“I think we should take both cars,” she said when she joined James, who was waiting impatiently.

“Why?”

“In case we have to split up for some reason.”

“You mean, in case you go off with Charles.”

“Don’t be so silly.”

“It was a practical observation based on events, Agatha.”

Agatha felt herself beginning to blush, but she said, “I have no intention of going off with Charles But something may happen-we may become separated.”

“I don’t want to stand here arguing all night. Take your own bloody car if you want!”

They both left the villa in angry silence and went to their respective cars.

When Agatha got to the end of the road, she saw the petrol gauge was registering empty and so turned right towards Lapta to the nearest garage, instead of left towards Kyrenia. Two huge trucks were blocking the petrol pumps and she had to wait patiently until one of them left. Then she found, because she had taken a smaller bag for evening rather than the large one she usually carried, that she had left all her money back at the villa. She explained, apologized and hurried back to find some money. Then, when she got back to the garage, the proprietor was on the phone and so she had to wait again until he had finished his call. She paid and set out on the road to Kyrenia.

Somehow the homesickness she had felt earlier would not leave her. She longed to be driving down the winding country lanes that led to Carsely, to her thatched cottage, to all the comforts of home. She was almost beginning to dislike James, and yet somehow that craving for love from him would not go away. She hit the steering wheel angrily with her hand. “I wish he would die” she said out loud.

She parked on the pavement outside a house. A man opened his front door and stared at her car, which was blocking it.

“I’m sorry,” said Agatha, who had just got out. “I’ll move it.”

The man smiled, showing gold teeth. “No problem,” he said cheerfully.

How easygoing they were, marvelled Agatha. If someone drove up on the pavement and blocked my gateway back home, I’d give them a mouthful and call the police.

Bert Mort, the Israeli business man, was just checking out of the hotel when Agatha arrived. He threw her a guilty look.

“Where is your wife?” asked Agatha sweetly.

“Gone back home ahead of me. Look, Agatha, I’m truly sorry.”

Agatha relented. “What puzzles me, Bert, is how you could even look at an old bag like me with such a gorgeous wife.”

He gave a rueful smile. “Don’t put yourself down, Agatha. You’ve got great legs.”

“Agatha!” James stood there, glowering.

“Coming,” said Agatha meekly. “Goodbye, Bert. Safe journey.”

“They’re in the bar,” said James. “I thought we should approach them together.”

They walked through the lounge and towards the bar. “I feel nervous,” said Agatha.

“Just think of your great legs and you’ll feel better,” said James acidly.

Agatha bit back an angry reply, for they had now reached the entrance to the bar.

Olivia gave them a bleak look, Trevor looked surly and angry, and George Debenham put a protective arm around his wife’s shoulders as if to guard her from attack.

“I’m right surprised to see you here,” said Angus accusingly and Harry nodded in agreement.

“I owe you all an apology,” said Agatha humbly. “I was upset and Charles had heard you having a go at me, Trevor, and he was angry. But I don’t know Charles very well and I am not responsible for his remarks. I wouldn’t hurt any of you for the world.”

“It’s all right, Agatha,” said Olivia with a sudden warm smile. “We’re all rattled by this business and they are still holding the body and poor old Trevor can’t get on with the funeral arrangements.”

“Sit down and join us,” said George “Drink?”

That was easy, almost too easy, thought Agatha, but glad that her apology was over, she ordered a gin and tonic; James ordered a brandy sour.

“The reason we came looking for you,” said James, “was that Agatha wanted to take you all out for dinner.”

Agatha nearly cried out, “I did?” but bit the exclamation back just in time.

Instead she said, “Where would you like to go?”

“You suggest somewhere,” said Olivia.

“There’s a very good fish restaurant next to where we are living,” said James. “The Altinkaya.”

“The manager there is a friend of Jackie and Bilal, the couple who look after us,” said Agatha. It sounded like a good idea. The farther they were from Kyrenia, the less chance she had of running into Charles, for she did not want to see the unnerving and cheapskate Charles again.

Agatha was grateful that James did not suggest driving them there; she liked the independence of having her own car and the temporary freedom it gave her from all of them.

James said he would drive off first and all they had to do was follow him.

Agatha walked up the side street to her car. The others had all-managed to find parking places opposite the hotel.

As she was opening the door to her car, a familiar voice said in her ear, “Hullo, Aggie.”

“Hullo, Charles,” said Agatha without turning round.

“Where are you off to?”

“Mind your own business,” snapped Agatha, turning around.

“Now what have I done?” he said, looking hurt and bewildered.

“I’ll be honest with you, Charles. I don’t like tightwads. I don’t like fellows who invite me to lunch and then pull that old trick of going to the toilet and leaving me to pay the bill.”

He looked pained. “Did I do that? Am I to be blamed for a weak bladder? I thought you invited me, this being the twentieth century.”

“No, you invited me.”

“Oh, well, that’s easily repaired. I haven’t eaten. I’ll take you for dinner.”

“Can’t. I’m going to join my friends.”

He looked amused. “Not Olivia et al.”

“Yes.”

“No wonder someone keeps trying to bump you off, Aggie. You don’t know when to give up.”

“I didn’t give up on you.”

“No, that’s true. I owe you my life, Aggie.”

“Okay, I’d best get on,” said Agatha, already dreading imagined demands from James as to what had kept her.

He leaned against the car so that she could not get into it. “They were quarrelling this evening in the bar.”

“When?”

“I was there about an hour ago and they were all going at it hammer and tongs.”

“What about? Could you hear?”

“Trevor was accusing George of having made a pass at Rose. Olivia screamed at Trevor that he was drunk. Angus shouted that Rose was a saint and wouldn’t have made a pass at anyone. Harry says, ‘Well, she was a bit of a slut.’ Trevor tried to punch him. People stare. Waiters come running up. George suddenly mutters something and they all calm down. George offers drinks all round. Olivia coos something at Trevor, Trevor appears to apologize. End of drama.”

“Gosh, I wish I’d been there.”

“Anyway, Aggie, why don’t you just leave it to the police? Someone’s trying to bump you off and it must be one of them.”

“Mrs. Raisin?”

They both turned. Pamir was walking up the hill towards them. “I have been looking for you,” he said. “We found out who threw a rock at your car.”

“My car,” said Charles.

“The parents brought the boy in. Very bad child from Bellapais. His friends bet him he wouldn’t smash the window of a tourist car, so he did. Then he bragged about it.”

“Thank you for telling me,” said Agatha.

“Most unusual,” said Pamir, shaking his head. “We’ve never had a case like this before. But the boy is, I think, retarded.”

“How did you find me?” asked Agatha.

“I phoned your house. You weren’t there. I asked at the hotel. You had just left. I looked up this street and saw you here.”

“And what about the attack on me at Hilarión?”

“We are still looking into that.”

“Where were the Debenhams and the others at the time someone was trying to push me to my death?”