False Pretences Read online

  She hit the steering wheel with her fist. If she couldn’t live at the Manor, no one else would. Suppose . . .?

  Yes. The cleaner wouldn’t have finished yet. Suppose . . .

  She smiled. She began to plan what she should do when she got home. And after that, she’d pay a visit to the interfering Mrs Abbot.

  SEVENTEEN

  Friday evening

  Back home, Bea didn’t know what to do first. She must warn Maggie to be careful, see what problems might be lurking downstairs for the agency, organize something for supper, restrain herself from ringing up the police every five minutes to see if they’d arrested Honoria yet.

  A series of images kept flashing through her head. First was that of a taffy-headed girl lying on the floor with her head beaten in. That would be Milly, Della’s niece, who had narrowly missed being killed the previous night. Or was it young Kylie from the pub near Honoria’s home? Both had given Honoria cause to wish them harm.

  Then came another image, even more disturbing. Nicole, reading a love letter from Max to her sister. Another image, even worse: Nicole, reclining on Bea’s couch, surrounded by shopping, weeping, while Honoria crept up behind her, arm raised to strike.

  Bea held her head in both hands and shook it. She closed her eyes. She was overtired, over-imaginative. Over the hill. Too old for this lark.

  She reached for the phone and dialled the local police station. Was told DI Warner was not available. She asked if he’d gone out to arrest someone and was given the brush off. Of course they wouldn’t be able to tell her that, even if it were true.

  She paced the floor. Stood in front of the portrait which Piers had painted of her beloved husband, and stared at it. The man in the picture stared back at her; a kindly, intelligent, loving and caring gaze.

  But he was long gone, and she was on her own.

  She went down the stairs to the agency rooms. Cynthia and Miss Brook were packing up for the day. She tried to smile, to behave normally. Wanted to scream.

  ‘How are you managing? I shouldn’t have left you alone all day, but . . .’

  ‘That’s all right, Mrs Abbot. We quite understand,’ said Miss Brook. ‘There was a little problem this afternoon when Cynthia was due to attend an interview in the City, but she decided against going so that we could keep on top of things here.’

  With a shock, Bea remembered that Cynthia had said she was looking for another job and had some interviews lined up. Without thinking it through, Bea said, ‘I’m extremely glad to hear you didn’t go, Cynthia. Instead, I wonder if you would consider a full-time job here? I know it’s not as glamorous as working for some city magnate, but . . .’

  ‘I was hoping you’d ask,’ said Cynthia. ‘I like finding the right jobs for people and making people’s lives so much easier. And it’s only a hop and a skip from the little flat that my cousin wants me to share with her, and not much further from my niece, the one who’s expecting soon. I’d as soon not work in the City, come to think of it, with all their scandalous goings on, pension funds going missing and everyone getting bonuses that they’ve no right to in my book.’

  Miss Brook inclined her head by way of approval. ‘I was telling Cynthia that there’s a nice little cafe across the road where we could have our lunches when the weather gets cooler, very near the library, and there’s more than enough work for the two of us to do. In fact, when Mr Oliver goes to university, I’m wondering whether we could perhaps take on a part-timer, someone who can spell us for holidays. It’s no use saying that Maggie can fill in, because she doesn’t find the computer compatible with her nature, and she’s certainly more use going out and about and dealing with workmen than she is here, forgetting to save documents and leaving the filing in a mess.

  ‘We’ve talked it over, Cynthia and I, and we’ve decided we’ll continue working in this room so that if we have to consult, we can do so with ease. We’ll leave Oliver’s room for Maggie to spread herself out in. And if we do get a temp in at any time, then we can easily make room for her in here as well.’

  ‘You have it all arranged,’ said Bea, laughing because everything was falling into place, and at the same time wanting to cry at the thought of Oliver leaving. Had he really discussed leaving with Miss Brook already? She pulled her mouth back into a smile. ‘Cynthia, shall we have a quiet word in my office, start the paperwork?’

  And explain it all to Oliver as soon as possible.

  ‘Is that the police station? Has Detective Inspector Warner returned yet? No? Oh. Will you tell him I called? Mrs Abbot. Yes, I rang earlier.’

