“I suppose it’s my vanity,” said Agatha.

“You mean the reasons you’re so hurt by James?”

“No, I mean about solving the murder. James saying I had just blundered about in murder investigations and that’s how they got solved, Olivia’s jeers.”

“If you must, you must. It’s late. Let’s to bed.”

Agatha went into the bathroom, had a shower, and changed into the night-gown.

Charles blinked at her when she emerged. “That nightgown makes me regret I offered you the spare bed. Go to bed, Aggie, before I change my mind.”

Agatha climbed into bed. Her head when she laid it on the pillow swam uncomfortably. No more drink, she thought, whatever James gets up to.

She was then aware fifteen minutes later of Charles emerging from the bathroom. She stiffened under the sheets, waiting for some approach. But he got quietly into his own bed and was soon asleep, snoring dreadfully. How could such a neat and self-contained man snore like that, thought Agatha crossly. She wearily got out of bed and seized him by the shoulders and turned him on his side.

Then she got back into her own bed, now wide awake. She stared at the ceiling, thinking of James, trying to eradicate that bright picture of what she had seen through the apartment window in Nicosia. Then she suddenly fell fast asleep, not waking until the next morning at nine o’clock.

Charles was pottering around the room. “You’d best straighten up your bed and hide in the bathroom while I order some breakfast. We’ll have it on the balcony.”

Memories of the evening before flooded Agatha’s weary brain. But she washed and dressed and waited in the bathroom until she heard room service deliver their breakfast and leave.

Agatha sat on the balcony and crumbled a croissant between her fingers. “I’ve been thinking,” she said slowly, “that I’ll go to Nicosia after I’ve been to the villa and ask for permission to go home.”

“Good idea.”

Agatha stood up. “I don’t want any more breakfast. Thanks for dinner and everything, Charles. I’m sorry I called you a cheapskate.”

“Wait till you get my bill for services rendered.”

Agatha held out her hand. “So this is goodbye.”

He solemnly shook her hand.

“See you around the Cotswolds, Aggie.”

Agatha drove back to the villa. She felt suddenly calm. She would see what James had to say, see how he would react. She would be dignified. She would not rant or scream.

It was another perfect day with only the lightest of breezes.

She took a deep breath and let herself into the villa and called, “James!”

There was no reply and then she noticed that his laptop and research papers and books, which were usually piled up on the table, had all gone. She ran outside again. His car was not there. Something she had been too pent up to notice when she arrived!

She went back in and up to his bedroom. The wardrobe door was open, showing nothing but empty hangers. And the she saw an envelope with her name on it on the pillow.

She opened it.

“Dear Agatha,” she read. “My investigations have taken me off to Turkey for some time. The rent here is paid for another month. I waited for you last night, but you did not come home, so it did not take much imagination to guess where you were. Goodbye. James.”

Agatha sat down on the bed and stared around the empty room. How on earth could James go to Turkey? All of them had been told not to leave the island

She should phone Pamir. In fact, she’d better phone Pamir, for sooner or later he would be round and wondering where James had got to.

She went downstairs. She fished in her handbag for her notebook, where she had written down Pamir ’s number.

When he came on the phone, she told him about James’s going off to Turkey. “Why should he go there?” demanded Pamir sharply.

In for a penny, in for a pound, thought Agatha. “He was annoyed with his old fixer, Mustafa. He wanted to get even with him for having cheated him over the rent of the first villa and so he was out to prove Mustafa was dealing in drugs.”

“He should have consulted us,” said Pamir. “We already told him Mustafa was being investigated.”

“How could he get off the island without your knowing?” asked Agatha.

“Easy. Turkey is only across the water. He could have got a fishing boat or a pleasure boat or a yacht.”

“Aren’t you going to do anything about it?”

“We will look for him, be assured of that. Be careful not to follow his example, Mrs. Raisin, or we shall be very angry.”

“I meant to come and see you anyway,” said Agatha. “I would like to go home.”

“As would the other suspects. Not yet, Mrs. Raisin.”

“When?”

“Soon, I hope.”

“If you find out where James is, will you let me know?”

“We will do our best.”

And that was that. Trapped in north Cyprus.

The phone rang. Agatha snatched up the receiver.

“James? Where the hell are you?”

“Not James. Charles.”

“Oh.”

“Are you off?”

“No, I’m not off. James is off. He’s disappeared to Turkey. Now what do I do?”

“Well, your suspects are off to Salamis today.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s over near Famagusta. In ancient times, it was one of the leading cities of Cyprus. They’re going swimming at Silver Beach first, which is next to it. Want to bring your bathing-suit and observe the murderers at play?”

“May as well. Nothing else to do.”

“Pick me up. Your turn to pay for the petrol. And bring a picnic.”

“All right. But no wine. I need a dry day.”

Agatha went first to the petrol station and then to the supermarket beyond. She bought bread, cheese, olives, a tin of salmon, lettuce, tomatoes, green peppers and some cakes and a bottle of local wine. She had already packed a carton with dishes and glasses before leaving the villa. Not a very exciting lunch, she thought, but if Charles doesn’t like it, he can buy me lunch.

Charles was waiting outside The Dome. “They left about an hour ago, Aggie, but from the conversation I overheard, they plan to make a day of it.”

Once more over the mountains and out on the Famagusta Road. “Give me your guidebook and I’ll tell you about Salamis,” said Charles as Agatha negotiated a hairpin bend.

“In my handbag.”

Charles fished it out. “What a lot of history. Let me see. According to legend, the city was founded by the Homeric hero Teucer when he was exiled by his father, Telemon, king of the Greek island of Salamis, on his return from the Trojan war around 1180 B.C. And so forth. Yawn. By the eighth century it was a major trading centre, became first city in Cyprus to mint its own coinage. Fell to the Persians. Defeated two hundred years later by Alexander the Great. Under siege after his death. Are you taking all this dry stuff in, Aggie? Watch that truck! Glorious place again under the Byzantines. Then shattered by earthquake and tidal wave. City rebuilt, renamed Constantia in honour of Constantius the Second, the reigning Byzantine emperor. Never fully recovered. Harbour silted up. Most of the city under thick cover of sand. Signpost to the place is about five miles north of Famagusta. You can read the rest for yourself. Bring your swim-suit?”

“I’ve got it on under my dress.”

“Well go for a swim, have our picnic and then look for the others. I don’t know if I really want to go trekking around ruins on such a hot day. It says here stout shoes, long socks and some sort of head-covering are strongly recommended. We can park at the site, but I would suggest we park on the beach first and then walk to the site if that’s where the others have gone.”

Silver Beach turned out to be a long stretch of gently shelving sand disappearing into the green-blue waters of the Mediterranean.

They undressed and went for a swim. Agatha turned over and floated on her back, feeling the sun warm on her face. The day was perfect. A world away from murder and mayhem. She wondered what Charles really thought of her and why he should bother to spend time with her. The fact was that Agatha had become so demoralized by her chilly relationship with James that she could not imagine any man wanting to spend any time at all in her company.