False Step Page 21

  Nicole gave a harsh laugh. ‘Him and who else?’

  ‘I know. He’s a total pussy cat. You should have looked after him better.’

  ‘You must be joking. My sister holds all the cards.’

  ‘Oh no, she doesn’t. What about the oldest trick in the book?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Tell him you’re pregnant.’

  Nicole drew in her breath. ‘What? I couldn’t! Besides, he’d never believe me.’

  ‘Nonsense. Of course he would. Can’t you see him just swell with pride to think he’s going to be a father? It will go down well with the constituency, too, undercutting Lettice’s influence with your parents at one stroke.’

  ‘But …! No, I … oh! You’re right. My parents would love it …’

  ‘Mm,’ said Bea, considering her fingernails. Did this new colour really appeal? ‘Of course, it would mean a considerable sacrifice on your part. Would you mind?’

  ‘I … you mean, that I’d have to actually want to have a baby myself? Come off the pill and let him have regular sex? I thought we might have children some day but I hadn’t really considered … and to make it work, I’d have to pretend I’d forgotten to take the pill recently and …’ A change of tone. ‘I wonder! I did run out a couple of weeks ago and I’m not sure … I’ll have to look in the diary …’

  A long pause.

  Bea did a little praying. Dear Lord, I know what I’m suggesting is not at all ethical, and I’m not sure how you’ll look at it, but … it would keep the marriage going, wouldn’t it? I mean, Nicole is not exactly my favourite person in the whole world, and I’d never have chosen her for a daughter-in-law if it had been left to me, but Max does seem to love her, and if this works out then I promise always to look for the best in her in future, amen.

  Nicole said, ‘I’ll have to think about it.’ And put the phone down.

  As did Bea. She discovered that she’d been crossing her fingers so hard that it took an effort to prise them apart.

  Dear Lord, forgive me if I’ve done the wrong thing. I’m in such a muddle about so much.

  She remembered Hamilton’s daily prayer, something about telling God he was going to be very busy that day but that if he forgot God, would God please not forget him. That made her giggle, if weakly. That’s it, Lord. I’m muddling through this and that, and I could do with some backup. If you can spare the time.

  And now what?

  There’d been some coming and going in the background. The front door opening and shutting, people going up and down the stairs. The workmen were leaving for the day. Oliver was talking to someone in the hall. Was that Maggie’s voice? No, just a couple of workmen using four-letter words as they trampled down the carpet to get to the front door.

  Bea went into the living room to find Max striding up and down, talking to someone on his newly-recovered mobile. It sounded as if he were being told off, and not enjoying it. Well, who would?

  When he finished the call, Bea said, ‘I’ve been speaking to Nicole. She doesn’t know you’ve recovered the stolen goods and she’d really like to hear from you.’

  ‘What? After everything that’s happened?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Bea, crossing her fingers again. She left him fingering his mobile because she could hear Miss Brook coming down the stairs.

  Miss Brook was wearing her outdoor coat, and inserting herself into a pair of leather gloves. ‘Mrs Abbot, a word if I may?’

  ‘I was just coming up to speak to you. I know the circumstances are far from ideal, but would it be possible for you to help us out again tomorrow?’

  ‘Naturally,’ said Miss Brook. ‘I understood there’s still a great deal to do and a funeral to go to.’ She exited over the carpet without holding on to anything. Mary Poppins, here we come, thought Bea.

  Matthew’s funeral. A depressing thought. Bea wondered how Matthew’s one-time agent Sylvester had been getting on with his plans to give Matthew a better send-off than the one which had been planned by his nearest and dearest. Bea used her mobile to get through to him, half expecting to hear that he might not be up to attending the funeral himself. He was huffing and puffing as he answered the phone, and she could imagine him heaving himself forward in his big chair to stub out a cigarette as he reached for the phone.

  ‘Sylvester, my dear friend, how are you today? Ready to run a marathon tomorrow? Did you get my message?’

  He wheezed out a laugh. ‘Bea, my darling girl, I’m sorry I haven’t rung you before. I’ve been that busy, haven’t had time to turn round. The old ticker was playing up yesterday, but I put the word out and there’ll be a goodish turnout for Matt tomorrow. Would you believe, there isn’t going to be an organist? And nobody to officiate from his church, either? Just someone the crem pays to say a few words over the coffin.

