The Love from Hell

∨ The Love from Hell ∧

EPILOGUE

“AND is he definitely coming back?” asked Bill Wong. “Or we have to send out men to bring him back?”

“Oh, he’ll be back any day now. To wrap things up.”

“I don’t see that we can really charge him with anything,” said Bill. “A good lawyer would get him off like a shot. Attacked and injured, not himself, thought he was dying, didn’t look at newspapers. How did he get over to France?”

“Friends with a yacht.”

“I can understand James not knowing about the hunt for him, but his friends surely would. He’d better come and see us when he gets back and make a statement. I haven’t asked you: How did you know where to find him?”

“It was that diary of his.”

“But we went over it. Nothing there.”

“There was a bit about the monastery and the spiritual peace. Charles said it was a long shot, but James had been interested in miracle cures and he said it was worth a try.”

“Amazing how you pair discover things. Where is Charles by the way?”

“He felt like staying on in France, and he’d done so much for me that I got him to drive me to Marseilles and got a plane from there.” Agatha laughed.

“What’s funny?”

“I thought Charles had turned all generous, but before I left he asked for my share of the petrol money, and then he’d bribed some old fellow, and he asked for the money he’d given him because it was to find James. But it was good of him to urge me on to going to that monastery.”

“Megan is not going to trial.”

“Oh, why?”

“Unfit to stand. We’ve had every sort of psychiatrist to try to prove she’s faking it, but she does seem to be really mad.”

“I’m relieved I won’t have to go to court.”

“You still will have to. Luke Sheppard is being charged with conspiracy to murder. I’ll let you know the date of the trial. My bosses would have been really angry to find you were out of the country. They’d have expected you to be available for further statements. So I suppose I’d better put in a report about James.”

“Can’t you leave it? He’ll be here. The man of God has promised. And he does want that divorce.”

“All right. I’ll give it another week, and if he isn’t at police headquarters by then, I’ll send the gendarmes to get him.”

“But you said he wasn’t going to be charged with anything?”

“That’s true. But to wrap things up, he’ll need to make a statement about his long disappearance, and Wilkes will no doubt give him a dressing down about wasting valuable police time. But then, he didn’t murder Melissa, knew nothing about it, so he cad hardly be blamed for anything. And if someone hits you on the head with a hammer and you don’t report a crime – well, that’s that.”

“James said he thought Melissa was just someone with a personality disorder, not a dyed-in-the-wool psychopath.”

“Then he’s probably right. But if she hadn’t been so manipulative, holding out the offer of riches after her death to Megan, she’d still be alive. I wouldn’t blame James. I think even if he had reported her, she would have bided her time until the fuss died down, and then she would have killed Melissa anyway. I can’t see that one waiting years to see if Melissa died without helping her on her way. Oh, there’s one other thing.”

“What’s that?”

“As far as we can gather, Melissa had not made a previous will. She had lied to Megan.”

“Why?”

“I think it might have amused her to think that if she died first, Megan was going to be one very disappointed woman.”

“And James got involved with someone like that?”

“He was thrown by his illness. Most of the people we interviewed seemed to find her very friendly and charming. What will you do now?”

“I’ll wait for James and we’ll go to a lawyer and start proceedings for a divorce. After that, I don’t know.”

“You’ll find something. Let’s hope it’s not another murder.”

“I don’t care if a body drops at my feet,” said Agatha. “Never again.”

“We’ll see. Now what about you and Charles coming for Sunday dinner?”

“Charles is in France and I can’t really think of anything other than getting things straight with James,” said Agatha. “I’ll let you fix a date when this is all over.”

“All right. I’ll hold you to it. What does Mrs. Bloxby have to say about all this?”

“I haven’t told her yet. I only got back last night. I’ll drop along and see her this afternoon. How’s your love life?”

“Dead. Nothing happening. Didn’t work out. We’re quite a pair.”

“You’ll find someone,” said Agatha, although she privately thought if Bill would stop taking them home, he’d find someone. “It’s different for you,” she went on. “You’re young. Lots of girls around. At my age, if the man isn’t married, then there’s something up with him, and nice widowers don’t pop up all over the place.”

