False Diamond--An Abbot Agency Mystery Read online

  Lucas wiped the last of the toast around his plate. ‘I said, shall I ring round and get some of my friends organized to act as bodyguards, and Mrs Abbot said she didn’t think she could feed the five thousand with what she’d got in the fridge, so here I am. But now you’re back, I’ll be on my way.’

  Bea took both of his hands in hers and held them tightly. ‘Thank you, a thousand times. Will you keep in touch? That sounds stupid, as you probably don’t want ever to be reminded of … Sorry, I’m rather tired, not thinking straight. But you’ll let me know if there’s been any damage to the cab, or if you think of something—?’

  ‘There was one thing. I told the police the make of the bike and though, as you said, the licence number had been dirtied so we couldn’t read it properly, I think I got part of it. But I didn’t write it down for you, so if you’ll let me have a piece of paper, I’ll do it now, before I forget. And let me know if you need me again as a bodyguard, any time. I’m not working tomorrow, for a start.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Oliver handed Lucas the board on which they left messages for one another, and he neatly wrote down the details and his telephone number.

  Bea followed Oliver into the hall as he let Lucas out. She watched him scan the street for passing bikers, but clearly there were none. She double-checked that the alarm had been set and leaned against the wall. Maggie was clearing away the remains of their late supper. Winston jumped on to the table to get at the butter dish, only to be shooed off.

  Maggie clashed plates into the dishwasher. ‘That Benton! Does he really think he can frighten you into forgetting what he’s done?’

  ‘Oh yes, I should think so,’ said Bea, not moving. ‘He believes in fear. And he holds a number of good cards.’ She wouldn’t refer to the ace he’d just made Max play that evening. What did Benton have on Max? Photographs of him kissing some redhead? Blondes used to be Max’s weakness, but this time it’s a redhead. The idiot!

  Suddenly, she felt her knees give way and had to stiffen them to remain upright. ‘Sorry, folks. It’s just beginning to hit me. Those two men following us …’ She shuddered.

  Maggie put her arm around Bea. ‘Nothing can happen now we’re back. Let’s get you up to bed, shall we?’

  Oliver said, blankly, ‘If he called you by your name, he knows where you live. Maggie and I won’t leave your side tomorrow, but what happens when I go back to Cambridge?’

  Bea said, ‘It’s true. I’m exhausted. But once the inspector learns what’s happened tonight, he can arrest Benton, and that will be the end of it.’

  Maggie and Oliver exchanged frowns. Bea wondered what she’d said to worry them, but was too tired to enquire.

  ‘Up to bed, sleepy head,’ said Maggie, helping Bea along. Even when they’d got upstairs Maggie helped Bea to undress, despite her protest. ‘Into the shower, and I’ll fetch a nice hot drink for you, right?’

  By the time Maggie returned, Bea was letting herself down on to the bed. And was weeping. ‘Sorry, sorry. So stupid.’

  ‘Not stupid at all.’ Maggie pulled the duvet over Bea and sat beside her, stroking her hand.

  ‘Nothing like this ever happened to me when my dear Hamilton was alive and all I had to worry about was keeping the agency afloat. Since he died it seems that I keep getting involved in other people’s problems, which I never did before, not to mention …’ No, she wouldn’t mention Max’s latest problem, not even to Maggie. ‘It takes it out of me. Look at me, all of a tremble. If Benton could see me now!’ She tried to laugh. Failed.

  Maggie said, ‘If you hadn’t held out your hands to Oliver and to me, we’d have been lost, wouldn’t we? Oliver would probably be sleeping rough, with no hope of ever getting to university. I’d have sunk into a decline, like those Victorian heroines who didn’t know what else to do with their lives.’

  Bea managed a faint smile at the idea of Maggie sinking into a decline. And yet, and yet … yes, Maggie might have well have got so ground down that she’d have lost her way.

  Maggie nodded. ‘What’s more, I can think of half a dozen other people you’ve helped since you took me in, including Zander, who might have gone to prison and would definitely have lost his job if you hadn’t stirred yourself to work out what had gone wrong where he works. One or two other people might have died if you hadn’t gone out of your way to help them. You go the extra mile, and it makes a difference.’ She sought for the right words. ‘Look, I’m no regular churchgoer, but didn’t you say once something about God not letting anything happen to you that he wouldn’t give you the strength to cope with?’

