False Conclusion Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Also by Veronica Heley from Severn House

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Also by Veronica Heley from Severn House

  The Ellie Quicke mysteries

  MURDER AT THE ALTAR

  MURDER BY SUICIDE

  MURDER OF INNOCENCE

  MURDER BY ACCIDENT

  MURDER IN THE GARDEN

  MURDER BY COMMITTEE

  MURDER BY BICYCLE

  MURDER OF IDENTITY

  MURDER IN THE PARK

  MURDER IN HOUSE

  MURDER BY MISTAKE

  MURDER MY NEIGHBOUR

  MURDER IN MIND

  MURDER WITH MERCY

  MURDER IN TIME

  MURDER BY SUSPICION

  MURDER IN STYLE

  MURDER FOR NOTHING

  MURDER BY SUGGESTION

  MURDER FOR GOOD

  The Bea Abbot Agency mysteries

  FALSE CHARITY

  FALSE PICTURE

  FALSE STEP

  FALSE PRETENCES

  FALSE MONEY

  FALSE REPORT

  FALSE ALARM

  FALSE DIAMOND

  FALSE IMPRESSION

  FALSE WALL

  FALSE FIRE

  FALSE PRIDE

  FALSE ACCOUNT

  FALSE CONCLUSION

  Veronica Heley

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  This first world edition published 2020

  in Great Britain and the USA by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.

  Trade paperback edition first published

  in Great Britain and the USA 2020 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.

  eBook edition first published in 2020 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2020 by Veronica Heley.

  The right of Veronica Heley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8974-4 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-695-1 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0420-2 (e-book)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

  are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described

  for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are

  fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

  business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  ONE

  Friday afternoon

  Bea Abbot shut the front door on her departing guests and demanded, ‘What on earth was that all about?’

  Bea had intended to drive down to the boarding school that day to fetch Bernice home for the summer holidays, until the headmistress had phoned to say that a Mrs Trescott, who was collecting her own niece that day, had offered to give Bernice a lift back to London. Bea had accepted the offer with gratitude since it gave her more time to clear her desk.

  When the elegantly thin Mrs Trescott and her niece arrived with Bernice, Bea had invited them in for a cup of tea by way of thanks, only to find herself on the receiving end of a series of acid remarks. What’s more, the niece turned out to be a real pudding, who’d eaten six biscuits to everyone else’s one and then asked to go the toilet just as Mrs Trescott rose to leave.

  So, as Bea shut the door on their visitors, she asked Bernice, ‘What on earth was that all about?’

  Bernice was at the gawky pre-pubescent stage and never still. She’d recently had her long hair cut to a glossy, asymmetric bob but scorned make-up and most members of the human race. She’d been uncharacte‌ristically silent during tea. Now she pushed out her lower lip and frowned, causing her black eyebrows to almost meet. ‘I know you think it was very good of her to bring me back from school, and that I should be pleased to be asked to stay with them in the holidays, but I don’t want to go. I realize it would be convenient for you to get rid of me so that you can get on with your work, but—’

  ‘What? Stop right there, madam! Where did you get that idea from?’ Bea put her arm round her ward’s shoulders and urged her back down the hall. ‘Let’s start again. Welcome home. I’ve been looking forward to having you with me for the holidays. I’ve arranged with Betty, my office manageress, to take over most of my duties so that we can spend time together. I know you have plans to see various people, but—’

  The doorbell rang, sharply. Someone intended to make themselves heard.

  ‘It can’t be them again,’ said Bernice. ‘Don’t let them in!’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Bernice.’ Bea opened the door and yes, on the doorstep once more stood the stylish, fifty-ish blonde with the sharp nose, and her lumpy, frumpy niece.

  ‘So sorry,’ carolled Mrs Trescott through clenched teeth. ‘My niece seems to have left her pills in your toilet. So careless. May she look for them, please?’ She was smiling, but cold fury emanated from every pore.

  Bea managed a social smile. ‘By all means.’

  Without a word the niece hunched her shoulders and brushed past Bea to go down the hall to the toilet.

  Mrs Trescott’s expensively shod foot tapped out the rhythm of her irritation. ‘These children! How one longs for the day when someone will take them off our hands. Here’s my card with my smartphone number on it. I’ll let you know the dates when we’d like Bernice to come to us. Next Friday for the party, obviously. And then a long weekend to follow.’

  She bent closer to Bea to add, ‘What a pity Bernice is such a plain child! You’ll have your work cut out to make her presentable. Perhaps you should get her some padded bras? And invest in some hair extensions?’

  Bea blinked. How dare the woman say such things? ‘We do already have commitments for the holiday, but I will look in the diary and—’

  ‘Splendid! Next Friday. Someone will collect her. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to have a few days free.’

  The frumpy girl emerged from the toilet, holding up a small packet.

