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she felt petty. She had only wanted Charles to come to throw a baronet in Tolly’s vulgar face.
    Then she noticed two Calor gas heaters tucked at the side of the hall. She was beginning to think that all these tales of a grim winter were probably exaggerations and hoped she hadn’t made a fuss about nothing.
    She took a look in the back garden. Barry was mowing the lawn. It was a bit too late to put through a load of washing and hang it out. She wondered what the weather forecast was. She had not switched on the television set or the radio since her arrival.
    Barry waved through the window to her and left. Agatha decided to try that book again. She wrote the title, ‘Death at the Manor’. She had been to the manor, so that was a start. She would start by describing Lucy and Tolly and their vulgar drawing-room and go on from there.
    To her surprise, she had managed to write four pages before the doorbell rang. Amy stood on the doorstep. ‘I came to say how sorry I am that I didn’t tell you I worked for the estate agents. But you see, if anything was wrong, I thought you would blame me.’
    ‘Come in,’ Agatha said reluctantly. She saved what she had written and switched off the computer.
    ‘Oh, I’ve interrupted your writing,’ said Amy. ‘You must be furious with me.’
    ‘Not at all. Come through to the kitchen.’ Agatha squinted at her watch. Six-thirty in the evening. ‘Do you want some dinner? I haven’t eaten.’
    ‘If you’re sure . . .’
    ‘No, it’s frozen Marks’s stuff. Sit down. Don’t you have dinner with your husband?’
    ‘Jerry’s in the pub.’ Amy’s eyes filled with tears.
    ‘Oh, dear. The beautiful Mrs Wilden?’
    ‘Yes.’ Amy took out a small square of handkerchief and blew her nose fiercely. ‘She’s taken away all our husbands. Harriet wants her tarred and feathered.’
    Agatha fished out a bottle of Gordon’s gin she had brought with her. ‘Drink?’
    ‘Please.’
    Agatha made two large gin and tonics. Then she took out two frozen packets of lasagne and put the first one in the microwave, and when that was done, put in the second, then gave the first an extra twirl.
    She served the meals and then, sitting down opposite Amy, asked, ‘What does your husband do?’
    ‘He works for a seed company just outside Norwich.’
    ‘And is he having an affair with Mrs Wilden?’
    ‘Oh, no.’
    ‘Then what’s the problem?’
    ‘It’s just that he goes to the pub every night, and so does Henry Freemantle and Peter Dart.’
    ‘Harriet’s and Polly’s husbands, too?’
    ‘Yes.’ Amy gave a dismal sniff and poked at her lasagne.
    ‘And all they do is go to look at the fair Mrs Wilden?’
    Amy nodded.
    ‘And does she encourage them?’
    ‘I don’t think Rosie Wilden has to do anything special. She just is.’
    ‘So why don’t you and Harriet and Polly go to the pub?’
    ‘We couldn’t do that!’
    ‘Why?’ asked Agatha patiently.
    ‘It’s an old-fashioned village. They don’t mind women in the pub at lunch-time, but they’re frowned on in the evening.’
    ‘I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous. I’ll phone Polly and Harriet. We’ll all go.’
    ‘The husbands will be furious.’
    ‘Time they were.’
    Agatha went through to the phone, which was on a small table in the hall. She called through to Amy, ‘What are their phone numbers?’
    Amy gave the numbers but then started to protest. Agatha ignored her. She phoned Harriet first and said curtly that Amy was crying her eyes out, so she was taking her to the pub, and did Harriet want to come and bring Polly.
    There was a silence and then Harriet said harshly, ‘Do you know what you are doing?’
    ‘Well, yes. I don’t see why you should all be stuck at home while your husbands are in the pub. Into battle, Harriet.’
    ‘All right,’ said Harriet. ‘I’ll do it. Damn it. I’ll do it.’
    ‘See you both there in half an hour.’ Agatha rang off and returned to the kitchen.
    ‘Right, Amy,’ she