  ‘That’s not what it feels like at the moment.’ Tears slid down Bea’s cheeks.

  Maggie brushed them gently away. ‘You think Dilys is dead, don’t you?’

  Bea nodded, too choked up to speak. Yes, she did think just that. Benton had whisked her out of the hospital and dumped her somewhere. She was an inconvenience to him nowadays, and he had his sister looking after the boys. If Dilys wasn’t already dead, she would be very soon.

  Maggie said, ‘You saved Bernice. We’ll ring her in the morning, shall we? Find out if they’ve given her a pony to ride yet.’

  Bea tried to smile.

  Maggie said, ‘Sleep now,’ and left her alone.

  Bea closed her eyes and prayed. And, praying, fell asleep.

  Sunday morning

  Maggie woke Bea with a morning cup of tea.

  Bea produced a smile and said she was fine, had had a good night’s sleep.

  She lied. She wasn’t fine. She’d hardly slept at all. Her eyes wouldn’t open properly. Her body felt sluggish. Her head felt muzzy. When she looked in the mirror she recoiled in disgust. Her bruises were all colours of the rainbow except blue.

  Would careful make-up help to disguise her frailty?

  It was too much trouble to take the trouble.

  She dressed in casual clothes, put on her watch and then – in a gesture of defiance that she couldn’t rationalize – decided to put on her most expensive earrings and to wear her diamond engagement ring. The jewels looked out of place when she was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, but she didn’t care.

  When she got downstairs, she found Oliver already hard at work with his laptop on the kitchen table. Winston was sitting nearby, paws tucked beneath him, now and then waving his tail to indicate that he was still hopeful of being fed, or rather, of being fed again.

  Maggie banged about the kitchen, making a large cafetière of coffee and baking croissants. For once she hadn’t turned the radio or the television on, and the only sound was that of Oliver tickling the keys of his laptop.

  ‘Morning,’ he said, not raising his eyes from the screen. ‘Having drawn a blank with Ginevra and Benton, I’m turning my attention to the mysterious Leon and his sister. Plenty of information there.’

  Bea sank on to a stool and nodded. She hoped Oliver wasn’t going to ask her to use her brain because she didn’t think it was in good working order at the moment. And, what was she going to do about Max? If Benton really did have evidence of Max playing away then that would definitely be the end of his marriage. If … if …

  How to stop Benton in his tracks?

  Would it be right to pay Benton off, in order to save Max?

  Was it ever right to pay blackmail …? Which was what this amounted to.

  Maggie placed a cup of good black coffee in front of Bea and asked if she’d like a couple of boiled eggs and soldiers for breakfast.

  Bea shuddered. ‘No more eggs. A croissant would be lovely, though.’

  Oliver swung round. ‘Sybil Holland. Married three times, twice divorced, now a widow. All three of her husbands were millionaires – or billionaires. American. The last husband was Hiram T. something or other the Third, who specialized in Manhattan real estate. She is on the board of various important and socially acceptable charities such as the Metropolitan Museum. She collects Renaissance art. She must be worth as much as or perhaps even more than her elder brother. Has dual nationality,
British and American. Has never had any children, so far as I can see. Homes in all the sort of places you’d expect, including a flat in Venice and a condo in Manhattan. I can’t find that she has any property in the UK.’

  Maggie said, ‘Which explains why she’s taken refuge with her brother.’

  ‘Mm,’ said Bea, closing her eyes as a signal that she wasn’t exactly ‘with it’ at the moment.

  Oliver was frowning at the screen. ‘Sybil told you she’d returned to the UK because her dividends at H & B had been cut? With that background, why should she bother about the dividends from such a small organization as Holland and Butcher?’

  Maggie said, wisely, ‘It’s looking after the pennies which makes people like her so wealthy.’