  ‘So you found it,’ said Mrs High and Mighty. ‘Say goodbye to your little friend. You’ll see her again on Friday. Come along. You know how cross your uncle gets if dinner’s late.’ Still talking, she swept the girl out of the house. ‘Now, we
’re not staying in London tonight but going straight down to the country. There’s so much still to do for the party …’

  She pushed the girl into the back of an expensive, chauffeur-driven car, and got in beside her, scolding away. ‘How dare you show me up like that, eating all those biscuits. Am I glad you’ll be off my hands soon! You are a very lucky girl, having someone who wants to take you on …’ The door was slammed shut, seat belts were adjusted, and the car drove off into traffic.

  Bea shut the front door, and leaned her back against it. ‘I feel as if I’ve been run over by a train.’

  Bernice stamped her foot. ‘I could scream! She assumes …! I don’t want anything to do with them!’

  Bea said, ‘Let’s clear up in the living room, have another cuppa and you can tell me all about this new best friend of yours and why she wants you to go to stay with her.’

  ‘She’s no friend of mine,’ said Bernice. ‘I’d never set eyes on her till she arrived after half term and the head said I was to move into a two-bedder to look after her. If she weren’t from such a wealthy family, she’d never have been accepted at our school. She’s a complete dum-dum – that’s what they call her. She hardly ever opens her mouth except to eat, which she does all the time. She takes no exercise and is in the bottom set for everything.’

  ‘So why did her aunt keep saying you were her best friend? Why is she inviting you to stay with them?’ Bea started to collect the used tea things. ‘Where did I put the tray?’

  Only a short time ago Bernice would have said it wasn’t her job to help in the house, but Bea had managed to make the girl understand that if she helped with household chores, it made time for more important things, like gossiping about this new ‘friend’.

  Bernice found the tray for Bea and rescued a teaspoon which the dum-dum had dropped on the floor. ‘The thing is, she’s epileptic. They didn’t want her to be in one of the dorms, but they did want someone to sleep in the same room with her in case she had a fit. The head said it would be good for me to have the responsibility – can you believe it? – oh, yes, and she also said that I should help the dum-dum with her schoolwork! I’m not sure the girl even knows how to sign her name!’

  Bea could understand Bernice’s feelings. Bernice was ultra-bright. She’d skipped a year at school and was still top of her class in everything. She aimed to take her exams a few years early and go off to Cambridge to study whatever she’d decided upon. Maths, probably. And more maths. Followed by extra maths or its equivalent.

  Bea looked around to see if they’d collected all the tea things. ‘There’s no biscuits left but I’ve got some Dundee fruit cake in a tin in the kitchen. It’s a bit worrying that you were asked to look after a girl who might have a fit at any moment. Did she have one while you were looking after her?’

  ‘No. She seemed half asleep most of the time.’ Bernice followed Bea out to the kitchen. ‘The only thing she wakes up for is food. I reckon the medication she’s on is too strong and could do with being toned down. Anyway, I don’t think she’ll be back at school in the autumn. She’s got a birthday coming up, and says she’ll be able to leave school afterwards. Sixteen, maybe? Can you leave school at sixteen if you want to?’

  ‘Yes, you can.’

  ‘She’s been following me around like a lost puppy. I thought at least I’d be rid of her when we broke up for the holidays, but then you asked her aunt to bring me back to London—’

  ‘What?’ said Bea. ‘No, I didn’t. Your headmistress rang me and said someone had offered you a lift and was that all right by me. I asked if it were a suitable person and she said it was. So I agreed.’ Bea checked on the casserole she’d put in the oven earlier and switched on the kettle. ‘I’d never heard of the Trescotts before. I suppose I ought to have looked them up, but I trusted your headmistress … for which I apologize, Bernice. An hour in their company would drive anyone to murder.’

  Bea plonked some mugs on the table while Bernice wriggled herself on to a stool and reached out for Winston, their big, furry, black cat. Winston recalled her as being a good provider of titbits and allowed herself to be picked up and stroked.

  Bernice imitated Mrs Trescott. ‘Who’s a plain little pussy, then?’ She huffed into Winston’s fur. And then laughed. ‘If the dum-dum had seen Winston, she’d have been all over him. She’s a right softy for animals. Takes photos of them everywhere she goes. And dogs … she can’t see a dog without falling in love with it.’

  Bea lifted a heavy fruit cake out of a tin. ‘How big a piece do you want?’

  ‘Medium.’ Bernice released Winston to grab a slice. ‘I don’t really have to have a padded bra, do I? I know I’m thin, but—’

  ‘You have a model’s figure. You’re perfect for your age. Honestly, I could do that woman an injury, saying things like that.’

  With a stab of pain Bea recalled another barbed remark the woman had made. At some point Mrs Trescott seemed to have come into contact with Max, Bea’s only child. Max had grown up to be a somewhat self-important but hard-working Member of Parliament. Mrs Trescott had managed to work a reference to Max into their conversation, saying what a pity it was that Bea was so busy with her little domestic agency that she never had time to see her son or her grandchildren.

