Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist by M. C. Beaton Page B
Authors: M. C. Beaton
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Detective and Mystery Stories, British, Women Private Investigators, Women Detectives, Traditional British, Murder, Cotswold Hills (England), Travelers, Raisin, Agatha (Fictitious Character), Cyprus
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that?"
"It's a place immortalized by Lawrence Durrell in his book Bitter Lemons. There's a Gothic abbey there. I'll drive you there. Got nothing else to do. In fact, I'm getting a bit bored. Thought of going home."
Agatha sat down opposite him. "Why did you sleep with me?"
"How old-fashioned you sound. You mean, why did I have sex with you? Put it down to brandy and moonlight on the Med."
Agatha looked at him curiously. "And the memory doesn't embarrass you?"
He looked at her in surprise. "Not a bit of it, Aggie. I enjoyed myself immensely. Want coffee or want to go?"
"May as well go," said Agatha somewhat sulkily. She felt a gentleman would have professed to have had some sort of affection for her.
Once in his rented car, Agatha fished out her guidebook and looked up Bellapais. "What does it say?" asked Charles.
"The Abbaye de la Paix was founded circa 1200 by Aimery de Lusignan for the Augustine monks forced to leave their Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem by the Saracens. The abbey was sometimes called the White Abbey from the colour of their habits. King Hugues (1267 to 1284) was a major benefactor of the abbey, which grew in size and importance to the extent that the Archbishop of Nicosia had trouble asserting his authority over it, until the Genoese invasion of 1372. In that year its treasures were looted, and the abbey never regained its previous glory. Under the Venetians the abbey declined further, in both prosperity and morality. By the sixteenth century it is recorded that many of the monks had wives, in some cases more than one ..."
"Enough," said Charles. "I'll find out the rest when I get there."
"Did you hear what happened to me at Saint Hilarion?" asked Agatha.
"I heard someone tried to push you out of a window. Probably an enraged tourist, Aggie. Were you reading out of your guidebook at the time?"
"No," said Agatha crossly. "I was in deadly peril."
"This is becoming a tourist trap," said Charles, as they entered the village of Bellapais. "Look at all those holiday villas. Where's the abbey? I think I've missed a turn somewhere."
Agatha consulted her book again. "It says here the ruins are reached by a turning to the right, signposted for Dogankoy and Beylerbeyi off the main coastal road in the eastern outskirts of Girne. Girne is the Turkish name for Kyrenia."
"I know, dear heart. Lecture me no further. I will find it."
Soon they were parked at the abbey in the shadow of a tourist bus.
They walked through the south-west entrance under an arched and fortified gateway.
"I forgot to look for their car," said Agatha.
"Whose?"
"The Debenhams, friends and Trevor. That's why I'm here."
"Well, I want to see the cloisters," said Charles, striding ahead, a very English figure in blazer and white slacks, white panama hat, white shirt and striped cravat.
Agatha followed slowly, not wanting to run after him like a pet dog.
Fragments of delicate arches surrounded the cloisters, warm and humming with insects in the heat. The mist had lifted and a golden sunlight flooded everything. Agatha, wondering idly where Charles had got to, was looking up at the carved bosses and corbels of the vaulting which featured human and animal heads, rosettes and the Lusignan coat of arms when a harsh voice behind her said, "So it's you, snooping around as usual."
Agatha gasped and swung round. Trevor stood there, his hands clenched into fists, his unhealthily pink face full of menace.
"Look," he said, thrusting his head forwards, "it's my wife that's dead, gottit? And I don't want no amateur busybody like you poking her nose in and getting under the feet of the police."
Agatha took a step backwards. "See here, Trevor," she said in the gentle tone of one who hopes to turn away wrath, "you are grieving and upset. But you must see that every bit helps. I have had some experience--"
Trevor took her by the shoulders and shook her. "Bug out," he shouted, "or it'll be the worse for you!"
"Leave her
"It's a place immortalized by Lawrence Durrell in his book Bitter Lemons. There's a Gothic abbey there. I'll drive you there. Got nothing else to do. In fact, I'm getting a bit bored. Thought of going home."
Agatha sat down opposite him. "Why did you sleep with me?"
"How old-fashioned you sound. You mean, why did I have sex with you? Put it down to brandy and moonlight on the Med."
Agatha looked at him curiously. "And the memory doesn't embarrass you?"
He looked at her in surprise. "Not a bit of it, Aggie. I enjoyed myself immensely. Want coffee or want to go?"
"May as well go," said Agatha somewhat sulkily. She felt a gentleman would have professed to have had some sort of affection for her.
Once in his rented car, Agatha fished out her guidebook and looked up Bellapais. "What does it say?" asked Charles.
"The Abbaye de la Paix was founded circa 1200 by Aimery de Lusignan for the Augustine monks forced to leave their Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem by the Saracens. The abbey was sometimes called the White Abbey from the colour of their habits. King Hugues (1267 to 1284) was a major benefactor of the abbey, which grew in size and importance to the extent that the Archbishop of Nicosia had trouble asserting his authority over it, until the Genoese invasion of 1372. In that year its treasures were looted, and the abbey never regained its previous glory. Under the Venetians the abbey declined further, in both prosperity and morality. By the sixteenth century it is recorded that many of the monks had wives, in some cases more than one ..."
"Enough," said Charles. "I'll find out the rest when I get there."
"Did you hear what happened to me at Saint Hilarion?" asked Agatha.
"I heard someone tried to push you out of a window. Probably an enraged tourist, Aggie. Were you reading out of your guidebook at the time?"
"No," said Agatha crossly. "I was in deadly peril."
"This is becoming a tourist trap," said Charles, as they entered the village of Bellapais. "Look at all those holiday villas. Where's the abbey? I think I've missed a turn somewhere."
Agatha consulted her book again. "It says here the ruins are reached by a turning to the right, signposted for Dogankoy and Beylerbeyi off the main coastal road in the eastern outskirts of Girne. Girne is the Turkish name for Kyrenia."
"I know, dear heart. Lecture me no further. I will find it."
Soon they were parked at the abbey in the shadow of a tourist bus.
They walked through the south-west entrance under an arched and fortified gateway.
"I forgot to look for their car," said Agatha.
"Whose?"
"The Debenhams, friends and Trevor. That's why I'm here."
"Well, I want to see the cloisters," said Charles, striding ahead, a very English figure in blazer and white slacks, white panama hat, white shirt and striped cravat.
Agatha followed slowly, not wanting to run after him like a pet dog.
Fragments of delicate arches surrounded the cloisters, warm and humming with insects in the heat. The mist had lifted and a golden sunlight flooded everything. Agatha, wondering idly where Charles had got to, was looking up at the carved bosses and corbels of the vaulting which featured human and animal heads, rosettes and the Lusignan coat of arms when a harsh voice behind her said, "So it's you, snooping around as usual."
Agatha gasped and swung round. Trevor stood there, his hands clenched into fists, his unhealthily pink face full of menace.
"Look," he said, thrusting his head forwards, "it's my wife that's dead, gottit? And I don't want no amateur busybody like you poking her nose in and getting under the feet of the police."
Agatha took a step backwards. "See here, Trevor," she said in the gentle tone of one who hopes to turn away wrath, "you are grieving and upset. But you must see that every bit helps. I have had some experience--"
Trevor took her by the shoulders and shook her. "Bug out," he shouted, "or it'll be the worse for you!"
"Leave her
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