  She put down the phone, tried another number. ‘Is that The Feathers pub? Would it be possible to speak to Milly? I believe she may be staying with you because of the fire at—’

  ‘Who is this?’ A woman’s voice, middle-aged and smoky. The landlady?

  ‘It’s Mrs Abbot here. I called on her aunt last night. We – that is, my companion and I, a neighbour from the next road – called the fire brigade and the police.’

  ‘She’s back there, at the house now. With the police. My husband’s gone with her because she’s wrecked, poor kid. He’ll bring her back here soon. Who shall I say called?’

  ‘Mrs Abbot. Did the police warn her that she might be in danger, too? That whoever killed her aunt might be after her as well?’

  ‘Really? Whatever for?’

  ‘We think she and her aunt may have upset someone at the Trust where she used to work. You know what happened to Della, and I’m worried the same thing might happen to Milly. The police haven’t said anything to you about it?’

  ‘Not a thing. Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. The police are going to arrest the woman responsible, but until they do, would it be possible for you to keep an eye on Milly?’

  ‘There was a man at the Trust that she liked, but he died.’

  ‘Yes. But his wife is on the warpath. It would be awful if something were to happen to Milly, too.’

  ‘I’ll have a word with my husband about it. Who did you say you are?’

  ‘Mrs Abbot. I’ll give you my phone number, just in case. Do you have a pen?’

  Next was Kylie. Except she didn’t have a phone number for Kylie. What was the name of the pub she’d worked at? Bea couldn’t remember that, either. She told herself to hold it together. She was not going to go to pieces. No.

  Think, woman! Oliver took us to the pub which was at the bottom of the hill, within spitting distance of the manor. She could visualize its frontage, but for the life of her, couldn’t remember its name. The Chequers? No. Cross Keys? No.

  She went round the house, closing and locking windows in spite of the heat. She closed and locked the grilles which had been fitted over the windows overlooking the garden at the back. She double-locked the front door and set the alarm, which she didn’t normally do till after dark.

  It was still very hot. Sultry, almost. What should she cook for supper? If anything?

  Where was Oliver? She went downstairs. The agency rooms were empty. So where was he?

  And where was Maggie? Had something happened to them? Had Honoria caught up with them somewhere? Because if so, there was no point in preparing supper for three. What a stupid, stupid thought!

  She was wittering like an old woman, jumping at shadows.

  Someone tried the front door. Someone with a key. The relief! It must be Oliver or Maggie.

  Thank the Lord.

  It was both.

  ‘Why’s the front door double-locked?’ said Oliver. The alarm went off, and he killed it. He laughed. ‘Overdoing it a bit, aren’t we?’

  Bea tried to laugh, too. ‘I expect so. Just taking precautions. Maggie, are you all right?’

  ‘I suppose.’ The girl was avoiding Bea’s eye. Unusually subdued.

  Bea decided not to probe. ‘How did it go today? Did the electrician turn up?’

  ‘Oh. Him. Yes, eventually. I think I’ll have a shower. I’m a ball of sweat.’ She went off up the stairs with
out a backward look.

  Oliver was already in the kitchen, searching for a cold drink. ‘I dropped the stuff off at the police station. The DI was there, and we had a good chat. I gave him the stuff, like you said. What’s for supper?’

  Bea bit back the words, They told me he was out! She said, ‘Something light, I think. Chicken breasts, salad, baked potatoes.’ She started to prepare the food. Her hands were trembling.

  ‘Not afraid of Honoria, are you?’ Oliver upended an empty carton of orange juice. ‘They’ll get her long before she can think about revenging herself on us. It makes me laugh to think how Denzil scuppered all her plans.’

  ‘She does frighten me, and if you’ve any sense at all – which I doubt – then you’d be frightened, too.’

  ‘They’re on to her now.’

  ‘There’s many a slip.’

  Bea cut herself, slicing tomatoes, and ran her hand under the tap. The cold water stung. Oliver wasn’t watching. He had his mobile out, was leaving the room.