  ‘I got on to the funeral directors, said I’d be responsible for an organist at the very least and he had the nerve to say we’ve only got a short slot and there won’t be time for music! There isn’t even going to be a proper printed order of service. What a shabby do, eh?’

  ‘You can make up for it later with a memorial service.’

  ‘We’ll do that, arrange a proper send-off for him later on, at the church, with his own minister and an organ and soloists and readings and everything done properly. But when I get hold of the ghastly stepdaughter—’

  ‘Hold on, Sylvester. There’s something you need to know. Damaris Frasier died in an accident on Tuesday, going in to work.’

  ‘What? What was that?’

  Bea repeated her words. ‘Now I’ve been in touch with her mother, Gail—’

  ‘Bossy-boots with a cut-glass voice?’

  ‘That’s her. I think she must have mellowed over the years because I like her very much. She still has a lot of feeling for Matthew. She’ll be there tomorrow, and after that she’s got to bury her daughter.’

  Sylvester’s breathing became even more laboured. ‘What a carry-on …! Then who’s paying the bills tomorrow?’

  ‘I suppose Derek Frasier, Damaris’s husband. I don’t think you’ll find him a sympathetic soul. What’s more, there’s no get together been arranged for after the funeral.’

  ‘How sad. How dreary. How unlike everything that Matthew stood for.’ He shut off the phone.

  ‘Problems?’ Her ex, Piers, appeared in the doorway. ‘Oliver let me in. I’m on my way somewhere but it doesn’t matter if I turn up late, or not at all come to think of it. I’ve Matthew on my mind. What’s the latest for tomorrow? Would you like a lift to the funeral, or have you arranged something already?’

  ‘Oh, Piers. Such a muddle.’ She held out both hands to him in an impulsive gesture which she regretted as soon as she’d done it.

  He took her hands and pressed them before releasing her. He was wearing a good-looking black silk suit over a sage-green silk shirt, no tie. He was obviously due at some important function. ‘Tell Daddy, then.’

  She began to laugh, at herself and at the absurdity of the situation. Whatever had she been thinking of, to reach out to Piers like that? Luckily he’d turned the situation off into comedy. ‘Have you a half-hour or so? Do you want some supper? I think something’s in the oven.’ She called out, ‘Oliver, is Maggie around? Has she prepared anything for supper?’

  Oliver appeared at the top of the stairs and made his way down. ‘Maggie says she’s coming and that supper’s up.’ He, also, was dressed for a night out. Piers led the way to the kitchen as Maggie clattered down the stairs after Oliver.

  Bea thought Maggie had been crying lately, but she’d made up her eyes with bold black strokes around them and used a sparkly eye shadow, so it wasn’t easy to tell. She was dressed from head to foot in black – not from Bea’s wardrobe for a change – and had brushed and gelled her hair into a wild bush.

  She dived into the oven to draw out a large casserole and plonk it on the table. ‘Everyone hungry? Aaah! Where did that cat come from?’ Winston was first to the table. Maggi
e scooped him up, kissed the top of his head and put him on the floor.

  Piers seated himself. ‘On the pull tonight, Maggie?’

  She stuck out a hip, striking a pose. ‘Fending them off, I am.’

  Oliver said, ‘It’s all right. I’ll look after her.’

  Maggie slapped the back of his head. ‘In your dreams, brother.’

  Oliver said, ‘Grrr!’ He reached up and behind himself for a bottle of a hot sauce which only he liked.

  Bea opened her eyes wide. When Maggie had first brought the bedraggled boy to the house, he’d been undersized and looked twelve years old at most. Going daily to the gym and eating Maggie’s meals must have caused a growth spurt for Bea knew he couldn’t have reached that shelf when he arrived. Now that she had a chance to look at him properly, she realized he now appeared older than his actual age. The lines of his face had hardened, the bones becoming more apparent. He met her eye and sent her half a smile before holding his plate up to Maggie to be filled. If Bea read his attitude correctly, he was telling her that he was finding life difficult but he was coping.

