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The sad fact was that Agatha had become addicted to the state of being in love and was all too ready to transfer that love to someone, anyone, other than James Lacey.
Charles’s cavalier treatment of her brought back all her fierce longing for James and her mind began to credit him with warmth and affections that he did not have.
Then she gave herself a little shake and smiled up at the photograph of herself on the wall, a photograph Agatha had failed to notice. It showed a much younger Mavis, a blonde and leggy Mavis performing as principal boy in a pantomime production of Puss and Boots. “I could have been a real actress,” said Mavis aloud.
She remembered when she was a little girl going out to play with a gang of boys who had turned nasty and thrown stones at her. She had run home to her mother, blood streaming down her face. “I told you not to play with the wrong children,” her mother had raged. “Now, see what happens?” And I’ve never learned my lesson, thought Agatha sadly. I’ve been playing with the wrong children all my life.
Oh, James, thought Agatha, you were never mean. I feel at this moment, if you walked in the door of this restaurant, I would forgive you anything.
Nooooo!!!!
A young man approached Charles’s table and hailed his companion. She introduced the newcomer to Charles and asked Charles something. Charles gave a grumpy nod. A waiter was called, another chair brought and the newcomer joined Charles and his lady. She proceeded to sparkle at the newcomer and give him all her attention while Charles, after a few jocular remarks to which neither paid any attention, relapsed into a moody silence. “Revenge is mine,” said Agatha. Roy looked at her, puzzled. “What?” “Nothing. Yes, I think we’ll go to Portsmouth tomorrow.”
Agatha sighed wearily. She thought of James, she thought of Charles. “I’m sick of everything. I’m sick of men. All men are rats.” “No, only the ones you seem to associate with. You are worth better, Mrs. Raisin.”