  Bea closed her eyes, tried to still the jitters. Dear Lord, I know there’s no sense in panicking. My imagination’s running away with me, that’s all. I hope. Could you give us a little extra attention this evening, please? Sorry to disturb, if you’re busy with big wars and famines and all sorts of dreadful things happening all over the planet, but . . . Just a passing thought. I know you can put a protective apron round a million people and we’re only three . . . Well, a few more than three if you count in all the other men and women who Honoria might wish to harm.

  Oliver put his head back round the door. ‘Chris says is there enough supper for him as well? Then we’re all going on to a party at one of his friends’ house, if that’s all right with you and you don’t mind being left alone?’ His voice changed. ‘Oh. I can see you do mind. Well, that’s all right. What’s one more party, anyway? I’ll stay.’

  She found a sticking plaster and put it round her forefinger. ‘Of course you must go. Maggie can keep me company.’

  ‘She’s invited, too. You don’t really mind being on your own, do you? I wouldn’t suggest going out if it weren’t that the DI said everything was under control.’

  Did she believe everything was under control? No. Every instinct said she was being hunted down at this very minute. She breathed deeply. There was absolutely no point letting fear take over. ‘What was the nameof the pub where we met Kylie? I’d be happier if I knew she’d been warned to stay away from dark corners.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ll give them ring, see if she’s there, if it’ll make you feel better.’ His tone was so patronizing that she wanted to scream, but she didn’t. She put the chicken breasts on to a baking tray and shoved them into the oven to cook. She wondered about having a slug of sherry to calm her nerves but decided against it. Went back to preparing baked potatoes and a salad.

  Oliver burst back into the room. ‘Guess what? There’s been a fire at Honoria’s! Yes, really. Four fire engines, the police, ambulances, everything. They’re all out in the garden at the back of the pub, getting an eyeful. This dry weather, all that timber framework, it must have gone up like a torch. Kylie’s not at the pub, though. Got a cleaning job somewhere, helping her mum. Oh.’ A change of tone. ‘Didn’t Kylie say her mum worked up at the Manor, cleaning?’

  Bea put both hands over her heart. ‘I wouldn’t think she’d be cleaning this late on a Friday afternoon. But perhaps you’d better give your DI a ring, see if he knows. See if Kylie’s safe.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t she be?’ But he was frowning as he punched numbers . . . and got no joy. He shut off his mobile. ‘The DI’s not available. I expect he’s on his way out there.’

  ‘Try the pub again. Explain that we’re worried about Kylie, that she might be up at the Manor.’

  ‘You said—’

  ‘I know what I said. Just do it.’

  He punched more numbers, waited for someone to pick up, which they did eventually. Bea unlocked and threw open the back door, gasping for fresh air. Winston was laid out in a shady spot in the garden but managed to lift his head when he smelled chicken being cooked.

  Oliver said, ‘Yes,’ and, ‘No, of course not,’ and then his tone changed. ‘Hi, Kylie. How are you doing? Great dramas at your end, I hear.’ Bea could hear an excited girl’s voice on the phone. Eventually Oliver glanced at Bea, eyebrows raised, and said, ‘Yes, I suppose it would be worth another tenner to get the low-down, as you put it.’

  Bea nodded, and Oliver settled down to listen, making appropriate soothing noises at regular intervals. Finally he said, ‘Well, how about that! And yes, I’ll put the money in the post to you tomorrow if you’ll give me your address.’ Bea handed him the back of the shopping list they kept on the notice board, and he scribbled away on it. And then shut off the phone.

  ‘As you’ve gathered, Kylie’s safe. The fire’s out, though one engine’s staying on to make sure the blaze doesn’t start up again overnight. The kitchen wing is a write-off, but they were just in time tosave the rest. Some of the firemen have just dropped by the pub for a spot of lubrication, and they brought Kylie back with them. She’s in shock. She was on her way up there when she saw the fire and rang for help on her mobile. It’s a good thing she did, because otherwise it would have swept through the whole house.’

  ‘The police were there, and ambulances?’

