False Picture Page 17

  ‘Have mine,’ said Bea, pushing it across the table.

  ‘Allow me to order another,’ said a man’s voice. It was Herman’s boss. Seen out of the car, he was a large, plump man with pale eyes. He seated himself, unasked, in the spare chair at their table. He was grey all over, from smooth hair and waxen skin, down through an expensive suit – cashmere and silk at a guess – to hand-made shoes. Bea guessed that he had a wallet full of credit cards, all platinum or gold. The waitress flicked a glance at Bea, who hesitated just a fraction too long, unsure whether to make a scene or not.

  The man smiled at the waitress and ordered another two special coffees, one for himself, and one for his charming young friend. He held out his hand to Charlotte. ‘Let me introduce myself. My name is Van. Liam’s business contact. I am distressed to hear he is not coming. Allow me to make up for his absence. A brandy, perhaps? Or do you prefer advocaat?’

  Charlotte gaped and didn’t reply. Bea wondered why he’d homed in on Charlotte rather than on Maggie. Maggie was looking quite presentable in Bea’s clothes and with her hair well brushed. Charlotte looked a mess, lumpy and ill at ease. Perhaps he didn’t know that Maggie had also carried his stolen goods?

  Charlotte fidgeted, murmuring, ‘Nothing, thank you.’

  The newcomer turned his light eyes upon Bea, assessing and then dismissing her as unimportant. ‘And you are their chaperone, no? Trying to keep them out of trouble? I must apologize for our little misunderstanding earlier. My friend Herman is so … forceful. Well, this is a very pleasant meeting, is it not? Your first time in Bruges, Charlotte? I may call you Charlotte, may I not? Liam has spoken so much about you that I feel I know you already.’

  Charlotte’s eyes rounded, while Maggie leaned back in her seat, eyes narrowed. Maggie’s body language indicated that she didn’t like the man, while Charlotte’s showed uncertainty.

  The waitress said, ‘Would monsieur like to order some food?’ implying that she wasn’t happy at this intrusion. Neither was Bea.

  The man waved a hand with two gold rings on it at the waitress. ‘Just the coffee.’ The waitress looked at Bea for a lead and didn’t get one, so went away.

  Bea knew ‘Mr Van’ couldn’t be a proper name. Maggie also looked sceptical. Charlotte started work on the tiramasu, a little doubtful about the newcomer, but reacting to the magic of Liam’s name.

  Bea said, ‘How did you know where we were?’

  He didn’t look at her, but said dismissively, ‘We went round the block and parked, waiting for you to come out. Naturally.’

  Bea leaned back in her seat, not sure what to do. He thought her a nonentity. Perhaps it would be good if he went on thinking so.

  ‘My dear Charlotte,’ he said, lips parting in a grimace which he seemed to think was a smile. ‘What a shame that you should have been stood up on your first night in this lovely city. May I take the place of your young man, and show you around? Perhaps a nightclub?’

  Charlotte eyed him over a spoonful of chocolate dessert. ‘I’m not really a nightclub person.’

  ‘Ah, but I could show you’ – he waved podgily-plump hands – ‘a nightlife such as you have never dreamed of.’

  Charlotte put down the empty dish and considered whether to take on the ice or the sorbet next. ‘Liam was going to take me for a ride in a horse and carriage.’

  Bea suppressed a giggle at the thought of this rather large man – who must, she thought, be in his late fifties – hauling himself up into a carriage and squashing Charlotte into a corner of the seat.

  ‘Ah, well …’ He waved his hands again, declining to take up the implied invitation. Wisely. Bea spotted more glints of gold at his wrist, a watch and a bracelet. Too much gold, Hamilton would have said.

  ‘But we must do something to mark the occasion of your first visit to this beautiful city.’

  Maggie was dipping into her desserts, a spoonful here and there. ‘It is very kind of you, Mr … Mr Van …?’ She made a question mark in her voice when she uttered the name he’d given. ‘But we don’t know you from Adam.’

  ‘Naturally you are being careful. But who else would be meeting you at your friend Liam’s request?’

  Two more special coffees came, one for Bea and the other for Mr Van. Neither attempted to eat anything, though Bea sipped at her coffee.