  ‘Mm,’ said Bea, not caring why. And then, ‘That’s a good point. Sybil’s got into a right flap about H & B. Why? That company really is small beer to her. It crossed my mind earlier that there’s something wrong, not just at H & B, but at Holland Holdings. Didn’t I pick up a reference to some other trouble there …? Now that would bring her over in a hurry, and that would make them drag Leon in … and Leon, ignoring whatever it is that’s wrong with Holland Holdings, has gone after Benton, which is why …’

  She rubbed her forehead, wishing she could think straight.

  ‘Leon.’ Oliver returned to his laptop. ‘That family has a talent for making money, don’t they? He started small, dry-cleaners … took on a second … got some backing from somewhere, probably a bank … ended up with ten, no, eleven shops. Bought the long leases of some luxury flats in a new development, rented them out … Looks like it was a good move. Diversified into hairdressing of all things, somewhere along the line. Four, no five of those. Sold the dry-cleaner’s shops to a national chain recently, must have walked away with a packet. The beauticians – mm, I think he’s still got those. Managers in each shop, I suppose.’ More clicks.

  Bea reached for her coffee. She wanted to say she couldn’t care less about Leon and his businesses, but it was too much trouble to do so.

  Oliver said, ‘Picture of Leon’s house here. Devon. Very smart. Gated entrance to drive, six beds en suite, swimming pool, cinema and so on and so forth. On the market for, yes …’ He gave a whistle. ‘Now that’s a respectable amount.’

  Maggie said, ‘Where’s he living now, then?’

  Bea moved reluctant lips. ‘Hotel, down the road here. He said he was renting a service flat somewhere and also that he’s buying a flat in the Barbican.’

  Oliver shrugged. ‘Retiring from hands-on management? Going to live on his rents? Wonder what he’s planning to do with his money?’

  Bea said, ‘He’s told me he’s refused to help Holland and Butcher out. He says the family has never been close, that they didn’t give him a helping hand when he left school, that he made his fortune without them and has had minimum contact over the years. So, he says, why should he buy into an ailing business now?’

  Oliver was still on the scent. ‘Leon doesn’t work the charity circuit like Sybil. Never married. One long-term partner. She had a strong face, handsome rather than beautiful. She part-owned and ran a string of beautician’s shops until she died. I suppose that’s the chain he invested in … Yes, it is. She died not so long ago. I wonder if she left her shares to him. I’ll see if I can find her will.’

  Bea groaned, putting her head in her hands. ‘Why did I ever get mixed up with that lot? The Hollands were using me to fish Dilys out of that unpleasant man’s hands, weren’t they?’ And now Max …

  ‘You couldn’t have stood by and watched while Benton killed his wife. And we don’t know for sure that she’s dead, yet.’ Maggie produced her mobile. ‘It’s a bit early, but in a minute I’m going to ring Bernice, see how she’s getting on. You’ll feel better when you’ve spoken to her.’

  ‘No,’ said Bea, pushing herself to her feet. ‘Enough is enough. I’m out for the day. Absent. Gone missing. Not to be found.’

  Oliver abandoned his laptop. ‘You’re not going anywhere by yourself till Benton’s been locked up. He’s assaulted you once already and, now that you’ve threatened him, he’ll be on the warpath again. He tried to get at you last night, and the attempt failed. He’s not going to produce his wife, is he? So he’s got to silence you before you can do him any more damage. Today is his last chance, right? So I’m coming with you.’

  She felt stifled. If she didn’t get right away and find a quiet place in which to think, she’d explode … and wouldn’t that be a sight for sore eyes, never mind the mess it would make.

  She tried to explain. ‘I need to think. I need to be by myself for a while. Oh, don’t worry, I’m going to be very careful where I go. I’m not going to take the car because it may be difficult to find parking where I’m going. I promise to take taxis everywhere, and I’ll have my smartphone with me all the time in case I’m accosted by little green men from Mars or an assortment of drunks and psychopaths. First I’m going to church. I doubt very much that I’ll be followed there. Then I’m going to take a taxi down to a pub at Isleworth and have a steak for lunch. After that, I’m going to pop across the river to Kew Gardens and saunter around there and sit and think, followed by tea across the road at the Maids of Honour. In the evening I’ll take another taxi to the Waterman’s cinema down by the river and will probably fall asleep, provided there’s not too much gunfire on screen. After that I’m coming home and going to bed, and I don’t need a minder for any of that.’