  Piers murmured, ‘How quickly children grow up nowadays.’

  The front door banged. Max on his way out. Bea did hope he’d contact Nicole. She thought there was a fifty-fifty chance of a happy ending there.

  Bea’s nose twitched as she savoured the aroma from Maggie’s casserole. She was going to enjoy this. ‘Time for a debrief after supper, everyone? I want to make a list of all the odd things that have been happening. Each one can be explained away pretty well, but taken as a whole … this business stinks.’

  ‘This is what I like about working here,’ said Oliver, mounding vegetables on to his plate. ‘Stretching myself. Dealing with oddities. Having to use my brains.’

  Piers took almost as big a helping as Oliver. ‘Is there the slightest piece of evidence to prove there’s been some hanky-panky? Eccentricity, yes. Suspicious circumstances, no. You can’t cry wolf to the police just because you smell rotten fish. The police take a dim view of people who waste their time that way.’

  ‘Believe me,’ said Bea, ‘I am struggling hard to pretend that all is well. It’s like standing on shifting sand. If I could find one bit of evidence … it’s so frustrating … I know something’s not right.’

  ‘Proof, o Peg o’ my heart!’

  Bea pulled a face at him. ‘Oliver, you copied the hard drive off Matthew’s computer. We couldn’t find a diary for him earlier but …’

  Piers pointed a fork loaded with food at her. ‘That’s no reason to suspect someone’s been breaking the law.’

  ‘No, but … I could do with getting a better picture of who visited him and when. Oliver, you said he kept a note of his appointments on the computer. Would you run them off for me for, say, a couple of months before his death and the month which follows? Oh, and are there any pictures of him on his website? Preferably Matthew as Matthew and not in character. Oh, and preferably with his accompanist.’

  ‘All the pics were of him in drag. I don’t think there were any of him as Matthew Kent. No pics of anyone else that I can remember.’

  ‘Well, let me have what you can.’

  ‘Will do.’ Oliver scraped his plate clean and eyed up the leftovers. ‘Any chance of seconds?’

  Friday morning

  A dull day. A mountain of work came in through the mail and on email. Miss Brook, luckily, liked a challenge and though Oliver said he wanted to drive Bea to the crematorium, she left him behind to deal with their bread and butter work. Maggie had an argy-bargy with the electrician, reiterated that they would do better to get rid of her office carpet – the one now in the hall – and strip and polish the existing floorboards, before shooting off down the hill to check on the job she was project-managing.

  Bea dreaded the prospect of yet more dust circulating through the house, which it would if they had the floorboards downstairs stripped and polished, but decided to let Maggie have her way. Bea told herself that Maggie probably knew better than she about how to make the refurbished offices look good. At the same time Bea sincerely hoped that after this Maggie wouldn’t turn her energies to refurbishing the rest of the house; Bea liked it just as it was. Well, maybe a quick lick of paint on some of the woodwork but … no! She’d had enough of workmen around the place, and for the moment she was going to forget about that dicey guttering at the back of the house.

  The Green Girls arrived to do a quick clean-up – no sign of Florrie yet. Bea checked with Gail to see if she were all right and wanted a lift to the crem. Gail said she’d take her own car, just in case.

  Bea didn’t find it easy to get ready in her bedroom while Miss Brook was using the phone, but with some give and take they managed it. Bea took the keys to Matthew’s house out of the drawer and put them into the most businesslike of her handbags before checking her appearance in her full-length mirror. She was wearing dark grey today; she didn’t like herself in black. Hamilton hadn’t liked her in black, either. A severely-cut dark-grey suit was her compromise for funerals; she wasn’t a relative or even a friend of the deceased. A soft pink scarf relieved the sobriety of the suit. She checked that she had her reading glasses, notebook, make-up bag, car keys and house keys; all present and correct.

  At the last minute she took Matthew’s house keys out of her handbag and dropped them back into the drawer of her dressing table. She wasn’t sure why she wasn’t taking them with her. She had no right to hang on to them. But there it was; something in her rebelled from handing the Frasiers an undeserved pot of honey.

