False Pretences Page 18

  THIRTEEN

  Thursday evening

  As a driver, Chris liked to cut in, in front of others. He talked too much, gestured too much, and thought it funny when other drivers made rude gestures at him.

  Bea resolved that she’d drive on the way back.

  ‘How many driving lessons have you had?’ She clutched at the door handle as they rounded a corner a trifle wide.

  ‘What? Dunno. Lost count. It’s practice that I need. Dad won’t take me out any more, so I’m really grateful to you for letting me come out this evening. I asked Oliver if he’d come out with me, but he says his nerves aren’t up to it. I asked Maggie, too, but she says she’s in the same boat as me.’

  His cheerfulness remained undented as he squeaked between a bus and a Volvo. Bea kept her eyes closed for a count of five, telling herself that fools led charmed lives. Which didn’t help much.

  When she opened her eyes again, he was peering out of the side window, when he should have been looking at oncoming traffic. ‘Is this the road?’

  Bea croaked, ‘Didn’t you . . .?’ She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Didn’t you hear the satnav say to take the next road on the left? Della said parking’s difficult here, so we should get in where you can.’ She couldn’t stand his driving any longer. He eyed up a potential parking space like a boxer squaring up to an opponent in the ring. She told herself not to kill his self-confidence by offering to park the car for him. She closed her eyes. Sent up an arrow prayer. Dear Lord, a spot of help here?

  Finally, he hauled on the handbrake and turned off the ignition. ‘There, that didn’t go too badly, did it?’

  Her hands were shaking as she checked her watch. She’d estimated the journey would take forty minutes, and they’d done it in twenty-one and a half. A very long twenty-one and a half. ‘We’re a little early. Let’s sit in the car for a few minutes.’ She wasn’t sure her legs would hold her up if she got out straight away.

  He beamed at her. ‘I hope you’ll let me drive you often. You’re so calm.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Bea, hoping her voice didn’t wobble.

  He sighed, still smiling. ‘I can see why Oliver’s latched on to you. I wish you were my mother.’

  Bea raised her eyebrows. ‘You’ve got a very satisfactory father. Oliver hasn’t got anyone.’

  ‘I know, I know. I doubt if my mother would have been much good as a driving instructor, even if she’d lived. I was a surprise to both of them as they’d married late and hadn’t expected to have children. She was totally wrapped up in her research, the ancient Sumerians, you know. She didn’t have any maternal instincts, handed me over to nannies and then bundled me off to boarding school. I mean, I was terribly sorry when she died of course, but it did mean I could live at home with Dad and go to school locally. At least he cares what happens to me.’ He shot her a look to see how well this had gone down.

  She took it with a pinch of salt. ‘Does the grieving motherless child bit go down well with the girlfriends?’

  ‘Works a treat.’ Another grin. ‘Truth to tell, I really haven’t much to complain about, have I?’

  ‘No, you haven’t.’ She unhooked her seat belt and got out of the car, holding on to the door till she was upright and sure she could stand unaided. ‘Shall we try to find Della’s now?’

  He got out with one lissom movement, yawned, slammed the car door – ouch! – and peered along a street of houses which all looked exactly alike.

  Bea checked her A to Z. ‘It’s the next road on the right.’ And it was, though indistinguishable from the first one except to those who lived there.

  These houses were all three-bedroomed semi-ds, bow-fronted, many with loft extensions. Almost all had converted the front gardens into hardstanding for cars, shut off from the pavement by elaborate ironwork gates topped with gilded finials.

  ‘Indian territory,’ said Chris, hefting her bunch of keys and looking around with a knowledgeable air. ‘The first thing they do when they buy a house out here is to get their car off the road, so they don’t have to pay when the Car Parking Zones arrive. It’s a disgrace, I think, because it means that the people who usually park here can’t; but I don’t suppose householders would agree with me.’

  Bea led the way along Della’s road, checking house numbers. Della’s had neither loft conversion nor ironwork gates. Her house was not exactly shabby, but it might soon become so. The front garden had been paved over recently, and there was a scooter on it, chained to a block of concrete. Was the scooter Della’s? Or her husband’s? Or possibly the niece’s?