  The two girls considered Mr Van’s proposal, and for once were in accord.

  ‘It’s very kind of you …’ Maggie began.

  At the same time Charlotte said, ‘I don’t think …’ They both paused, looking at one another, and then returned their eyes to Mr Van.

  Maggie said, ‘It’s our dreadful British upbringing, you see. We have to know someone well to entrust ourselves to them for a night out in a foreign country.’

  ‘I quite understand.’ Yet the temperature had dropped ten degrees. Mr Van was not pleased. ‘You wish to make this a business arrangement only, yes? You have had your little trip paid for by our friend and you turn down my invitation, made with the most honest of intentions. Very well and good. So now you have to pay for your pleasure, no? We return to the hotel and you let me have my presents and no more will be said on either side.’

  Charlotte gulped her coffee, while Maggie played with her spoon. Bea kept quiet. If the girls decided to hand the stolen goods over, she wasn’t sure she could stop them doing so. And wouldn’t it perhaps be best if they did?

  ‘A coffee set. Supposedly.’ Maggie gave him a tiny smile. ‘I opened it to make sure nothing had got broken in transit.’

  Charlotte giggling, choked on her coffee. ‘Broken? Oh, Maggie!’

  He ceased to play the part of genial uncle. ‘You opened it?’

  Charlotte nodded, still coughing. ‘Nineteen beautiful boxes.’

  ‘Nineteen?’ He was sharp. ‘There ought to be twenty.’

  ‘Only nineteen,’ said Charlotte. ‘Honest! That’s all there were. Maggie counted them several times.’

  He switched his eyes to Maggie, who nodded. ‘Nineteen.’

  He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘It was unwise of you to open the parcel. Did you open the second one, too?’

  ‘We wanted to know what we were getting into.’ Maggie was pale but defiant.

  ‘Twelve in that one,’ said Charlotte. ‘Nineteen tiddly little boxes, and twelve pretty miniatures.’

  He sipped his coffee, his eyes on Charlotte, who was giggling though with an undercurrent of tension, even of fear. A silly little girl poking King Cobra, half aware that she might get her comeuppance, but hoping for the best because she’d never really come up against evil before and wasn’t at all sure that she believed in it.

  Bea sat very still, watching and waiting.

  He said, ‘You are two very silly little girls, trying to play grown-up games with me, but now it is time for you to face real life. You will let me have my presents this evening, and that will be the end of it.’

  ‘And if we don’t?’ said Charlotte, laughing but impressed despite herself.

  His eyes were ice-cold. ‘Of course you will do as I say. The alternative would be very, very bad for you. I have many connections in this city and in the police. Before you return to your hotel, I would have you arrested and with my property in your room, it would be – what you call it – an open and shut case. You would face a long sentence in jail. This I promise that I can do.’

  Maggie was holding herself together with an effort. ‘Wait a minute, if you inform on us, you’d lose your “property”.’

  ‘My connections with the police are good. Believe me, arrangements would be made to let me claim the lost items within days. So let us have no more of this nonsense, shall we? Waitress!’ He signalled to her. ‘The bill, if you please.’

  Monday evening

  As Liam’s train drew into London, he made up his mind what to do. Rafael would be tied up at work tonight and early tomorrow, so it was safe to go back to the flat to pick up his things. And then he’d be out of there.

  He wished th
ings hadn’t worked out this way. He’d had no intention of getting in this deep when Rafael first offered him a few hundred to run an errand for him. As for Charlotte, poor cow … he’d taken a risk in warning her and that was more than he’d really needed to do, wasn’t it? She’d decided of her own free will to trade in her virginity for a free holiday, and it wasn’t his fault if things had gone pear-shaped after that. He preferred blondes, anyway.

  He stepped down from the train and joined the rush of people all anxious to leave the station. Once through Customs – he had nothing to declare – he went into the nearest toilet, stamped on Zander’s mobile phone till it was in pieces, and dropped the bits into the nearest garbage point. Now nobody could connect him with stolen goods … or murder.

  Thirteen

  Monday evening

  ‘Excuse me for a moment,’ murmured Bea. ‘I must pay a visit. Don’t decide anything till I get back, right?’

