The Deadly Dance - M. C. Beaton [41]
“Sit down,” said Gustav. He recognized her as that batty female who had called on Charles unannounced. Now, what had Charles said about her? He had said, “Don’t be too hard on her, Gustav. She thinks she’s had a miserable life. Bullied by her husband and bullied at her work.”
“Give me your right hand,” said Gustav.
He affected to study it and then said, “You have had a very unhappy life. You had a bullying husband, but he is now dead.
Your colleagues at work did not appreciate you. But your life is about to change.”
“How?” demanded Emma.
“There is a man much younger than you who interests you.” “Oh, yes!”
Now what? thought Gustav. Then he thought, why not make trouble for that Raisin female as well? He knew from Charles that Emma worked for Agatha Raisin.
“There is a woman who stands between you and your love. Let me see.” He bent down and fished a crystal ball out of its box at his feet. He hadn’t bothered using it before. He peered into it. “Yes, I see her. She is middle-aged with brown hair and small eyes. While she is around, you do not have any hope. No hope at all.”
“No hope,” echoed Emma in a quavering voice.
“No hope,” said Gustav lugubriously.
“What shall I do?”
“The solution is in your hands. Now Madame Zora is tired and cannot see anything else. That will be ten pounds, please.”
Emma was so shaken that she opened her wallet and paid up without a murmur.
After she had gone, Gustav put one pound in the collection box out of his pocket, the actual price he should have charged, and kept the tenner for himself.
Emma left the tent feeling shaken. A little voice of common sense was telling her it was all rubbish, but yet, Madame Zora had known about her past life and had described Agatha Raisin.
She decided to leave the fete. The day was unseasonably hot, and her feet and legs hurt.
The fantasy of “removing” Agatha slowly began to become a reality in her obsessed brain.
But she very nearly decided to forget about the whole thing when Agatha, returned from London, called on her that evening.
“I took the opportunity to visit my solicitor in London, Emma,” said Agatha. “In case anything happens to me in the near future, I have decided to leave the detective agency to you.”
“Oh, Agatha, how kind!”
“I know you’re getting on in years, and if nothing happens to me in, say, the next five, I will cancel the codicil. You’ve done very good work for me, Emma.”
And then she added, “I’d better get home and pack a bag. I’m off to Paris with Charles in the morning.”
When she had gone, Emma sat with her hands tightly clenched. She should be the one going off to Paris with Charles. Agatha out of the way would mean the detective agency would be hers. Charles obviously liked detecting. They could solve cases together. But how to get rid of Agatha Raisin? It would need to look like an accident. Emma’s head felt hot and feverish.
Agatha and Charles flew to Paris on an early plane and took a taxi from Charles de Gaulle Airport to the couturiers in the Rue Saint-Honore. They handed over their cards and sat on gilt chairs in the salon and waited for Felicity.
At last a middle-aged woman entered the salon, holding their cards by the tips of her fingers.
“I am so sorry,” she said, “Mees Felicity is not here.”
“Where is she?” demanded Agatha, looking at the trim-figured Frenchwoman standing over her and wondering if there was such a thing as a bad figure in Paris.
“Mees Felicity is on the vacances.”
“When is she due back?”
“Pardon?”
Charles said in impeccable French, “Where has Felicity gone on holiday and when do you expect her to return?”
She replied in rapid French while Agatha waited impatiently.
Again Charles spoke and rose to go. “What was that all about?” demanded Agatha.
“She’s gone on holiday to somewhere in the south of France but she’s expected back tomorrow. She’s only been working with them a few months. Worked as a secretary