  There was an old-fashioned display of stained glass in the upper part of the front door, echoed by that in the window bay. Original glass, circa nineteen twenty. Rather charming.

  The woman who opened the door to them was probably in her early fifties. Fifty-four and flirtatious, was Bea’s thought. Heavy smoking had ruined her complexion and roughened her voice, but her figure was still good though it might not continue to be so for much longer. Crow’s feet, no Botox. A good bra. Hair dyed mid-brown to conceal the grey. She looked like she wore clothes from the charity shop and TK Maxx, which announced that she still had an interest in fashion and the opposite sex.

  ‘Mrs Lawrence? I’m Bea Abbot, and this is young Chris, who was kind enough to drive me out here.’

  ‘Come along in.’ Della looked both ways down the road. ‘A neighbour said she’s taken in a parcel for me, though I wasn’t expecting anything. I wonder what it can be. An early birthday present, perhaps. She said she’d only be a jiffy, but I suppose she’s been held up. You can never rely on anyone when they say they’ll do something, can you?’

  ‘True,’ said Chris, beaming as he wiped his feet thoroughly on the door mat.

  Della laughed, taken in by his ready charm. ‘Oh, well. Not everyone’s careless about time. Come on through.’ She led the way into the sitting room, which seemed dark by contrast with the bright evening sunshine outside. A brown leatherette three piece suite, a glass-topped coffee table, four Spanish dolls, two in Japanese costume and two china pixies on the mantelpiece. Above the picture rail someone had fitted shelving, which was crowded with more holiday souvenirs, mostly dolls, some still their cellophane packaging. On the coffee table was a mess of tabloid newspapers, Hello and OK magazines.

  ‘You’ve lived here long?’ asked Bea, making conversation. The ripe smell of fish and chips mingled with that of cigarette smoke and a cheap wine which had probably come from a cardboard box.

  ‘It was my husband’s aunt’s house, which he inherited, and we’ve been here ever since. Barring holidays abroad, of course. We did enjoy our holidays.’ She sighed and looked fondly around at her souvenirs. ‘He passed on some years back, but there’s no point in getting down in the dumps about it, is there? Tea or coffee? Something stronger?’ She waved them to seats. The leatherette groaned under Chris’s weight, and he pulled a comical face.

  ‘No, thanks. I don’t want to put you to any trouble,’ said Bea. ‘You were working for the Trust then?’

  ‘I was, and if I say so myself, I ran that office efficiently, even the major said he couldn’t have done it better.’

  ‘The major. I met him at lunch the other day.’

  ‘Oh, he’s all right,’ said Della, lighting up, giving a little cough, and pushing newspapers around to find an ashtray. ‘No harm in him.’

  ‘Nor in Sir Cecil?’

  The woman’s complexion darkened, she gave a hoarse laugh, and shook her head. ‘Randy old whatsit. Mind you, when I was missing my old man, I could always, you know, pass the time of day with him. If you see what I mean.’

  In other words, Cecil had had her over his desk when they both felt like it.

  ‘And Mr Trimmingham?’

  A shrug. ‘I never really got to know him. He joined us only a short while before I left.’

  ‘You worked mostly for Denzil?’

  Della stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette with a vicious twist. ‘What’s
this all about? I heard he’d popped his clogs. I slaved for that man all those years and went out on a limb to cover for him when he forgot things, and then he turned round and got me the sack, fitted me up, would you believe? I’d never have thought it of him, but there it was: not “thank you very much” but “thank you, and you’re fired”!’

  ‘Two-faced, was he? After all you’d done for him?’

  The woman’s lips tightened. Perhaps she thought she’d said too much already? ‘Dunno about that.’ She lit another cigarette. ‘So what’s all this about, then?’

  ‘A strange phone call, which was supposed to bring Zander out here to see you on Tuesday night.’

  ‘I’m always out on Tuesday nights, seeing my aunt that lives over in Greenford. I take her shopping to Tesco’s and she pays for the taxi. So I wasn’t here. I got back about nine, I suppose, didn’t bother with the answerphone then, got the message next morning, thought someone got the wrong number.’