  Mr Van didn’t take his eyes off the two girls while Bea edged herself out from her seat. Mr Van didn’t think Bea was of any importance. Mr Van was happy in the belief that he’d cowed the girls into acquiescence. Bea was happy to let him think so.

  She made her way to the back of the restaurant and down the stairs to the toilets. The seed of an idea had lodged itself in her head, and she needed time to think about it. Suppose …? But what if …? There would be a risk. Yes. Was it worth it? Mm, yes. It would be dangerous, of course, if she were found out. There would be danger on this side of the Channel and danger on the other. She wasn’t sure which would be worse.

  The simplest thing to do would be to contact the police, though not on this side of the Channel. She wasn’t sure she believed Mr Van could manipulate the Belgian police in the way he described, but if he’d only one minor official in his pocket it would mean disaster.

  She washed her hands and tucked her blouse into her waistband. She didn’t try to pretty herself up because it was best that Mr Van continued to think her as of no importance. He thought she was just a chaperone. The term ‘chaperone’ was outmoded and she rather wondered how he’d come by it. His spoken English was good, but not perfect. Perhaps he’d never before come across an English businesswoman of a certain age, someone who’d been tutored by a wise man like Hamilton.

  Here Bea did what she thought Hamilton would have done in such straits. She sent up an arrow prayer. Please Lord, am I doing the right thing? These two girls’ lives will be ruined if Mr Van has his way and … oh, you know all about it anyway, don’t you?

  She thought about that for a moment and added, At least, I hope you do know all about it. Sorry if I doubt you now and then, and you really are there and … oh, I’m just so muddled. What I’m saying is … help, please!

  Stop this, she told herself, and went back up the stairs to the restaurant. Pausing by the till, she gave the mâitre d’ her card to pay the bill for herself and the two girls. The restaurant was long and narrow, with a bar down one side and tables on the other. From where she stood, she had a good view of Mr Van and the two girls, sitting sideways on to her. While she waited for her card to be processed she pulled out her mobile phone, and took a couple of pictures of Mr Van.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ asked the mâitre d’, whose eyes were everywhere and who knew more about human nature than most people. ‘The gentleman visitor. Is he satisfactory to you?’

  Bea grimaced, stowing her phone away. ‘He’s no gentleman, we didn’t invite him to join us and he is not welcome. But I can deal with him, I think. He’s not Flemish, is he?’

  ‘Dutch. If there is anything we can do …? We were so sorry to hear about your husband.’

  ‘Thank you.’ It crossed Bea’s mind for a moment that she and the mâitre d’ had known one another for so many years that a half embrace, or a kiss on both cheeks might be appropriate – and comforting. But, being British, she let the moment pass, and walked on to their table.

  Mr Van was in the middle of an anecdote about a hunting expedition – really?

  Maggie looked sullen, Charlotte feverish.

  Bea slid into her seat and tried to act ‘fluffy’. She thought of Velma and wondered how that clever airhead would have managed. ‘Well, Mr Van … it’s getting late and we’ve had a long day. I’d like to see the girls tucked up in bed pretty soon.’

  ‘Of course, of course. As soon as I have my presents, I will leave you in peace to get your beauty sleep.’

  Maggie shuddered and Charlotte asked if anyone had any indigestion tablets. Bea found some in her handbag and handed them over.

  ‘Now,’ she said, in her new, bright tone of voice, ‘there’s just one tiny little thing that’s been bothering me. I’m sure you mean well, Mr Van, but these girls are my responsibility and I don’t want there to be any problem getting them back to London. Just imagine if they were stopped at Customs on their way back and accused of smuggling? Of course, they wouldn’t have any stolen goods on them, but it could be very nasty, couldn’t it? They might be held up and interrogated, and investigated and oh, I don’t know what else.’

  Mr Van almost laughed. ‘You have my word this will not happen.’

  ‘But can we trust you? I ask myself what would happen if these two girls’ mothers found out that I’d let them run into such danger, I really don’t know what they’d say, but I’m sure it would be … oh dear, am I going to cry?’

  Bea found a handkerchief in her handbag, and applied it to her eyes. Maggie had never seen Bea act like this before and looked at her in some amazement, but Charlotte nodded.

