Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden Read Free Page B

business women. I’ve spent a fortune on cosmetics which claim to reduce wrinkles and they don’t, lipsticks which are supposed to be kiss-proof and aren’t, so why should I believe in your hair restorer?”
    Francie’s eyes twinkled. “You’ll never know until you try.”
    “How much is the love potion?”
    “Twenty pounds.”
    “So love comes cheaper than hair restorer.”
    “You could say that.”
    “But,” said Agatha, “if this hair restorer works, you could be making a fortune.”
    “I could be making a fortune out of a lot of my potions if I decided to go into the manufacturing business, but then I would have all the headache of factories and staff.”
    “Not necessarily,” said the ever-shrewd Agatha. “All you need to do is sell the recipe for millions.”
    “I am expecting a client soon. Do you want the stuff or not?”
    Agatha hesitated. But the thought that her hair might never grow back again was beginning to make her feel panicky. “All right,” she said gruffly, “and I’ll take the love potion as well.”
    Francie rose and went out of the room. Agatha rose as well and went to the small window and looked out. Sunlight was beginning to gild the cobbles outside. The wind had risen again. She was beginning to feel silly. What if she gave James Lacey the love potion and it made him sick?
    Francie came back with two bottles, one small and one large. “The small one is the love potion and the large one is for your hair,” she said. “Apply the hair restorer every night before you go to bed. Put five drops of the love potion in his drink. Are you a widow?”
    “Yes.”
    “I give seances. I can get you in touch with the dear departed.”
    “He’s departed but not dear.”
    “That’ll be one hundred pounds.”
    “I don’t have that amount of cash on me.”
    “A cheque will do.”
    Agatha took out her cheque-book and rested it on a small table. “Do I make it out to Frances Juddle?”
    “Please.”
    Agatha wrote out the cheque and handed it to her. Then she put on her coat, picked up the two bottles and put them in her handbag and made for the door.
    “Get rid of that coat,” said Francie. “It’s a disgrace.”
    Agatha glared at her, and left without replying. How could anyone know what that coat meant to her? It had been her first expensive purchase ever, after she had clawed her way out of the Birmingham slum in which she had been born and climbed the ladder of success. To her, the coat had been like gleaming armour, signalling the arrival of a new rich Agatha Raisin. And that had been in the days before wearing fur was considered a sin.
    Outside, the sun was shining down and people were walking about, quite a number of them young. It was as if Wyckhadden had suddenly come to life. Agatha decided to go back to that pub where she had met Jimmy. She could not bear the fact that he had suddenly and inexplicably gone off her.
    She pushed open the door of the pub. It was the lunch-hour and it was busy with office workers. But she found an empty table and sat down after collecting a gin and tonic from the bar.
    Unless she hurried, she would miss lunch at the hotel and she did not feel like trying any of the pub food, which smelled horrible. She finished her gin and tonic just as the pub door opened and Jimmy came in. He shot her a brief look and then turned around and walked out.
    Agatha felt quite weepy. But then, she consoled herself, she had thought him weird the way he had picked her up. So why should she be surprised by his odd behaviour?
    She walked back out into the sunshine, but glad of the warmth of her coat, for the wind was cold.
    She was making her way towards the hotel when she passed a group of young people who were sitting on a wall drinking beer and eating hamburgers. One of them, a young girl with noserings and earrings, suddenly flew at Agatha, clawing at her coat and screaming, “Murderer.”
    Alarmed, Agatha gave her an almighty push and sent her flying and then