank. She asked him to order. Simon ordered the most inexpensive items on the menu, fearing that anything more expensive would turn out to be a waste of food. This turned out to be the case, as Hattie merely picked at her fish.

‘Now,' said Simon eagerly, after he had heard all Hattie's complaints about working for the soap, ‘how do you get on with Jessica?'

‘No one gets on with Jessica,' said Hattie. ‘She's a right cow.'

‘She struck me as charming.'

‘Well, she would. She does this warmth and friendliness, but she's always trying to put the knife into someone. You have to be sure to pay homage to her or she'll get you fired. The producer, Malcolm, is so terrified of losing her that he'll do anything she wants. There was this old actor Carl Friend. Hadn't had a part in for ever and couldn't believe his luck when he landed the role of a lovable old patient. One day, Jessica was late on the set, and Carl joked, “Come on, Jessie, move yer bloody arse.” He was only quoting from
My Fair Lady
. The next thing we know, he's been written out.'

‘But that could have been the producer's decision.'

‘No. I overheard Jessica whispering to him, “That'll teach you to watch what you say in the future.”'

‘I can hardly believe it,' said Simon.

‘Men can't, until they get wise to her.'

‘What's her relationship with Rex Dangerfield?'

Hattie hid a piece of fish under her vegetables. ‘The terrible twosome. They make a vicious combination. Always trying to throw the other actors off. Malcolm, the producer, thought if he could get rid of Rex, the atmosphere might get better, but Jessica ups and says she'll leave the series if he goes.'

‘Is he gay?'

‘Is the Pope Catholic?'

‘So why are they so close?'

‘I think our Jessica's a psycho,' said Hattie. ‘Got to go and powder my nose.'

She's jealous, that's all, thought Simon. But he flicked through the notes on his phone, coming across the bit where George had asked Agatha if she knew anything about psychos.

Hattie eventually came back. Her face was white and covered with a thin film of sweat. Probably been to throw up, thought Simon cynically.

‘Aren't you jealous of her?' asked Simon.

‘I thought you invited me out because you liked me,' complained Hattie, ‘but you're just another poor sod who thinks Jessica's a goddess. Well, thanks but no thanks for dinner.' She got up and marched out of the restaurant.

‘It's like this,' said Agatha as she and Charles dined at a Turkish restaurant in Borough High Street. ‘So Rex is gay. Now what if he was the one that had been in love with George? Maybe George swung both ways.'

‘I can't see it. He had a penchant for motherly women.'

‘Oh, yeah? What about Joyce Hemingway?'

‘We've only got her word for it that she and George were an item,' said Charles.

Agatha's phone rang. ‘Hello, Simon,' Charles heard her say. Then Agatha listened intently. Then she said, ‘Come and join us for coffee.' She gave him directions.

When she had rung off, she said, ‘Simon's just had dinner with the make-up girl from the soap. He says he might have something interesting.'

When Simon joined them, Agatha asked eagerly what he had found out. Simon finished by saying, ‘Of course, she's an anorexic wimp and probably as jealous as hell.'

Agatha's eyes gleamed with excitement. ‘Suppose she's telling the truth and her producer would do anything to keep Jessica sweet. He may even have lied to the police about where she was at significant times and given her those alibis.'

‘Why don't we just tell Bill Wong what we've got,' said Simon uneasily, ‘and let the police get on with it?' He had not got over the shock of being bitten by an adder, not to mention being hit over the head.

‘What would they do?' demanded Agatha. ‘Same as before. The producer, Malcolm Fryer, will stick to his guns and there's nothing they can do about it. Do you know if they are on location tomorrow, Simon?'

‘As a matter of fact, they're going back to the Malvern Hills.'

‘I'll see what I can do,' said Agatha, her eyes gleaming with excitement. ‘I don't need to be landed with a long walk like you and Toni had. I'll go by the route near the road that they take.'

‘I'll come with you,' said Simon eagerly.

‘No,' said Agatha. ‘You're too smitten with Jessica to see straight. Charles and I will go.'

‘Can't,' said Charles. ‘Hosting the village cricket match.'

When Charles dropped her off at her cottage, Agatha had a sudden weak longing to beg him to stay. In the excitement of the new discovery, she had forgotten her nighttime fear of adders. It was almost as if Charles had sensed what she wanted to say because his face wore a closed-down, shuttered look. He gave her a brief goodbye and drove off.

Agatha let herself into her cottage, petted her cats and trailed into the kitchen. She phoned Toni and told her all about the latest developments and asked the girl to accompany her on the following day. Toni arranged to meet Agatha in the office at nine in the morning. ‘What time do they start filming?' she asked.

‘I forgot to ask Simon and I don't want to phone him. He's so besotted he might turn up.'

‘These location things usually take all day,' said Toni. ‘We'll set off at nine.'

That night there was a tremendous thunderstorm. Agatha tossed and turned, imagining snakes slithering down from the thatch and under the doors. Her cats joined her on her bed. At last the storm rolled away and she fell into an uneasy sleep.

When she joined Toni in the office, she again felt a pang of envy as she surveyed the girl's good looks and glowing healthy face. She looked at her own face in a mirror on the wall. She had dark shadows under her eyes and the lines on either side of her mouth seemed more pronounced. Not so long ago, thought Agatha, women of my age just let themselves go. They let the lines come and the hair go grey and the figure to droop and thicken. I need a complete body transplant.

‘How are you going to go about this?' asked Toni as they drove off in Agatha's car.

‘I'll work my way round to it,' said Agatha uneasily, because she had not really worked out a plan of campaign. ‘Maybe I'll let you try to chat him up.'

‘You should have warned me,' said Toni. ‘I'm not wearing chat-up clothes.'

She was dressed in shorts and a striped T-shirt, her long legs ending in sandals.

‘At your age and with your looks,' sighed Agatha, ‘it doesn't matter what you wear.'

The day looked as if it had been washed clean by the storm. Water glittered on the leaves on the trees as the sun shone down from a clear sky. Agatha switched on the radio and then almost immediately switched it off again. ‘If there's one thing I can't stand,' she said, ‘it's cheeky-chappie DJs who sing along with the records or talk through them. That man is a garrulous prick.'

‘Want me to try Classic FM?' asked Toni.

‘No, don't bother. Full of ads.'

‘What about Radio 3?'

‘You can forget that one as well. Some pontificating moron will be saying something like, “We will now play a piece of music not often heard by Austrian composer Freidrich Bummergritch,” or something like that and I feel like screaming that the reason it's not often heard is because nobody wants to hear the damn thing.'