She would have liked to wake him up and make love again. But James never made love in the mornings, not after that first glorious coming together. His life was well-ordered and neat - like his emotions, thought Agatha. She went through to the bathroom, washed and dressed and went downstairs and stood irresolute. This is where she would live, among James's library of books, among the old regimental and school photographs, and here, in this clinical kitchen with not a spare crumb to mar its pristine counters, she would cook. Or would she? James had always done all the cooking when they were together. She felt like an interloper.
James's mother and father were dead, but she had met his elegant sister again and her tall stockbroker husband. They seemed neither to approve nor to disapprove of Agatha, though Agatha had overheard his sister saying, "Well, you know, if it's what James wants, it's none of our business. It could have been worse. Some empty-headed bimbo."
And her husband had said, "Some empty-headed bimbo would have been more understandable." Hardly an accolade, thought Agatha.
She decided to go next door to the security of her own home. As she let herself in to a rapturous welcome from her two cats, Hodge and Boswell, she looked about wistfully. She had made arrangements to put all her furniture and bits and pieces in storage, not wanting to clutter up James's neat cottage with them, especially after he had agreed to house her cats. Now she wished she had suggested that they club together to buy a larger house where she could have some of her own things. Living with James would be like being on some sort of perpetual visit.
She fed the cats and opened the back door to let them out into the garden. It was a glorious day, with a large sky stretching across the green Cotswold hills and only the lightest of breezes.
She went back into the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee, looking affectionately around at all the clutter which James would never allow. The doorbell rang.
Detective Sergeant Bill Wong stood on the step, clutching a large box. "Got around to getting your wedding present at last," he said.
"Come in, Bill. I've just made some coffee."
He followed her through to the kitchen and put the box on the table. "What is it?" asked Agatha.
Bill smiled, his almond-shaped eyes crinkling up. "Open it and see."
Agatha tore open the wrappings. "Careful," warned Bill. "It's fragile."
The object was very heavy. She lifted it out with a grunt and then tore off the tissue paper which had been taped around it. It was a huge gold-and-green china elephant, noisily garish and with a great hole in its back.
Agatha looked at it in a dazed way. "What's the hole for?"
"Putting umbrellas in," said Bill triumphantly.
Agatha first thought was that James would loathe it.
"Well?" she realized Bill was asking.
Agatha remembered hearing once that Noel Coward had gone to see a quite dreadful play and when asked by the leading actor what he thought of it, had replied, "Dear boy, I am beyond words."
"You shouldn't have done it, Bill," said Agatha with real feeling. "It looks very expensive."
"It's an antique," said Bill proudly. "Victorian. Only the best for you."
Agatha's eyes suddenly filled with tears. Bill had been the first friend she had ever had, a friendship formed shortly after she had moved to the country.
"I'll treasure it," she said firmly. "But let's put it carefully away because the men will be coming tomorrow to remove all my stuff to storage."
"But you won't want to pack this," said Bill. "Take it to your new home."
Agatha gave a weak smile. "How silly of me. I wasn't thinking straight."
She poured Bill a cup of coffee.
"All set for the big day?" he asked.
"All set."
His eyes were suddenly shrewd. "No doubts or fears?"
She shook her head.
"I never asked you - what did that husband of yours die of?"
Agatha turned away and straightened a dish-towel. "Alcohol poisoning."
"Where is he buried?"
"Bill, I did not have a happy marriage, it was a century ago and I would rather forget about it. Okay?"
"Okay. There's your bell."
Agatha answered the door to Mrs. Bloxby. Bill rose to leave. "I've got to go, Agatha. I'm supposed to be on duty."
"Anything interesting?"
"No juicy murders for you, Miss Marple. Nothing but a spate of burglaries. Bye, Mrs. Bloxby. You're to be Agatha's bridesmaid?"
"I have that honour," said Mrs. Bloxby.
When Bill had left, Agatha showed the vicar's wife the elephant. "Oh dear," said Mrs. Bloxby. "I haven't seen one of those things in years."
"James is going to hate it," said Agatha gloomily.
"James will just have to get used to it. Bill is a good friend. If I were you, I would grow some sort of green plant in it, you know, one of the ones with trailing branches and big leaves. It would hide most of it and Bill would be pleased you were putting it to such artistic use."
"Good idea," said Agatha, brightening.
"And so you're off to northern Cyprus for your honeymoon. Are you going to stay in a hotel? I remember Alf and I stayed in the Dome in Kyrenia."
"No, we've taken a villa. James used to be stationed out there and he wrote to his old fixer, a man who used to arrange everything for him, who sent him photographs of a lovely villa just outside Kyrenia and down a bit from the Nicosia road. It should be heaven."
"I actually came to help you pack," said the vicar's wife.
"There's no need for that," said Agatha, "but thanks all the same. I hired one of those super-duper removal firms. They do everything."
"Then I won't stay for coffee. I must call on Mrs. Boggle. Her arthritis is bad."
"That old woman is a walking case for euthanasia," said Agatha waspishly. Mrs. Bloxby turned mild eyes on her and Agatha flushed guiltily and said, "Even you must admit she's a bit of an old pill."
Mrs. Bloxby gave a little sigh. "Yes, she is a bit of a trial. Agatha, I don't want to press you on the matter, but I am a little taken aback by the fact that you didn't want to be married in our church."
"It all seemed too much fuss, a church wedding, and I'm not exactly religious, you know that."
"Oh, well, it would have been nice. Still, everyone is looking forward to the reception. We would all have helped, you know. There was no need for you to go to the expense of hiring a firm of caterers."
"I just don't want any fuss," said Agatha.
"Never mind, it is your wedding. Did James ever say why he never married before?"
"No, because I didn't ask him'. 'Just wondered. Do you need anything from the shop?"
"No, thank you. I think I've got everything." When Mrs. Bloxby had left, Agatha debated whether to go back next door and prepare breakfast in a wifely way. But James always made breakfast himself. She adored him, she longed to be with him every minute of the day, yet she dreaded doing anything or saying anything that might stop his marrying her.
The fine weather broke the next day and rain dripped from the thatch on the roof of Agatha's cottage. She was busy all day supervising the packing. Then Doris Simpson, her cleaner, called round in the late afternoon to help clear up the mess left behind. Bill's elephant stood behind the kitchen door.
"Now that's what I call handsome," said Doris, admiring it. "Who gave you that?"