Agatha looked at him in amazement. “If you were a woman, James, you would be called a bitch.”

There was an awkward silence and then Trevor found his voice. “I wish the lot of you would realize I have lost my wife,” he said flatly. “I think it was some local crazed on drugs. All I want to do is get the hell out of this buggering island and never see it again.”

The waiter came up and they ordered food. Agatha studied Angus. Trevor had shown all the signs of being a very jealous husband and yet he had allowed this doting friend to join them on holiday. Why? Did he think Angus too old and too pompous to be any competition at all? Or had Angus paid for it?

She suddenly thought that she really ought to fax Bill Wong at Mircester Police Headquarters and ask him for the background on all of them.

Olivia decided her social skills were needed to guide them all through this awkward lunch. She encouraged James to talk about his book, and Angus to talk about what he did in his retirement and Harry to talk about farming. Trevor kept to a morose silence and somehow Olivia kept steering the conversation so that Agatha was excluded.

When they finally left the restaurant and were grouped on the pavement outside the Saray Hotel, Agatha linked her arm in James’s and said firmly, “Well, goodbye. I would like to take a look at the covered market again.”

She led James off. When they were clear of the others, Agatha said, “That was a nasty crack of yours about the way I solved those murders.”

“I thought you were being insensitive with Trevor sitting there. Besides, if we’re going to investigate this and you think one of them is a murderer, it’s a good idea not to advertise what you’re doing.”

“Oh, Mr. Know-All!” Agatha stopped short in front of a jeweller’s window. “Those Rolex watches look remarkably cheap.”

“Pirated,” said James curtly. “Probably only run for about a week. Do you really want to see the covered market again?”

“Not really. I wanted to talk to you without the others listening. Somewhere in their backgrounds must be some sort of clue to Rose’s death. What if we fax Bill Wong from the Onar Village Hotel on the way back and ask him to dig something up?”

“Let’s leave it for another day,” said James cautiously. “They may find out something here and then we do not need to bother Mircester police. In fact, why don’t we do some sightseeing and pack up a picnic tomorrow and go and have a look at some of the sights. We’ll start with Saint Hilarion.”

Agatha was still staring into the jeweller’s window as he talked. She suddenly pressed his arm warningly. For behind them, and in the window, she saw the reflections of Olivia and party.

How long had they been standing there?

They swung round. “We thought we’d take a look at the covered market as well,” said Olivia.

“We’ve changed our minds,” said Agatha before James could speak. The weather was still very warm and Olivia was wearing a brief sun-dress which showed her excellent breasts. I wish it would start to freeze, thought Agatha.

“What about dinner tonight?” asked Olivia.

“There’s a very good restaurant at Zeytinlik, just outside Kyrenia,” said James to Agatha’s dismay. “The Ottoman House. Eight o’clock?”

“Great. We’ll see you there.”

“Aye, we’ve got to stick together,” said Angus.

“Why on earth did you say that?” demanded Agatha angrily as they walked away. “Surely we’ve seen enough of them for one day.”

“You want to investigate, don’t you?” demanded James, steering her round a cartful of watermelons. “What do we really know about Harry and Angus, apart from the fact that Harry is a farmer and Angus a retired shopkeeper?”

“If we faxed Bill Wong, we’d find out all we have to know,” said Agatha sulkily.

“Bill Wong may be too busy to bother about a murder case in Cyprus. It’s only a dinner, Agatha, and we have the rest of the day to ourselves.”

But when they got back to the villa, it was three-thirty in the afternoon and James said he was going to write.

Agatha retired to her room and began to search through her clothes for something to outshine Olivia. There was a phone extension in her room. On impulse she threw a pile of brightly coloured clothes on the bed and dialled the number of the vicar’s wife, Mrs. Bloxby.

“Agatha,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “How are you getting on? We read about the murder in the newspapers.”

Agatha told her all about it, looking out of the window at the blue Mediterranean and thinking how very far away the village of Carsely seemed.

“And has this murder brought you and James closer together?” asked the vicar’s wife when Agatha had finished.

“Not really,” said Agatha on a sigh. “You know James.”

“Oh, Agatha, I wish you could meet a really warmhearted man!”

“James is a warm-hearted man. He just doesn’t know how to show his feelings!”

“He may not have any to show.”

“That’s not true!” said Agatha furiously.

The vicar’s wife was contrite. “I didn’t really mean to say that, Agatha. I mean, I should not have said that. I don’t know what came over me. We miss you here. Do you know when you are coming back?”

Agatha glared furiously through the open window at the sea and took a deep breath of sweet-scented air. She hated Carsely and never wanted to go back there again. Why couldn’t everyone mind their own business? “I don’t know,” she snapped.

“If only I had kept my big mouth shut,” said Mrs. Bloxby to her husband later. “Poor Agatha.”

The vicar peered at his wife over the tops of his spectacles. “I would not feel sorry for Agatha Raisin. In my opinion she and James Lacey thoroughly deserve each other.”

FOUR

THE evening was warm and sticky, and dark clouds obscured the moon. Agatha had put on full make-up, but as they arrived at the restaurant in Zeytinlik, she could feel foundation and mascara beginning to melt. She was wearing a black evening dress with a short skirt and high collar. As she turned her head in the car to speak to James, she felt her damp cheek brushing against her collar and knew immediately it was probably smeared with Vichy Camel foundation cream. She was wearing tights. Her legs had still not recovered from their burning by the pool and the humidity was making the hairs on her legs sprout dreadfully. She passed a tentative hand across her upper lip but she had waxed it before leaving and it still felt smooth. Oh, all the things that careless youth takes for granted, like a slim figure, smooth skin and a hair-free face! In that moment, she desperately wished to be back in her late thirties-that was not asking too much-when one could indulge in, say, a large piece of cheesecake without feeling two minutes after it had been consumed that one’s knicker elastic was cutting off one’s circulation.

The proprietors, Emine and Altay, gave them a welcome and ushered them to a table next to a fountain in the centre of the garden restaurant, where Olivia and party were already seated. Between sunburn and booze, Trevor’s face looked as if it had been boiled. The food as usual was delicious, but Trevor complained loudly and drunkenly that he was tired of “this foreign muck” and would give anything for a good steak and kidney pie.

“This place used to be called Templos,” said Olivia loudly to break the awkward silence which followed Trevor’s outburst. “The Knights Templars were stationed here and it was a sort of market garden for Saint Hilarión Castle. Some even say there is a tunnel here somewhere that leads right up to the castle.”

“I think that’s an engineering feat that would surely be beyond the Crusaders,” said Agatha.

“They built the castle up on top of the mountain,” said Olivia, “so a tunnel wouldn’t have been beyond them.”