“We’re not,” said Agatha, jerking her arm away. “I only saw as much of him during that case as you did.”

“That’s what I thought. So why did you just walk off with him last night?”

“He took a look at the company and didn’t like what he saw, so he asked me for a drink,” said Agatha defensively. “What’s up with that?”

“There’s nothing up with that. Why did you just walk off with him? Oh, I know, my snobby little friend. He’s a baronet.”

“It wasn’t that,” raged Agatha. “I just wanted to get away from the lot of you!”

“Leaving me to find out what I could. One minor aristo crosses your path, Agatha, and you’re off and running.”

“That’s not true. I sent a fax off to Bill Wong.”

“What?”

“I sent a fax to Bill from The Dome. Charles saw the manager for me and he-”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“How could I? You weren’t there.”

“And didn’t you think to get a taxi? There was no need surely to climb into a comparative stranger’s bed.”

“I climbed into the spare bed. I had already been out to the villa twice. You weren’t there. Was I supposed to cruise back and forwards all night, waiting for you to get home? Isn’t there a spare set of keys?”

He fished in his pocket and handed her a ring of keys. “Jackie called with these this morning. That’s the front door, that the back, that’s the door off the upper terrace. Okay?”

“Thank you,” said Agatha stiffly. “Are we going to stand here all day in this heat or are we going to get on and see this lump of rubble?”

They walked grimly on and upwards.

At last Agatha cried, “I’ve got to sit down for a moment.”

She sank down onto a wall in the shade. James sat down beside her and stared at the ground at his feet. The atmosphere became heavy with unspoken accusation. Agatha pulled her guidebook out of her handbag and began to read aloud:

“This upper ward is reached up a steep path (stout shoes recommended), leading westward along the face of the crag and past an enormous open reservoir, which must have held enough water to last the inhabitants for many months. Veer right at the top to enter the upper enceinte through a Frankish arch. To the north of the entrance are more kitchens, and at the far (west) end of the upper plateau, a long narrow building which formed the Queen’s apartments; on the upper floor is the elegant ‘Queen’s window,’ retaining some of the original tracery and benches.”

“Did you sleep with him?” James’s voice cut across this travelogue.

“Don’t be silly, James,” said Agatha. “Let’s go.”

“Go yourself,” he said moodily.

She got to her feet and began to climb upwards, her thoughts in a turmoil. James was behaving like a jealous man, but why? It was not as if he had any interest left in her, or if he had, he was putting on a very good act not to show it. Oh, why had she let Charles make love to her? Hot tears started to Agatha’s eyes. She was beginning to feel thoroughly ashamed of herself.

At this higher level, there were no tourists other than herself. She could hear them arriving below in the car-park, but for the moment it seemed as if she had this section all to herself.

She walked to one of the windows and looked out. From her eyrie, the land dropped precipitously, tumbling down in a series of crags, broken rock, pine trees and scrub. The air was sweet and fresh. She felt a great peace descend on her. Just for this moment she could forget about murder and James and Charles and all the other messy complications of her muddled life.

She put her handbag on the ground at her feet and stood with both hands leaning on the warm stone at either side of the window, wondering if Queen Berengaria had stood just here and looked at this view, if she had loved Richard of England as she, stocky middle-aged Agatha, loved her James.

And then, without turning round, she became aware of anger filling the room and knew someone had entered and that someone was probably James. She stiffened her back and braced her hands on either side of the window, awaiting more questions about Charles.

That action was to save her life.

She received a vicious shove in the back which nearly sent her flying through the window and down to her death on the rocks below. She screamed out desperately, “Help! Murder! Help!” and her voice rang out over Saint Hilarión and sent birds flying from the trees on the hillside.

James heard that scream and came hurtling up the steps and into the room where Agatha was slowly turning around, her face white.

“You,” said Agatha. “Was it you?”

“What happened? Why did you scream?”

Other tourists came running and crowded into the room as well. “Someone pushed me in the back,” said Agatha, beginning to shake. “Someone tried to push meto my death.”

The room was filling up with soldiers, taxi drivers and more tourists.

And then a policeman pushed to the front of the crowd, followed by a tour guide. Agatha repeated again what had happened to her and the guide translated.

“You are to go with this policeman to the café in the car-park,” said the guide, “and wait.”

James helped Agatha out and down the steps. The crowd followed, chattering in a mixture of languages.

James ordered a brandy for Agatha. “Tell me again what happened,” he asked gently.

Agatha took a sip of brandy. “I was standing there, looking out of that window. If I hadn’t had my arms braced against the sides, that push in the back would have sent me to my death. I thought it was you, James.”

“Why me?”

“I thought you were still angry with me. I sensed the anger in the room behind me. I thought it was you. That’s why I didn’t turn round.” She looked at him, her eyes suddenly dilating. “What about Olivia and the rest? Are they here?”

“I haven’t seen any of them. But they wouldn’t dare-”

“They were right behind us at that jeweller’s in Nicosia when we were discussing going to Saint Hilarión, when we were talking about faxing Mircester for details on their backgrounds,”

“I didn’t see any of them, and if it were one of them, they would surely have had to pass me on the road up.”

“Why is it always me?” moaned Agatha. “Why doesn’t someone have a go at you?”

“Because I don’t interfere so noisily.”

The wail of sirens sounded louder from the road below as more police headed their way.

And then Pamir arrived, nattily dressed as usual, and not appearing to feel the heat.

Wearily Agatha went through her story again.

But when he took her back over the events of the day before, carefully noting that Agatha thought she had been overheard when she said they were going to Saint Hilarión but making no mention of faxing Mircester, he began to ask about last evening. They had had dinner together at the Ottoman House, Did anything happen there?”

“You’ll need to ask James,” said Agatha. “I left.”

“Ah, yes.” He consulted some notes. “The police were informed that you had not returned home and then you were found at The Dome in the bedroom of Sir Charles Fraith.”

“Sir Charles is an old friend,” said Agatha. “It was a surprise to see him again. He suggested we go for a drink and we did. When I left him and returned to the villa again, James was not there. I went back to the restaurant but everyone had gone. Then I went to The Dome and they weren’t there either. Charles said he had a spare bed in his room and I was very tired and so I accepted his offer.”

Pamir ’s fathomless eyes switched to James. “Were you jealous?”

“Of what?” demanded James.

“Of Mrs. Raisin here. Of her behavior. First she has dinner with a business man and now she shares the bedroom of an Englishman who is not you.”

“I have no reason to be jealous,” said James. “I am used to Agatha’s erratic behaviour.”

“Why did you leave your friends without saying where you were going?” asked Pamir, consulting his notes again.