  She scolded herself as she drove out to the crematorium. Who was she to decide who did or did not deserve to inherit the house? It was all wrong of her. She ought to turn round and take the road back to her house to retrieve the keys.

  Of course, that might make her late for the funeral, and she didn’t want to do that, did she? Sylvester needed her to be there. Piers expected to meet her there. As did Gail. Each in their own way was grieving for Matthew and needed Bea’s support.

  Really, she was going out of curiosity. A poor excuse.

  Dear Lord, if I am doing the wrong thing, then help me to keep my mouth shut, sit in the back row and not say anything to upset anybody. Let everything be peaceful and quiet. Let everything be done decently and in good order. For Matthew’s sake, amen.

  There were a lot of cars parked at the crematorium, but Bea found a space for herself in the end. Was the right word a ‘fleet’ of cars? A ‘convoy’? Or, possibly, a ‘hiring’? The word ‘hiring’ occurred to Bea because a great many of the cars were the sort which celebrities arrived in for film premieres and other public jamborees. Also among them was the Frasiers’ ancient and possibly unroadworthy car. She found herself checking that his tax disc was up to date, and was irritated to find that it still had a month to run.

  Bea made her way in to the chapel, half recognizing some well-known faces. The coffin was already in place; a simple affair, not to say cheap. There were no flowers on it. There were no flowers anywhere. Bea remembered Matthew’s patio, brilliant with red geraniums, and Goldie’s remark that he’d loved flowers. Bea had never met Matthew in life, but she sorrowed gently for him because there were none to mark his final journey.

  The chapel was pretty full; a good crowd of well-dressed people, mostly men, but with one or two women as well. Piers was sitting near the front. Bea half lifted a hand to him, until she saw he was paying close attention to a youngish, well-dressed woman on his left, and had no eyes for anyone else. Tomcats didn’t change their ways, did they! Bea found a seat near the back and looked around her.

  She saw Sylvester puffing and panting on his way to the front, leaning on the arm of the son who now ran the agency. The Frasiers, husband and son, were in the opposite front row, next to a depressed looking man in heavy-rimmed glasses.

  A woman in black was sitting next to Derek. Presumably this was the sister, Trixie, who’d worked for the solicitor who’d done Matthew’s and Damaris’s wills? The
one who was going to move in with Derek and Tom? Judging by the way she kept bobbing her head down to the right, Trixie had brought her children with her. Not suitable, thought Bea. And then, Ah well, what is suitable for children these days?

  Gail had seated herself near the back on the other side to Bea. She was wearing a good black suit, but no hat. Gail had her eyes down, making herself small and unobtrusive. She didn’t make eye contact with Bea.

  There was a stir in the doorway, and a woman with bright hair under a fashionable hat made an entrance, followed by the stockily-built man who’d accompanied her on her foray to try to remove furniture from Matthew’s house earlier.

  Goldie, Matthew’s third, was all in black; skirt too short, heels too high, perfume too strong. With some difficulty she carried in an enormous sheaf of red roses, which she placed tenderly on the coffin. She stood back – a wonderfully theatrical moment – and produced a handkerchief, which she pressed carefully to the outer corner of one eye. Sylvester half rose in his seat and with an ironical bow, gestured that she and her companion should sit beside him.

  Some recorded music was being played. Bach? A reasonable choice. The usual service books were available, but no order of service.

  A subdued murmuring filled the chapel. Bea glanced at her watch. Wasn’t it time to start?

  A solitary woman appeared in the doorway and stood there, hesitating. She was in her thirties, white-faced, podgy-faced, with a sharp nose. She was wearing a black coat that reached down to her ankles, and black boots. Neither of them new. Her hair had been dyed black, parted and hung loose on either side of her face, but her eyebrows were barely existent. Was this the new heiress?

  The latecomer appeared surprised to see so many people in the chapel. She turned on her heel as if to retreat but thought the better of it. She stalked down the aisle to accost the minister, who had just appeared from the vestry and was in the act of turning off the taped music.

  Derek Frasier got up from his seat and joined them in a short conversation. No doubt he was as much taken aback at the numbers who’d turned up, as the newcomer. Derek returned to his seat, and the woman in black stood aside to let the minister address the congregation.