Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell

sleeve?’
    ‘There is one thing that might interest you.’
    ‘I thought there might be. What?’
    ‘There’s a new shoe company opening in Mircester. We’re handling the account. Not a big account, but they want a public relations officer to launch their new line coming out of their new factory. It’s called the Cotswold Way.’
    ‘And what’s that?’
    ‘Those sort of clumpy boots the young like, not to mention those serious ramblers who plague the countryside. Short-term contract, right on your doorstep.’
    Agatha was about to say she was a happily married woman and didn’t have time for anything else. She always told everyone in the village how happy she was. But she suddenly felt desperately in need of an identity. She was good at spin, at public relations. Failure as a housewife she might be, but she felt secure in her talents as a businesswoman.
    ‘Sounds interesting,’ she said cautiously. ‘What’s the company called?’
    ‘Delly Shoes.’
    ‘Sounds as if they ought to be selling liver-wurst and submarine sandwiches.’
    ‘So can I fix up an interview for you?’
    ‘Why not? The sooner the better.’
    ‘Usually I have to spend ages trying to talk you back into work,’ said Roy. ‘Sure the marriage is okay?’
    ‘Of course it is. But James is usually writing during the day and doesn’t want me underfoot.’
    ‘Mmm. I called his number and he told me you were on the old number.’
    ‘I kept on my cottage. These little cottages can be claustrophobic. This way we have two of everything. Two kitchens, two bathrooms and so on.’
    ‘Okay. I’ll fix an appointment and call you back.’
    When she had rung off, Agatha lit a cigarette, a habit James detested, and stared off into space. How would he react to her rejoining the work force? Despite a feeling of trepidation, she felt her emotional muscles hardening up. He could like it or lump it. Agatha Raisin rides again!
    And yet she had not really thought he would object. No man, not even James, could be that old-fashioned. When Roy told her he had managed to get her an appointment for the following afternoon at three o’clock, she called to her cats and, with Hodge and Boswell following behind, made her way to James’s cottage next door. Never our cottage, she thought sadly as she opened the door and shooed the cats inside.
    James was sitting in front of his computer, scowling at it. He had managed to have one military history published and had felt sure the next one would be easy, but he seemed to spend days frowning at a screen on which nothing was written but ‘Chapter One’. He had his hand on his forehead, as if he had a headache.
    ‘I’ve got a job,’ said Agatha.
    He actually smiled at her. His blue eyes crinkled up in his tanned face in that way that still made her heart turn over. ‘What is it?’ he asked, switching off the computer. ‘I’ll make us some coffee and you can tell me about it.’ He headed for the kitchen.
    All Agatha’s misery about their marriage disappeared. The old hope that all they were doing was experiencing some initial marital blips lit up her soul. He came in carrying two mugs of coffee. ‘This is decaf,’ he said. ‘You drink too much of the real stuff and it’s not good for you. Your clothes smell of smoke. I thought you’d given up.’
    ‘I just had the one,’ said Agatha defensively, although she had smoked five. When would people grasp the simple fact that if you wanted people to stop smoking, then don’t nag them and make them feel guilty. People are told when dealing with alcoholics not to mention their drinking or pour the stuff down the sink because it only stops them looking at their problem. But smokers were hounded and berated, causing all the rebellion of the hardened addict.
    ‘Anyway,’ said James, handing her a cup of coffee and sitting down opposite her, ‘what’s the job? Who are you fund-raising for now?’
    ‘It’s not a village thing,’ said Agatha. ‘I’m taking on a contract to promote some new shoes, or boots, rather, for a firm in Mircester.’
    ‘You mean, a real job?’
    ‘Why, yes, of course, a real job.’
    ‘We don’t need the money,’ said James flatly.
    ‘Money’s always useful,’ said Agatha cheerfully. Then her smile faded as she looked at James’s angry face.
    ‘Oh, what’s up now?’ she asked wearily.
    ‘You have no need to work. You should leave employment to those who need a job.’
    ‘Look, I need this job. I need an