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diet, definitely had its compensations, for all her dresses now fitted her beautifully. She winced at the sight of a green dress. Definitely not green. Mary never wore anything else. She wondered vaguely about the mentality of a woman who always wore one colour. She took herself off to Oxford and got her hair cut and shaped. She bought new cosmetics. She bought new high heels and then, when she returned from Oxford, realized she had only left herself an hour to get ready, and she had originally planned to take two hours beautifying herself.
    The doorbell rang just as she had finished. Thinking James was ten minutes early, she went to answer it. Mary stood there wearing the inevitable green; green blouse, green jacket, green slacks, green leather high-heeled sandals. She blinked a little at the sight of the new Agatha Raisin in little black dress, gold jewellery, and with her short brown hair gleaming in the light over the door.
    “Coming to the pub?” asked Mary.
    “Can’t,” said Agatha cheerfully. “James is taking me out for dinner.”
    Mary’s blue eyes went quite blank and then she said with a little laugh. “Tomorrow then?”
    “I’ll meet you there at seven,” said Agatha. Mary waited, but no, Agatha was not going to spoil this golden meeting by inviting Mary in and risking having Mary include herself in the invitation when James arrived. “See you,” said Agatha brightly and slammed the door.
    She then waited in the hall in a frenzy of impatience. What if Mary should now call on James? What if they both came back together?
    What if James said, ‘Mary’s going to join us’? What if…?
    The doorbell rang, making her jump. Crossing the fingers of one hand, she opened the door with the other and let out a sigh of relief to see James there on his own, wearing a well-cut dark suit and looking heart-wrenchingly handsome.
    “Whose car are we taking?” asked Agatha. “Which one of us is going to do without drink?”
    “Neither,” he said with a smile. He looked down the lane. “Our taxi is just arriving.”
    Agatha, made shy by happiness, sat very upright in the back seat of the taxi with James. Mrs Mason stopped on the corner and looked curiously at them as she passed and then made her way to the Red Lion. By midnight, there would be very few people in Carsely who did not know that James Lacey had driven off with Agatha Raisin in a taxi.
    Agatha, although she was slowly coming to appreciate good food and yet still was quite happy with junk, nonetheless had a sharp eye for a rip-off and her heart sank a little as they entered the elegant country-house atmosphere of the Game Bird. And yet all was calm and soothing. They had a drink in the small bar, seated in chintz-covered armchairs before a roaring log fire. Perhaps, thought Agatha, it was because the tablecloths in the dining-room were pink, as were the napkins. There was always something suspicious about restaurants which went in for pink tablecloths.
    When they sat down at the table, huge menus were handed to them, the kind that are handwritten as if by a doctor, the writing is so nearly indecipherable.
    It was very expensive and she blinked at the prices. But she was very hungry after her weeks of dieting and gardening – no fruit diet, just eating less – and decided to splash out. She ordered bouillabaisse, followed by the ‘venison special’, despite James’s murmur that April might not be a good time to order venison.
    “You forget,” said Agatha, “that there is a lot of farm venison around these days.”
    They talked about people in the village and James said he, too, would be planting out his seedlings. The bouillabaisse arrived. But it was nothing more than a rather thin fish bisque – no bits of seafood – and served only with one sliver of toast melba, and the soup was served in a very small bowl.
    James had a tiny portion of pâté, which was beautifully arranged on a small plate.
    Determined to be good and not to make a fuss,