  ‘I think someone wanted Zander out of the way that evening, wanted to make sure he’d come out here to see you. Someone who knew you were always out on Tuesdays. How long have you been going out on Tuesday nights?’

  ‘For ever. A couple of years. No, more than that. Ever since my aunt had her hip replacement.’

  ‘Everyone knew about it at work?’

  ‘Of course they did because I always went off early on Tuesdays, to make sure I could get her done and dusted by nine, which is when she goes to bed. So what gives with Zander? Nice lad, I thought. Quiet. Well spoken. He didn’t have anything to do with the way I was forced out.’

  ‘Forced out?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking.’ She stared off into space, then made up her mind to Tell All. ‘Denzil’s gone now, so what does it matter? Milly pushed him too hard, saying she might be pregnant. I told her, I said to take it gently. His sort takes fright, and we were doing all right as we were, weren’t we, with him giving her nice presents, and popping the odd fifty in an envelope for me every now and then. But Milly wanted a ring on her finger, she wanted to be the Honourable Mrs though I told her his sort don’t divorce their wives just for a bit on the side.

  ‘Do you know what he did? I can hardly believe it, even now. He fitted me up with some notes he took out of the petty-cash box, marked them up with his initials, and “found” them in my handbag. I tell you, you could have knocked me down and out, I wasn’t able to do anything but stare. He got Cecil and the major in to show them the notes in my handbag, and I couldn’t think of anything to say, not a word – though I thought of plenty afterwards, you can be sure of that!

  ‘He put me and Milly in a cab and sent us home, and he rang me that night to say I’d better not ever talk about anything that had happened, or he’d have me prosecuted. But now he’s dead, well . . . It doesn’t matter now, does it?’

  She lit another cigarette from the stub of the one in her hand. A couple of rings flashed on her fingers. She had a gold chain around her neck which must have cost a bob or two, as well. And a good watch. The fifty-pound tips had come in handy.

  She blew out smoke. ‘I’ve got another job now, not so far away though not the high class the other one was. I don’t want my new employers to know I was fired. I told them my boss had been making advances to me and had got me the sack when I said “no”. They believed me, said I should sue, but I said I couldn’t be bothered, that I was sorry for the old trout.’

  ‘And Milly?’

  A shrug. ‘Got herself a job at the Three Feathers, barmaid, down the road. She moved in with me a couple of years ago when her mother got herself a new boyfriend and he – that is, the new boyfriend – started touching her up, Milly, that is. Which wasn’t at all what she wanted, nor her mother, neither. And I could do with the company.

  ‘That’s her scooter outside. She leaves it here when she’s at work because she’s had it knocked over in the car park at the pub a couple of times. So I usually go along there for a quick one before they close, help her clear up – the landlord says he’ll give me a job in the bar any time, which is a laugh, really, though I don’t mind helping out now and then for the odd tenner – and then I walk back with her. It’s not far.’

  She looked at her watch. ‘Where’s that woman with my parcel? I wanted to get to the pub earlier today because they’ve got a quiz on, and they get a good crowd in on quiz nights.’

  She stood up, signalling they should leave. Bea wanted to ask more questions but Della was fidgeting, evidently anxious to see the back of them.

  Once out in the evening air, Bea was abstracted, thinking over what they’d learned. Della’s niece sounded exactly like young Kylie from the pub near Denzil’s home. Chris began to whistle, strolling along with his hands in his pockets. Irritating boy!

  They rounded the corner to see a couple of louts peering in through the windows of Bea’s car. After the satnav, no doubt. They scattered when they saw Bea and Chris.

  Bea said, ‘My fault. I usually take the satnav out and hide it.’

  ‘What?’ said Chris, feeling in his pockets. ‘I did give you the keys, didn’t I?’

  ‘No,’ said Bea, suddenly anxious. ‘You were tossing them around in your hand when we walked along to Della’s.’

  He delved into his pockets, talking the while. ‘I put them in my right-hand jeans pocket, I know I did. That’s where I always keep keys.’ He produced a bunch of keys, but they were not Bea’s. ‘Those are mine for home.’ He tried three other pockets, without success. It was a warm night, and he wasn’t wearing a jacket.

