“Bill Wong is a friend of mine. In fact, he was my first real friend.”

“But he’s only in his twenties. You can’t have known him long.”

“When I worked in London, before I took early retirement,” said Agatha, resting her chin on her hands, “I was too ambitious to have friends and I didn’t feel the need for any. I built up a successful public-relations business.”

“But surely public-relations involves getting on with people?”

Agatha laughed. “In my case, I think I was successful because I bullied and cajoled and threatened. When I moved to the Cotswolds, things changed. I no longer had my work as my identity. I met Bill on what I like to think as my first case. Then there came other friends.”

“life begins at fifty?”

“Something like that. What about you, Charles? No wish to get married?”

“This is so sudden.”

“Be serious.”

“Never found the right girl. Have no burning desire for children.”

“That’s sad.”

“Then we’re a sad pair, Aggie. You haven’t got children either.”

“No,” said Agatha sadly, “and now I never will. Wasted years, Charles.”

He ordered another two brandies and raised his glass. “Here’s to the wasted years,” he said solemnly.

“Are you sure you ought to be driving after drinking this lot?” demanded Agatha.

“They do breathalyse people here just like back home, but I shall drive home carefully. I don’t feel in the least bit tipsy.”

When they finally rose to leave, Agatha said, “I hope James is back. I don’t relish the idea of being in that villa on my own.”

His eyes twinkled maliciously. “We could spend the night here.”

“Forget it. Let’s just go.”

As they were driving out of Nicosia towards the Kyrenia Road, Agatha saw they were approaching the Great Eastern Hotel and she started to think about James. What was he up to?

And then, with a lurch of her heart, she saw him walking along the street with a girl on his arm, a girl with long brown curly hair, a short, short skirt and long, long legs. They were going in the direction of the town.

“That was James!” gasped Agatha. “Turn the car.”

“You’ll need to wait, Aggie, until the next corner. This is a dual carriageway.”

Agatha waited impatiently until Charles was able to swing round and head back. And then, in front of them on the deserted street and under the lights of the street lamps, they saw James. His arm was around the girl. Charles slowed to a crawl. James and the girl turned a corner into a side street. Charles parked at the side of the road.

“Out we get,” he said cheerfully, “and see where they’re going. Unless you want to confront them.”

“No,” said Agatha hurriedly. “This might be part of his investigations.”

“And very nice, too,” murmured Charles. “What investigations?”

“He wants to find out if his old fixer who runs a brothel is dealing drugs.”

James and his companion turned in at a block of flats in the side street. Charles and Agatha walked along and stood on the other side of the block of flats.

“Now what do we do?” asked Charles.

They gazed up at the block of flats. And then a light came on in one of the windows on the second floor, and like watching people on a stage set, they saw James and the girl.

The girl said something and laughed, and took off her short jacket.

James went up to her, put his arms around her and kissed her, a long, deep embrace. She drew back and began to unbutton her blouse.

James crossed to the window and jerked down the blinds.

Agatha found she was trembling.

“Well, well, well,” said Charles. “Who would have thought it. Don’t break your heart, Aggie. That was a prostitute if ever I saw one.”

“You don’t kiss prostitutes like that,” said Agatha bleakly.

“We can’t stand here all night. Do you want to go up and bang on the door and throw a scene?”

“No,” said Agatha, “I just want to go home.”

They walked back to the car. When they drove off, Agatha said, “That’s that. I don’t feel anything for him any more. How could he?”

“Getting even? Maybe the poor man is still wondering how you could sleep with me.”

“That was different.”

“I suppose it was. You didn’t have to pay me.”

“Aré you sure that was a prostitute, Charles?”

“Pretty sure.”

“But she was pretty.”

“A lot of them here are. They come from God-awful places like Romania.”

There had been girls in the Great Eastern Hotel, but the bar had been very dark and Agatha had not studied any of them very closely.

Perhaps the girl was one of the prostitutes from the Great Eastern Hotel and this was James’s way of finding out information about Mustafa. But he could simply have offered her money. There was no need to kiss her like that. Agatha felt beyond tears.

They drove the rest of the way to Kyrenia in silence.

When they reached Agatha’s car, Charles said, “Want to come to the hotel for a nightcap?”

Agatha shook her head.

“Good-night kiss?”

“No, I don’t feel like it.”

“Try not to weep all night into your pillow. You’re worth better than James, Aggie.”

Agatha got out of the car and waved to Charles as he drove away.

Then she drove back to the villa and let herself in. Grief was being replaced by rage. She paced up and down the living-room, wondering what she should say to him when he returned, wondering whether to say anything at all. He had not laid a finger on her and yet he had kissed that girl so passionately.

She felt lonely, old and unwanted.

Then, with a hardening of the heart, she went upstairs and put her night-gown-froths of satin and lace bought especially to charm James-into a small traveling-bag along with make-up, a change of clothes and a toothbrush. Then she went out, locked up and got back into her car and drove back to Kyrenia.

In the hotel reception a late busload of Israeli tourists had just arrived and were milling around the reception area and so Agatha was able to get into the lift unobserved.

Charles opened his bedroom door in answer to her knock.

“Come in,” he said. “We’ll have a drink and then you’ll take the spare bed, Aggie. I don’t want to be made love to by a woman with a mind full of revenge.”

“You are very kind, Charles,” said Agatha with a break in her voice.

“Not me. You’re a laugh a minute, Aggie. We’ll have a bottle of wine on the balcony.”

“I don’t know what my liver’s going to be like after all this booze,” said Agatha.

“You’ll soon be back in Carsely and you can drink herb tea until it comes out your ears.”

They sat together on the balcony. “I don’t know how to handle this,” said Agatha. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Then do nothing. That’s what I would do, Aggie. When in doubt, do nothing. If you tell him you saw him, he might, as you guessed, tell you it was part of his investigations, and then you’ll start shouting about the way he kissed that girl, and he’ll say he had to make it look good and don’t be silly, and you’ll have got exactly nowhere. Also we’re both assuming naively that he means to spend the night. He may even be back at the villa now. So how do you explain your absence?”

“I’ll say I was frightened to be on my own and so I took a room here.”

“Why don’t you jack the whole thing in, Aggie? It’s all a mess. Go back to Carsely. Go in for something safe like flower-arranging. Forget about Rose’s murder. If Trevor did it, he’ll probably eventually confess when he’s drunk, and you’ll have wasted all this time for nothing.”

“I’ve got to find out,” said Agatha. “There has to be some point to all this. It’ll keep my mind off James.”

“After tonight, my sweet, your mind should be permanently off James.”

“I suppose so. Did you see anything of my suspects today?”

“Not a sign. I suppose Pamir will soon be looking for you again. If sheer doggedness and perseverance can find out who murdered Rose, then he’ll do it.”