  Mr Van looked at his watch, bored with the conversation. ‘The girls are in no danger from me, I do assure you of that. Now, shall we—’

  ‘But how can I be sure of that?’ twittered Bea. ‘I can see that you are a very important man, with all sorts of connections and not to be trifled with in any way, so I’ve been trying hard to think how best to protect my girls and get them back safely home. I think I have come up with a solution!’

  She beamed at them all. Maggie lowered her eyes to the table, but Charlotte was all attention.

  Mr Van shrugged. ‘So …?’

  She spread her hands and smiled widely, expecting approval. ‘You don’t get the goods until the girls are safely back home.’

  ‘What?’ He hadn’t expected this.

  ‘But how …?’ said Maggie.

  ‘Simple.’ Bea was delighted to explain. ‘Tomorrow morning on our way out of town, I place the two boxes in my overnight bag and put them in the Left Luggage at the railway station. I post the key to you, we get safely back home, you get the key the next day, and everyone is happy. Isn’t that a good plan?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Maggie.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ said Charlotte.

  Mr Van scowled. ‘It is a very bad plan. No, no. I cannot trust you. Besides, they have codes, not keys, at Left Luggage boxes nowadays.’

  Bea maintained her sunny smile. ‘Of course you can trust me. Oh, I’m so pleased that I thought of this. I couldn’t think how to get the girls home safely, otherwise.’

  His temper flared. ‘Suppose I come to the hotel with you now, and we waste no more of my time!’

  ‘You mustn’t threaten me,’ said Bea, keeping up her smiling face. ‘Or I will ask the mâitre d’ to call the police. I will say you have been making horrid suggestions to my girls about becoming sex slaves and working for you, and they will believe me. Girls, you’ll back me up, won’t you?’

  Both girls nodded, eyes wide.

  He gaped. ‘But I have never been involved in—’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Bea, soothing his injured pride. ‘Only in smuggling. I know. But you see, the hotel people were very upset at your man Herman’s crashing in on their guests without permission, they know that the girls were supposed to be accompanied on this trip by boyfriends who failed to show up, and they have already jumped to the conclusion that you want the girls for prostitution. They took down the number of your car and told me that if we fail to return to the h
otel tonight, they’ll be on to the police. However, I don’t think that will be necessary, will it?’

  She was calling his bluff that he had an inside contact in the police force, but it seemed to be working, for calculation replaced indignation in his eyes.

  Bea laid the restaurant bill on the table, with a pen. ‘Write down your name and address on the back of my bill, and I’ll fulfil my part of the bargain.’

  He tapped on the table, eyes switching backwards and forwards. Bea held her breath. Charlotte gave a little squeak, napkin to mouth.

  Eventually Mr Van decided to do as she asked. She watched while he wrote down the name of one of the town’s most expensive hotels. Of course, he wouldn’t give her his real name and address. He threw the pen down, grumbling, ‘This is going to cost me extra, staying over for two nights. I am not best pleased.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be a cry-baby,’ said Bea, pocketing the bill. ‘Come, girls, I’ve settled the bill, so we can leave now. I’ll get the mâitre d’ to call a taxi for us, in case Herman’s lurking outside.’

  Back at the hotel, Bea thought she’d very much like to lie down and die, but was forced to revise her plan when Charlotte scuttled ahead to the girls’ room and dashed in, leaving the door open behind her. Retching sounds came from the bathroom.

  Maggie was disgusted. ‘She was stuffing her face with junk food all through the car journey here. No wonder she’s being sick.’

  Charlotte appeared in the doorway, wiping her face with a flannel. Her skin glistened, and she was crying. ‘Maggie, you are a nasty, horrid … I can’t think of words bad enough to describe you. The doctors say I’ve got irritable bowel syndrome. Any stress will set it off, and I’ve had far too much stress today. Oh …!’ She dashed back into the bathroom.

  ‘Dear me,’ said Bea, feeling limp and quite unequal to getting the pair of them to kiss and make up. ‘Maggie, will you do something for me, dear? Pack all the stolen goods back into their containers and bring them to me in my room? I rather think a little lie-down is indicated.’