‘Oh, Miss Gilmour. How very nice to see you,’ said the vicar’s wife. ‘Ah, here is Mrs Jardine to relieve me. Let’s go over to the refreshment tent and get some ice cream. Such an unusually hot day.’

Once they had queued up and paid for small dishes of strawberry ice cream, Mrs Bloxby led the way to a table in a corner of the tent.

‘Is Mrs Raisin coming to join us?’ asked Mrs Bloxby.

‘No, the reason I’m here is to ask your advice about Agatha.’

‘She is not in any trouble, I hope?’

‘No, I am. Ever since I received all that publicity over the Trixie case, Agatha has been giving me all the unimportant work.’

‘Then you must talk to her. Mrs Raisin is a friend of mine. I cannot discuss her behind her back unless she herself has a problem that I might be able to help with. You have a great deal of courage to go out on nasty cases and yet you cannot speak to your kind – very kind -employer!’

‘Agatha is more terrifying than a nasty case.’

‘Now, that’s enough! Have you spoken to anyone else about this?’

‘I called on Phil Marshall before I came here.’

‘This is a small gossipy village. Mrs Raisin will soon hear about your visit and she will ask Mr Marshall why you called and I have no doubt he will tell her. You had better go and see Mrs Raisin immediately.’

Toni approached Agatha’s cottage with lagging footsteps. She rang the bell, hoping that Agatha was out. But the lady herself answered the door.

‘Toni! What a nice surprise. Come through to the garden.’

When they were seated at the garden table, Agatha asked, ‘Is this a social call?’

‘No,’ said Toni, staring down at her feet.

‘Then what is it?’

‘Why are you giving me all the unimportant cases?’

‘Well, I have two new detectives, Paul and Fred, and I want to really try them out.’

Toni raised her blue eyes and looked straight into Agatha’s face. ‘I think ever since the Trixie case that you’ve become jealous of me.’

She waited for the storm to break. But Agatha’s reaction surprised her. Agatha sat very still, staring out at the Cotswold hills beyond the village. From the fête came the faint sounds of the village band.

Then Agatha heaved a deep sigh and said quietly, ‘Yes, of course, you’re quite right.’

‘But why?’

‘I hate not being photogenic,’ said Agatha. ‘Even if I’d broken the case, the photographers and reporters have only got to see you and they forget I exist. I’m sorry. I’ve not been myself recently.’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Age, I suppose. They say the fifties are the new forties, but they don’t know what they’re talking about. Charles comes and goes, James treats me like a fellow, and Sylvan’s only interest in me was to keep track of what I might be finding out. It’s very lowering. Charles is really the one who caught Sylvan. It was his idea, you know. You were the one who found Trixie. So not only am I worried about losing my looks and any attraction I might have had, I’m beginning to doubt my worth as a detective.’