“You could join one of those dating agencies,” said Bill, “You know, one of the good ones, where they try to match up people.”

“Thanks, Bill. But right now I feel like steering clear of involvements.”

♦

After Bill had left, Agatha fed her cats and was about to go along to the vicarage when the doorbell rang.

When she answered it, she stepped back a little and tried to wipe the look of dismay off her face. Jimmy Jessop and his wife, Gladwyn, stood on the doorstep. “We were touring the Cotswolds,” said Jimmy, “and I found I still had your home address. So I said to Gladwyn, ‘Agatha will be thrilled to see us.’”

Gladwyn gave Agatha a small, thin smile.

“Come in,” said Agatha reluctantly. “Can I offer you lunch?”

“No, we had some in a pub.”

“We only have a few minutes,” said Gladwyn. “What a quaint little cottage you do have. Me, I like modern. Still, it takes all sorts.”

“Where is your baby?” asked Agatha.

“My mum’s looking after him.”

“I heard they got someone for that murder,” said Jimmy. “You didn’t have anything to do with finding out who did it, did you?”

“I did indeed,” said Agatha, glad of an opportunity to show off. She outlined how she had discovered that Megan was the culprit while Gladwyn fidgeted and yawned.

“That’s fascinating,” said Jimmy when she had finished. “But what about your husband?”

“Oh, he turned up,” said Agatha airily.

“Everything all right?”

“Marvellous,” said Agatha. “We’re a very happy couple.”

“So where is he?” asked Gladwyn, her eyes boring into Agatha’s.

“Over in France on business. He’ll be back soon.”

“Mrs. Raisin?” called Mrs. Bloxby’s voice. She came into the kitchen. “You left the front door open, so I just walked in. I met Bill Wong and heard the news.”

Agatha shot her a warning look, but Mrs. Bloxby was smiling at Jimmy and Gladwyn. “I’m so glad James is alive and well. But going to be a monk! And you’re getting a divorce.”

Gladwyn was smiling now.

“This is Mr. and Mrs. Jessop,” said Agatha hurriedly. “Gladwyn, Jimmy, Mrs. Bloxby. They’re just leaving.”

“Oh, no,” said Gladwyn, settling back in her chair. “I want to hear all about how you can have a marvellous marriage with a monk.”

But Jimmy saw the look on Agatha’s face and stood up and helped a reluctant Gladwyn out of her chair. “I won’t take up any more of your time, Agatha. No. We can see our way out.”

Agatha sat down and put her head in her hands. She heard the outside door slam and then a high cackle of laughter from Gladwyn out on the road.

“Oh, I am sorry,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “I just blurted it out without thinking. Was that your police inspector?”

“Yes, and I told his dreadful wife that me and James were happily married and that he was away on business in France. Never mind.”

“So tell me all about it.”

Agatha felt she had told the story so many times that her voice was beginning to echo in her ears. When she had finished, Mrs. Bloxby said, “How dreadful for you.”

“You mean, Melissa trying to shoot me?”

“No, James being a monk.”

“I thought you would approve. “Nearer my God to thee,” and all that.”

“I’m glad he is well and alive. But finding that he plans to enter the monastery must have come as a great shock to you.”

“I think I’ve gone through every emotion from grief to anger, but it’s all over now. Perhaps it would have been easier for me if he had died.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Before you came to live here, there was a woman in the village who adored her husband. He was actually a rather nasty man. When he died, she elevated him to sainthood and wasted lots of money on mediums trying to get in touch with him. Now if he had lived – they had not been married long – then she would have found out what sort of man he was. You see, when one of the nearest and dearest dies, the one left behind feels irrationally guilty and remembers all the nice things about the dead person and blames themselves for not having been nicer, better, kinder. And you say James is coming back? Good. That will give you some much-needed time to accustom yourself to the idea of divorce.”

“I wouldn’t have thought a divorced man could become a monk,” said Agatha.

“You weren’t married in the Catholic Church, so possibly it doesn’t count.”

“Maybe. Maybe he won’t tell them. I’m going to start planning my life, figure out what I’m going to do in the weeks and months ahead.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t even bother. You’re the sort of person that things happen to. Are you sure you are going to be all right?”

“Yes, I’ve come to terms with it all.”

