“I was able to fight off my attacker,” said Agatha. “If James had tried to murder me, I wouldn’t have been able to fight him off.”

“He may have changed his mind at the last moment.”

“Oh, this is rubbish.”

“We think this is jealousy. Sir Charles is being questioned also. You are, I believe, wearing Sir Charles’s pyjamas.” Agatha blushed. She had been too shaken to change, to do anything more but sit on the edge of the bed and shiver.

“I told you. I had a drink with him. That’s all. He kindly lent mç the pyjamas. How did whoever get the key to my room?”

“Someone may have stolen a passkey. We are questioning the staff.”

Agatha clutched her hair. “I know James was not responsible. The whole idea is mad.”

Pamir questioned her further and then said she was free to leave. Agatha miserably washed and dressed. She bundled up Charles’s pyjamas and put the toothbrush in her handbag and then made her way downstairs and out of the hotel.

She drove back to the villa and let herself in. She felt she should really go to police headquarters and see if she could help James, but she felt too tired and shaken. She went up to her room and lay on the bed. Now every sound seemed sinister. Voices carried up from the beach. People chatting on the road outside sounded as if they were downstairs in the house.

She awoke two hours later with a start. Someone was inside the house. Someone was coming up the stairs.

Agatha was just looking wildly around for a weapon when her bedroom door opened and James came in.

“Oh, James,” said Agatha, flooded with gladness. “They let you go!”

He stood in the doorway. “They had no real excuse to keep me. The neighbours were questioned and two of them, returning from a casino at the time I was supposed to be trying to murder you, said they had seen my rented car parked outside the house and had seen me walking in the garden, which is fortunately what I was doing since I could not sleep.”

“James, who do you think tried to murder me?”

“Right at this moment, I feel too tired to care. It came out during the interviewing that you had sex with Charles.”

Agatha turned dark-red. “That man is no gentleman.”

“On the contrary. He lied gallantly, but unfortunately for you, the proof of your love-making was there on the sheets and the hotel staff bore witness to that. They had hitherto kept this interesting fact from me, because I think they were sorry for me. No, Agatha, don’t say anything more. You lied to me, as you lied to me about the existence of your husband.”

He went out and closed the door.

AGATHA went for a long walk along the beach. There were fewer tourists, and flocks of migrating birds sailed over the cloudless sky overhead.

She was beginning to become angry over her own fear of James and his recriminations. How had it happened that she, Agatha Raisin, once the terror of the public-relations world, should dread another confrontation? Being in love seemed to have sapped her strength. How strange that few people actually talked about love any more. They were obsessed, taken hostage, or co-dependent-anything rather than admit they were not in control, for the very word “love” now meant weakness.

But he was at fault. He was no saint either. He had had affairs even with a woman in the village.

She would need to have it out with him and though she quailed from the idea, she knew she could not go on living under the same roof with him in a hostile atmosphere. As she walked back, the thought that someone was actually trying to kill her made her keep stopping and look warily around. She climbed up the steep hill from the beach to the villa. She felt breathless from the walk and threw away the cigarette she had been smoking. Before smoking had become such a sin, Agatha had thought the whole time about giving up. Now that it was, somehow she could not seem to summon up the will to stop.

She went into the villa. She could hear from the clatter of dishes that James was in the kitchen. She walked in and said to his back, “Come and sit down, James. We can’t go on like this. We have to talk.”

He turned round, his face hard and closed. But he went and sat at the kitchen table. Agatha pulled out a seat opposite him and sat down.

“I want you to listen to me carefully,” began Agatha in an even voice. “You have shown me no love or affection since I came here. I got drunk with Charles and ended up in bed with him. It just happened. I had no reason not to tell you the truth, but I did not want to lose you. But in this loveless whatever-it-is we have between us, you have no right to be angry with me or possessive or jealous. You have hurt me badly. We both want to find out who murdered Rose. But we cannot go on living together like this. What do you suggest?”

He stared at the table in silence.

“James,” Agatha pleaded, “I know that any intimate conversation makes you want to shrivel up, but you are going to have to say something.”

He looked at her bleakly. “You’ll need to give me a little more time, Agatha. I have been behaving badly. In the past I have always had light affairs, nothing very serious. I don’t know why it should have to be you. I like very gentle, feminine women. In fact, I feel at ease in the company of rather stupid women. You smoke, you swear, you are dreadfully blunt. If we were married, I think you would drive me mad, Agatha. You are right, I have always shied away from intimacy, not necessarily sex but discussions like this, talking about my feelings. I’ll try to watch my temper.”

Agatha looked at him sadly. “I don’t think I can change, James. I don’t think I can turn myself into the type of woman you would like me to be. But I could give up smoking…”

He reached forward and took her hand in a warm, firm clasp. “Let’s give it a little time. Friends?”

“Friends,” echoed Agatha, but feeling in a bewildered way that nothing had been resolved at all. “I’ll keep clear of Charles.”

“I can’t under the circumstances dictate to you who you should see or not see. Now let’s discuss our suspects,” he said cheerfully, looking, thought Agatha, for all the world like a schoolboy leaving the headmaster’s study once a dreaded lecture was over.

“Everything points to Trevor,” he said. “And Trevor is drinking like a fish. Sooner or later he is going to betray himself.”

“I’m surprised the press haven’t been beating at our door after this last attack,” said Agatha. “After Olivia’s famous press conference, they seem to have disappeared.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. There’s been a dreadful murder over on the Greek side and some British soldiers have been accused. They’ve all gone over there. Our murder is old hat.”

“Well, at least that should give us some peace. Where do we go from here? Back to the hotel this evening?”

“I can’t. I’ve got an appointment in Nicosia this evening.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, Agatha, it’s got to do with my investigations into Mustafa, and I don’t want you involved. Don’t go to them on your own. Why not spend a quiet evening here and watch some television?”

“Apart from the local news, there’s hardly anything in English.”

“Sometimes the local station puts on a film in English.”

“All right,” said Agatha. “I haven’t really had a quiet evening since I’ve been here.”

“I’ll go and get ready then,” said James, and Agatha was left to her thoughts.

When he had left, she took a cup of coffee out into the garden and watched the sun set until a nasty mosquito bite drove her indoors to look for ointment. Having applied it, she switched on the television and flicked through the channels. All Turkish. Arnold Schwarzenegger shouted in Turkish, Bugs Bunny shouted in Turkish, everyone shouted in Turkish. She switched it off.