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"Nobody knows," Charles said with a shrug. "The story became known as 'The Campden Wonder' and the whole thing remains a mystery to this day."

"It's certainly that...a real mystery...but it's not why you brought me here, is it?" Agatha said, pushing the events of 1660 to the back of her mind in order to concentrate on the "proposition" that Charles had promised. "I'm afraid my professional services as an investigator don't extend to solving four-hundred-year-old conundrums, so let's drag ourselves forward into the twenty-first century, shall we?"

She took a sip of wine, the notion occurring to her that, following accepted convention, she should probably be drinking white wine with the whitebait, but primitivo was one of her favourites and this was a particularly fine bottle. In any case, she had roast beef on order, so to hell with convention. She tucked into her whitebait.

"Well, the truth is I need your help," Charles said, sounding like he was laying his cards on the table, although Agatha knew he was bound to be holding something back. Charles wasn't one ever to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. "Thankfully, I'm not in need of a private detective, but I do need a public relations expert."

"I don't do that anymore," Agatha said bluntly.

"I realise that, of course," Charles said, then paused, spooning soup into his mouth. "The trouble is, I've met lots of these PR people and they've all been...."

"Bright, smiley and enthusiastic but ultimately full of crap," Agatha cut in.

"Pretty much." Charles nodded, laughing. "I need someone I can trust to handle a job that has to be done to a fairly tight deadline, and you were the best in the business when you ran your own agency in London."

Agatha eyed Charles suspiciously while finishing off the last of her fish with the final smear of curried mayonnaise sauce.

"Not interested," she said. "Raisin Investigations keeps me busy enough and I have plenty going on in my life without diving back into the PR world."

"At least hear me out," Charles said, confident that he had her attention at least until she had polished off her roast beef, which the waitress who cleared their plates promised would be with them shortly. "I want to stage the biggest event our area has seen in years. I want people to be talking about it far and wide. There is so much going on in the Cotswolds right now. Our farm produce is second to none whether it be meat and dairy or fruit and vegetables. Local barley is used to make award-winning Cotswold malt whisky, first-class gin is distilled using Cotswold wheat and a locally produced Cotswold sauvignon blanc took top honours against international competition. I want our wine, Château Barfield, to be up there with the best as well."

"Surely you're not actually producing wine already?" Agatha was surprised. "I wouldn't have thought your vines were old enough."

"You're absolutely right," Charles confirmed. "We won't be producing wine from Barfield grapes for another three years, but the winery is in operation using local grapes from other growers in the vicinity. We're ready to launch Château Barfield in April and I want to do it with a huge event at Barfield House."

"April?" Agatha scoffed. "We're already at the end of February. The kind of people you would want to attend the launch will have diaries booked out well beyond May."

"I have a few names already on board. Benjy's an old school chum and he's pledged his support." Charles gave the waitress a smile of approval as she delivered their main course.

"Benjy?" Agatha gave him a quizzical look, searching her memory for the Benjy she recalled meeting once with Charles. "You mean Lord Benjamin Darkworth, head of the Manor Hotels group?"

"Yes, that's the chap," Charles replied, sliding his knife through a beautifully tender slice of roast beef. "Dickie and Hog want to get involved as well, so does old Binkie and..."

Agatha munched on a roast potato, studying Charles's face while he reeled off a list of aristocratic friends and acquaintances. His skin was smooth and almost wrinkle free, giving him the appearance of a man at least ten years younger. Or was he was so fired with enthusiasm for his new ventures that he had acquired a vibrant, youthful energy she hadn't seen in him in years? Whatever it was, she couldn't help feeling the new, supercharged Charles was markedly more attractive than the laidback Lothario she had once known.

". . . and, naturally, I would expect you to charge a substantial fee," Charles concluded. "Pulling this all together will take a huge effort and you must be suitably rewarded."

Agatha dabbed gravy from her lower lip with her napkin, noticed a smear of lipstick on the white cloth but resisted the temptation to rush off and reapply. "Who do you want at this shindig?"

"Local suppliers and customers," Charles said coolly, trying hard to suppress the growing glow of triumph he felt at hearing her begin to ask questions, "but we need wine buyers, restaurateurs, hotel owners, pub chains, supermarket buyers—everyone who can help put Château Barfield on the map. We have a few potential partners already, but we need more and I want to impress them. I want an event that will have them associate Château Barfield with quality and feeling good. Say you'll do it, Aggie. It will be so much fun working together. I want the whole thing to be fun, spectacular and enormously...glamorous."