  ‘Poor old Honoria. They don’t know how the fire started yet, but it seems she was sitting in her car in the stable yard, and it was caught up in the blaze. It started in the kitchen, they think. The firemen have been through the rest of the house, but there was no one else there. One body, removed by ambulance.’

  ‘How very odd. Do they think Honoria fired the place herself?’

  ‘What else? She must have got word that the police were on to her – through Trimmingham, I suppose – and decided to kill herself and burn down her beloved Manor at the same time. I must say, it’s a relief to know she’s dead.’

  Bea sank on to a stool. Honoria was dead? It was hard to take it in. Bea told herself she ought to be feeling a great surge of relief, but all she could think of was how unexpected it was. Now why was that? Because . . . because she wouldn’t have thought Honoria was the sort to commit suicide or to be careless with matches.

  Bea wondered how she’d done it. Had she dowsed the back quarters of the Manor with petrol, and then poured it all over herself and the car? Bea shuddered. Don’t think about it. Nasty.

  Be thankful, she said to herself. The cloud has lifted, etcetera.

  Thank you, Lord. Deep thanks.

  She supposed she’d begin to feel better soon. She didn’t rebound from fear as quickly as the youngsters did. Chris wandered in, sniffing the air, and Bea turned her attention back to providing supper for them all.

  There was a lot of talk across the dinner table about the party. Maggie was in a sombre mood and decided not to go, but Oliver and Chris left together. Bea double-locked and put the chain on the front door, laughing at herself for shutting the stable door after the horse had bolted, but felt safer when she’d done so; and then she locked the back door as well.

  She helped Maggie to clear away the supper things and start the dishwasher.

  Maggie was abstracted, monosyllabic. It looked as if she’d begun to get ready for the party and then changed her mind. Her eyes were made up with a purple shadow that sparkled, and she’d gelled her hair into spikes, but she wasn’t wearing any lipstick and had pulled on an oversize white cotton T-shirt and cut-off jeans. Of course, youngsters often did go toparties in those clothes, but Maggie went in for lurid colours and spandex when she was in party mood.

  Bea made some good coffee – how many cups had she had that day? – and set one down in front of Maggie. ‘Want to tell me about it?’

  Maggie gave a long sigh. ‘I don’t know that talking’s much help. I rang Zander today to see if he’d settled in all right. He said he had, though his new place didn’t sound ideal to me. He asked if I wanted to go out for a drink
or a walk or something and I said yes. And then I rang back to say I’d changed my mind.’

  She sat on her stool, hunching over the coffee, both hands around the cup. ‘Why can’t things stay the same? I’m going to miss him something chronic.’

  Was she referring to Zander or to Oliver’s going to university?

  ‘I know.’ Bea sat next to Maggie and put her arm around the girl’s shoulders.

  ‘I mean, we were all doing all right, weren’t we? He liked the work, and he’s got friends here and, well, everything.’

  She was talking about Oliver. Probably. ‘Mm. But he’s growing up. He ought to go to university. And yes, I’m going to miss him something chronic, too.’ It was hurting her, too . . . but she knew she must let him go.

  ‘What are we going to do without him in the agency?’

  ‘I’ve offered Cynthia a full-time job, and we’ll probably need to take on a part-timer as well, when Oliver’s gone. He’s been doing the work of three, hasn’t he? We’ll adapt, Maggie. You’ve already outgrown your original job here, anyway. You’re out and about, bossing workmen around and consulting with architects. A far cry from being our receptionist. Why, one of these days you’re going to need your own personal assistant to help you out.’

  Maggie spluttered into a laugh. ‘Go on!’

  ‘No, really. When Oliver goes, you’re to have his office as your own, and we’ll employ more people as we need them.’

  Maggie sniffed. ‘He doesn’t even know how to boil an egg.’

  Bea wanted to push the box of tissues nearer to the girl but decided against it. Maggie didn’t like people to see when she cried. ‘I expect he’ll be in a hall of residence at first. You and I will have to give him some basic lessons in cookery in the holidays. We’ll keep his room for him, of course, so he’ll always have a base to return to.’

  ‘You’re serious about him taking your name?’

  ‘He needs someone in his corner for the next time he’s hauled in by the police.’