Agatha Raisin and The Potted Gardener by M. C. Beaton Read Free Book Online

taxi, reflected that if one is in the grip of an obsession, nothing is ever enough. She had told herself at the beginning of the evening that all she wanted was for them to be friends again, but now she longed for him to put an arm around her shoulders in the darkness of the taxi and kiss her. The longing was so intense that she felt her breathing becoming ragged and was half sad, half relieved when the short journey was over and he refused her offer of coffee, but said he would no doubt see her in the pub on the following day.
    Agatha’s heart sang as she went to bed. She fell asleep remembering every word and every look.

    A visit from Mrs Mason the following day brought her down to earth. “I saw you driving off with Mr Lacey in a taxi,” said Mrs Mason, settling her large bottom more comfortably in one of Agatha’s armchairs.
    “Yes, we had a nice evening,” said Agatha.
    “Where did you go?”
    “That new restaurant in Moreton, the Game Bird.”
    “He entertains well when he takes the ladies out,” said Mrs Mason. “I’ve heard it’s expensive.”
    “What do you mean, he entertains well?”
    “I know he took Mrs Fortune to the Lygon in Broadway at least a couple of times and once to the Randolph in Oxford.”
    Agatha felt bleak. What was one disastrous dinner compared to what appeared to be a chain of good and expensive dinners he had enjoyed with Mary Fortune? She imagined them together on a long drive to Oxford. All the glory of the previous evening was tarnished. Agatha also found to her surprise that she actually liked Mary. Mary had become a good friend. Perhaps the most graceful thing to do would be to give up trying. On the other hand, James had shown no particular interest in Mary of late.
    With only half her mind on what Mrs Mason was saying, Mrs Mason having gone on to talk about parish matters, Agatha wrestled with the problem of whether to go to the Red Lion that evening or not. Perhaps she should give up this village life and return to work in London. She still had not said no to Wilson’s offer. He had phoned her again and been most persuasive. But, she thought, looking at the motherly bulk of Mrs Mason, friends had not dropped round to her flat for a chat in London. In fact, she had had no friends at all.
    After Mrs Mason left, she went out into her garden, which was cleared and ready for planting. It was a balmy day with big castles of white clouds floating over the Cotswold hills. Yes, she would go to the pub, but not to see James Lacey, just to meet people and have a chat.

    But that evening she dressed with special care. She did not want to look too dressed up for a village pub and at last settled on a soft silk chiffon blouse of deep red worn with a short straight black skirt and black suede shoes with a modest heel. She gave herself a temporary facelift with white of egg, very effective provided one did not smile too much, and strolled off in the direction of the pub. James’s house had an empty look. He must be already there. With a feeling of going on-stage, she opened the pub door and went into the smoky low-ceilinged room. James was standing at the bar talking to Mr Bernard Spott, the man who headed the horticultural society. James hailed Agatha and bought her a gin and tonic. She had just taken her first sip and was looking for an inroad into the conversation about dahlias that James was having with Bernard when the pub door opened and Mary Fortune sailed in. Agatha had known the pangs of jealousy before but never anything as bad as this. She felt her face becoming stiff, as stiff as if she had just applied the white of egg. Mary was wearing a short white jersey dress and gold jewellery. The dress clung to her excellent figure. It was the first time Agatha had seen her wear anything other than green. The skirt of the dress was very short, exposing Mary’s long legs encased in tan stockings and ending in high-heeled strapped sandals. Her golden hair glowed in the light. Her eyes