  Bea tried to contain impatience. If he’d lost her keys, how would they get home tonight? If they left the car where it was, wouldn’t it be vandalized before dark, the satnav taken through smashed windows? And if she abandoned the car and took a taxi home, did she have enough cash on her to pay the driver, and how was she to get back into her house? She supposed she could phone Oliver to wait up for her – if he hadn’t gone out for the evening, which he often did. Or Maggie.

  ‘I remember now,’ said Chris. ‘I put them on the arm of the chair in which I was sitting at Della’s. Remember how it squeaked when I sat down? Reminded me of a Whoopee cushion.’

  Bea gritted her teeth. ‘Run back and see if she’s still at the house and not gone out to the pub yet. I’ll stay with the car.’ She wasn’t running anywhere.

  ‘Cool,’ he said, and to give him his due, he did break into a run, disappeared round the corner.

  And then returned. ‘What number house was it?’

  Bea contained annoyance with an effort and told him. ‘One forty-two.’ He disappeared again. Bea leaned against the car, angry with herself rather than with him. What had she been thinking of to entrust her keys to him? He had all the charm in the world and no common sense. No wonder Oliver wouldn’t sit in a car with him.

  Two hooded youths passed by on the other side of the road, and she felt herself to be under scrutiny. Ah, a woman of uncertain age, all alone, and stranded in darkest suburbia. If she took out her mobile phone to summon help, they’d want to take it off her, leap on her in a trice. They’d probably want her handbag, too.

  If only she had a second key to her car, but it was . . . where? In her mind’s eye, she could see it hanging up on a hook in the end cupboard in the kitchen.

  She was a walking invitation to muggers. Satnav, plus mobile phone, plus credit cards. This was a quiet road. It was too late for young children to be out, the breadwinners were all home from their offices, television programmes were well into their soaps. Should she go and knock on the nearest front door and ask for sanctuary?

  She told herself it was ridiculous; she was panicking for nothing.

  Dear Lord, I’d be grateful for some advice here. And protection. Those boys . . . No, I must not prejudge all young people who wear hoods. They are not all criminals. I’m sure they’re not. Only, I must admit to feeling afraid. Could you send a white knight on a charger to rescue me, please?

  She looked at her watch. Chris was
taking his time, wasn’t he?

  He came galloping round the corner and came to a halt beside her, breathing hard. ‘Whew. Out of . . . condition. She’s out. I rang and rang. The hall light’s on, and I thought I heard someone moving inside, but no. Probably a cat. She’s left the light on in the hall as a security measure while she’s out. Shall I go down to the pub – if I can find it – and ask for her?’

  Bea hadn’t noticed any sign of a cat in Della’s house, but what did she know about it?

  The two young hoodies passed by on the opposite side of the road again.

  Chris saw them, too. His fists clenched. ‘I don’t think we should stay here, do you? If I hadn’t let the battery on my mobile run down, I’d call Dad to help us out. What do you think?’

  With an ear-shattering roar, a sleek, powerful motorbike turned the corner and ran up the drive of a house opposite, before cutting off its engine. Two helmeted, leather-clad figures descended into the silence. The hoodies stopped in mid-slouch.

  Bea knew a white knight on a charger when she saw one. Crossing the road, she said, ‘Could you help me, please? We’re stranded and . . .’ She looked at the hoodies and then back at the black-clad figures. Her heart was beating so hard she could almost feel it, but she’d prayed and these people had arrived prompt on cue, so let’s have a little trust in God, right?

  The black-clad bikers took off their helmets to reveal one middle-aged, coffee-coloured man with a spreading girth and kindly eyes, and a blonde, teenage girl. Fake blonde, but pretty with it.

  ‘Oy, you! Young Darren! Jojo!’ The biker shouted at the hoodies, who hesitated but came forward. ‘Been worrying this lady?’

  ‘No, never. Not us. You know us.’

  ‘So I do.’ He turned back to Bea. ‘They’re harmless, most of the time. But need an eye kept on them. Run out of petrol, have you?’

  Bea explained that they’d called on someone in the next road, had left the car keys there by mistake, that the lady had probably gone down to the pub where her niece worked of an evening, but they didn’t know exactly where the Three Feathers might be.