The Deadly Dance - M. C. Beaton [77]
She opened the back door and threw the whole pot out into the garden.
There came a ring at the doorbell. When Agatha opened it,Charles was standing there. She threw herself into his arms.
“I came early because I thought you’d be making a pig’s breakfast of everything. You never could cook.”
Agatha drew him into the house, babbling about the ruined turkey.
“What a mess!” said Charles, looking around. “Did you plan to serve that sliced turkey the cats are eating?”
Agatha loved her cats, but right at that moment she felt she could have slaughtered both of them. She chased them out into the garden and sat down and buried her head in her hands.
“Leave it to me,” said Charles. “Just come through with your credit card when I call you. Have you got anything to start them off?”
Agatha opened the fridge and pointed. “That looks all right,” said Charles. “Go and wipe the soot off your face.”
Agatha repaired her make-up and came down the stairs just as the first guests started to arrive.
She poured them all drinks and stood chatting, wondering what Charles was up to.
She went into the kitchen once, but he was on the phone and broke off to say, “Serve them their starters. I’ll be in in a moment.”
Agatha led them all through to the dining-room. What a terrible expense all this had turned out to be. She had even bought extra chairs for the dining-room. They all exclaimed over the decorations. The table was looking fine. It was decorated with holly wrapped round the base of three tall candles and with her best crystal glasses at each place.
When she went back to the kitchen, Charles had all the starters laid out on three trays.
“Start carrying,” he ordered.
Agatha could hardly enjoy the first course, wondering what Charles had arranged to replace the missing turkey. Suddenly, the Christmas carols which had been playing softly in the background started to blast out as the volume increased.
“Excuse me.” Agatha got to her feet and hurried out to the kitchen. Men in white coats were carrying large containers into the kitchen.
“Get your credit card,” said Charles. “You’ve got to pay for this.”
Agatha meekly paid up without even looking at the bill.
A large golden-brown turkey emerged from its thermal container and was placed on a serving plate. Then came bowls of sprouts, cranberry sauce, mushrooms, peas, roast potatoes, sweet potatoes, warm rolls and a jug of gravy.
“Take the turkey through,” ordered Charles, “and I’ll bring the rest.”
“Did you turn up the volume on the stereo?”
“It was to cover the arrival of this lot at the back door. Ell turn it down when they’ve left.”
Agatha carried the turkey in to the oohs and aahs of her guests. Then she helped Charles carry in the other dishes and turned down the stereo after the last white-coated figure has disappeared.
Roy Silver was wearing a green velvet suit and had a wreath of plastic holly on his head. “Do you forgive me, Roy?” whispered Agatha.
“A meal like this and I’ll forgive you anything. Don’t do it again.”
Agatha began to relax but was aware of Charles’s cynical eyes on her each time one of her guests praised her cooking.
The turkey was delicious. Agatha wondered where Charles had got it from. She had been too upset to read the name on the bill.
“Have you got Christmas pudding?” asked Charles.
“Yes. Don’t worry. I bought it. I didn’t make it.”
“Good, nothing can go wrong then.”
Agatha smiled at him fondly. Dear Charles. Roy would be staying over, so Charles could sleep with her that night. She forgot about her vow to forgo casual sex. It was not the sex she wanted but someone to hold her.
Charles and Roy helped her to clear the plates away. “Now, off you go back to the table and I’ll bring in the pudding,” said Agatha. She took two dishes of brandy butter and a large jug of double cream out of the fridge. “If you’ll just take these with you.”
“Our Mrs. Raisin’s come along no end,” said Doris Simpson.
“I never would have guessed she could cook