  Phew! How dare she! It was Max and his wife who were always too busy to see Bea, not the other way round! And yet, and yet … couldn’t Bea have tried harder to keep in touch? Perhaps she was a bad mother.

  Winston sidled along the table. He hadn’t tasted fruit cake yet, but thought he’d rather like to try.

  Bea flapped her hand at him, and he pretended to cower. ‘As for my not wanting you around in the holidays, Bernice, that’s absolutely not true. I’ve been looking forward to it. I know you’ll want to spend some time with your family and friends …’

  Bernice nodded, her mouth full of cake. After a disastrous first venture into domesticity, Bernice’s fragile mother had married a gentle, slightly shambolic man who had his own IT company, and who adored his wife and their toddler son. They all three loved Bernice. Of course they did. But Bea was aware – as perhaps Bernice was not – that they were also slightly in awe of the girl’s sharp mind and strong personality.

  Bea continued, ‘Your mother suggested you might like a week with them when they rent a cottage down in Cornwall. Also, Piers, my beloved ex-husband, is due to fly in from Greece sometime today. He says that someone he painted recently – a French count, if I remember correctly – has issued an invitation for the three of us to stay for a week or ten days in his famous French chateau, swimming pool included. If that’s what we fancy.’

  Bernice spoke round a mouthful of fruit cake. ‘That sounds good. He’s taking us to the theatre tomorrow, isn’t he?’ She screwed up her mouth to imitate someone assaulted by a bad smell. ‘Ugh! That woman! “Perhaps you should invest in some hair extensions for your ward?” I haven’t come out in spots, have I?’

  ‘No, you haven’t,’ said Bea. ‘You know what? I feel sorry for the Trescott girl, whatever her name is. Fancy having to live with that woman’s tongue!’

  Winston made a move on the cake, so Bea picked him up off the table and put him on the floor.

  Bernice was fast recovering her good humour. ‘I was ever so restrained when the Awful Aunt criticized me. I didn’t kick her in the shins, or use an impolite word.’

  Bea laughed. ‘You said nothing, most beautifully. I could hear your teeth grinding. If you’d been five years younger, you’d have been put over my knee and given a good spanking for dumb insolence!’

  Bernice dimpled. ‘I’m really proud of me.’

  There was a short, staccato ring at the door and someone put their key in the lock.

  Bernice assumed a world-weary air. ‘Uh-ho. Look who’s turned up like a bad penny. And, he’s actually remembered his key.’

  There were thumping sounds of a number of bags being dropped as someone made his way along the hall to the kitchen. ‘I’m back.’ Piers, Bea’
s long-divorced ex-husband, arrived in the doorway, slung around with a satchel and a travel bag, and with a cashmere sweater hung around his neck. His mop of dark hair was beginning to show threads of grey, and his dark eyes were bright with intelligence. He was a magnet for women, Mr Charm himself, dressed as usual in a T-shirt, good jeans and rather wonderful boots. ‘Do I smell cake? And perhaps a casserole? Ah, the joys of home cooking!’

  Bea reached for another mug. ‘How did the portrait go?’

  Piers took a seat, eyeing the cake on the table. ‘I painted her as a Medusa, all snaky hair and bad temper. She loved it.’

  Winston jumped up on his lap and fixed him with an expression of complete devotion. Piers flicked his fingers through Winston’s fur, and said, ‘Is it tonight we’re at the theatre?’

  Bernice shook her head at Bea. ‘He doesn’t even know which day of the week it is.’

  Bea replied, ‘At least he’s in the right country.’ She gave him a huge slice of cake and a mug of tea.

  ‘I know it’s the school holidays,’ said Piers, unconcerned. ‘I know I’ve got the summer off. What I can’t remember is whether I’ve told my tenant I was coming back today or next Friday. I’ve tried ringing him but he’s not picking up. So I’m hoping I can stay here tonight. I’ll get it sorted in the morning.’

  Bernice and Bea rolled their eyes at one another.

  ‘I might have known,’ said Bea. ‘Funnily enough, I made up the spare room bed, just in case.’

  Bernice, who occupied the whole of the top floor of the house, said, ‘You’ll be struck deaf and dumb if you try to set up your easel in my rooms.’

  ‘Promises, promises,’ said Piers comfortably, as he took another piece of fruit cake.

  Piers was an internationally renowned portrait painter who flew all over the world to paint the great and the good. He didn’t quibble if some of the great were not so good, provided they had interesting faces and paid the bills on time. He was something of a rolling stone, hiring studio accommodation when he needed it. He had never owned a car or a piece of real estate and was currently renting Bea’s small flat in the mews at the end of her road. If he knew he would be away for more than week, he would often sublet to holidaymakers only to find himself temporarily homeless if his schedule changed unexpectedly … as was the case now.