But during the following days, Agatha found herself going to the beautician twice and the hairdresser twice. She walked and cycled, she cleaned her cottage herself, although Doris Simpson had already cleaned it, and then went next door and cleaned and dusted James’s cottage.

Every time she cycled, walked or drove back and came into Lilac Lane, her eyes always flew to James’s house. She was so used to seeing it standing there, closed and silent, that a week had passed and she was driving back from the market at Moreton-in-Marsh when she saw the door to James’s cottage standing open.

She cruised to a halt and got out of her car. Would he be wearing his robes? She rang the bell. James came to the door. He was wearing a coarse white cotton shirt and faded jeans.

“Agatha!” he said with genuine pleasure. “Come in. I was just about to call on you. Coffee?”

Agatha followed him in.

“Yes, please,” said Agatha, sitting down on the sofa.

“Only instant,” he called from the kitchen.

“Fine.”

James came back with two mugs and settled down in an armchair opposite and stretched out his long legs. His eyes in his deeply tanned face looked bluer than ever.

“What are you going to do with all your stuff?” asked Agatha.

“I’m hiring a van and taking the lot over to my sister. She’s got lots of space in her cellar. She says she’ll hang on to it all until she is sure that I really want to enter the order.”

“And you are really sure?”

“Oh, yes. We’ve a lot to organize. I’ll phone my lawyer and we’ll go along and start proceedings for a divorce. Then I think I’ll see an agent and rent this cottage. That’ll save me moving out all the furniture as well.”

“Why Melissa?” asked Agatha suddenly. “Why someone like that?”

“She could be very warm and understanding. As I told you, I thought you were having an affair. I was thrown by the idea that I was dying, that something was eating into my brain. I then began to notice it was all an act. I began to notice that she was very cunning and manipulative. You know I’m like you. I have to ferret. Can’t leave things alone. It was actually a doctor friend at Mircester Hospital – Melissa came with me on one visit – who tipped me off about her, and then I checked the psychiatrist’s files. I can’t tell the police about the doctor friend, because by rights, he shouldn’t have told me. When Megan attacked, and I stumbled off, I don’t think you can understand the deep shame I felt at betraying you, and with such a woman. I knew if I went to the police and charged Megan, then my affair with Melissa would be out in the open, and you would find I had lied to you. I remembered the monastery. It was a beacon, a sanctuary, leading me on. I would say I’m sorry for the way I have treated you, Agatha, but ‘I’m sorry’ seems so inadequate. The faults in the marriage were all mine. Old bachelors like me, set in their ways, should not marry at all.”

“It’s all right,” said Agatha. “It’s all over now. Do you want me to help you pack?”

“No, I’ll be all right. What I would really like right now is to walk along to the Red Lion for a pint. Like to come?”

“Of course. I’ll just unpack my groceries and I’ll join you.”

♦

As Agatha sat opposite him in the Red Lion, she examined her feelings rather in the way that someone who has sustained a bad fall examines herself for broken bones. She found she was feeling only relaxed and content. James told her stories about the monastery and how, when he had finally visited the local hospital for an X-ray, it was to find the tumour had gone.

“I thought the police were checking hospitals everywhere,” said Agatha.

“I think I was simply entered in the record books as Brother James.”

“Oh, that explains it.”

“I phoned the lawyer and he is free this afternoon,” said James.

“May as well get it started.”

♦

The weeks James spent in Carsely passed like a dream of good company and sunny days for Agatha. They had meals together, they walked and talked. The new thatch on James’s cottage was completed. He had asked the estate agent to consult Agatha before letting his cottage so that she could choose pleasant neighbours for herself.

Charles phoned several times, but Agatha told him to stay away until James had gone.

And then, just when it seemed as if this happy, dreamlike existence would go on forever, the day of James’s departure was upon them.

He packed a few things into his car, which he had reclaimed from the police station. He gave Agatha a warm hug and climbed into the car. “Don’t forget visiting days,” he called.

He drove off along Lilac Lane, turned the corner, and was gone.

Agatha walked briskly back to her cottage. She felt happy and well. She picked up the phone and dialled.

“Charles. Is that you? Remember you promised me dinner at the Lygon?”