  ‘I’m still coming with you,’ said Oliver, shutting up his laptop. ‘I can drive you, and then if you fall asleep it won’t matter.’

  ‘I’m coming, too,’ said Maggie. ‘With one of us on either side of you, you can fall asleep whenever you wish.’

  ‘Thank you, but no. I mean it.’

  Maggie and Oliver exchanged frowns. The front doorbell rang. Maggie went to answer it and returned carrying a splendiferous white orchid in a pot. Expensive. ‘Leon. He wants to know if you’d like a drive out to Richmond Park, and then lunch.’

  Bea shook her head. ‘Don’t let him in. Tell him I’m otherwise engaged.’

  Maggie relayed the message and came back looking troubled. ‘He said there’s to be a family discussion about Dilys and Bernice, and they would greatly value your input.’

  ‘That’s their affair and not mine,’ said Bea, feeling only a little guilty about it.

  Maggie retailed the bad news to Leon and closed the front door on him with a click. She returned to the kitchen, getting out her smartphone. ‘Tell you what, just to make sure you get a good start on the day, I’ll ring Zander. You like the church he goes to, don’t you? He can pick you up in a little while and take you there. Agreed?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Bea, yawning. ‘That’ll save me one taxi fare. And yes, children, I’ll dress up warmly and make sure I’ve got my keys and my hankie with me before I leave the house.’

  Oliver said, ‘You’ll need some more cash. You gave the taxi driver all yours last night, didn’t you?’

  ‘So I did. Well, Zander can drop me off at a cash machine before I go to church. And Oliver, if you have to get back to Cambridge before I return—’

  ‘No, I don’t plan to leave till tomorrow morning. So while you’re out, I’ll have another go at finding the elusive Bentons.’

  Zander, Maggie’s boyfriend, was an intelligent, almost-handsome man in his early thirties. Bea had known him for a long time and sincerely hoped that one day Maggie and he would marry and set up as a family. Now that Maggie had decided he was off limits, it was a puzzle to know what to talk to him about … and yet it was Maggie who’d asked him for help that morning, and he’d responded to her call. Which meant …? Bea couldn’t work out what it meant.

  As Zander helped her to do up her seat belt, Bea decided the safest thing to talk about was his work. ‘How’s everything at the office?’

  Zander worked for a charity which had been sinking under the weight of free-lunching non-executive directors until Bea interve
ned. Subsequently, he’d been a major influence in improving the organization’s efficiency and had been promoted.

  A brief smile. ‘I still enjoy it, which must say something about the new blood on the board of directors.’

  ‘And about you.’

  A wider smile. ‘They seem to think I’m there to stay.’ He was not going to talk about Maggie? Well, good. Probably.

  He said, ‘Maggie tells me you need a quiet day. Don’t blame you. You need to take out some money first, then come to church with me? Sounds good.’

  After a quick visit to a cash machine, Zander delivered her to the church he attended and saw her settled before going about his own duties. Even on a dark winter’s morning, this particular building seemed full of light and air. Bea liked the atmosphere. Her own parish church was over-ornate for her taste and on a dark day could seem oppressive. She told herself such things shouldn’t matter but acknowledged that, for her, they did. She told herself to relax. She wouldn’t think about, well, anything, for a while, except worshipping God and being part of the congregation.

  The sermon was a cracker, being all about gifts; the gifts the wise men took to the baby Jesus and the gifts that we ourselves have, which we can use in the service of others. Or not, as we choose. With a challenge to the congregation to think about what they have to offer, themselves.

  ‘Well, I don’t have that sort of gift to offer,’ said Bea to herself, refusing to accept that the words also applied to her. She reminded God – as if he needed reminding – that she gave money to all sorts of worthwhile causes and, as Maggie had pointed out the previous night, she’d taken in two dysfunctional youngsters and helped them grow up. It had cost her something, but she’d done it. That was enough charity giving for the moment, wasn’t it?