False Diamond--An Abbot Agency Mystery Page 3

  A man got out of the taxi immediately ahead. Bea, who’d been getting the fare ready, reached for the door handle and called out, ‘Max!’

  He hadn’t heard her, of course.

  Another man followed Max out of the taxi, and the two of them stood on the pavement, arguing in amicable fashion about who should pay the fare.

  Benton.

  Oh. How stupid she’d been to think Max would miss an opportunity to bring the two of them together! She did not look forward to an evening spent at the mercy of two bullies.

  What to do? She said to the taxi driver, ‘I’m so sorry. I forgot that I have to make a phone call before I go into the restaurant. Would you turn into the next street and find somewhere to park for a few minutes?’

  She needed backup. For a moment she thought of Leon Holland and smiled. He’d alleviate the tension, but he hadn’t taken any part in that difficult family interview in her office, and it might not be a good idea to rely on him. Besides which, whatever he might say to the contrary, he was tied to the fortunes of Holland and Butcher because he wouldn’t want his sister and niece to be left in financial difficulty.

  She needed someone who could deal with the likes of Benton without causing a fuss.

  Her first husband, whom she’d divorced years ago for tom-catting around? They’d become good friends in recent years, but … no, he was out of town at the moment. Think again, Bea.

  Ah. She knew the very man. She used her mobile phone to contact CJ Cambridge, the grey mandarin who was a behind-the-scenes figure in some unspecified but powerful government department. She’d come to know him quite well in recent years. True, he had several times hinted he’d like to know her even better, but she could deal with that.

  ‘CJ? I’m in trouble. Are you free tonight?’

  CJ climbed into Bea’s taxi. ‘So, where’s the fire? Brief me.’

  She did.

  He nodded. ‘Ah. When it comes to finance, perhaps Max is not as clever as he thinks he is. Would you like me to play the part of an old friend who rather disapproves of your working when you could be at home soothing my brow and cooking me delicious meals?’

  ‘In your dreams.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Shall we make a move? We’re half an hour late. Not too bad.’ She paid off her cab with a good tip and allowed CJ to take her arm as they walked round the corner and into the foyer of the restaurant.

  Max and Benton were there, both looking at their watches. Max bounded to his feet. ‘Mother, you’re late!’

  ‘So sorry, dear,’ said Bea, offering her cheek for an air kiss. ‘I’d half promised to go out with CJ tonight and, when he reminded me, well, it seemed a good idea to invite him to join us, instead. So, how are you, and how is my beautiful daughter-in-law and my darling grandson?’

  Max was frowning even while he tried to smile a welcome. ‘Fine, they’re both fine. They’ll be joining me in a few days’ time. Good to see you again, Mr Cambridge. Do you know Benton, managing director of one of our most successful private companies? Just what the government ordered, right?’

  Benton was on his toes, looking from one of the party to the other, not sure what to make of this development. He thrust his hand out to Bea. ‘I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to this.’ He brayed his infamous laugh.

  Bea instructed herself not to wince.

  Benton turned to CJ. ‘An old family friend? What a pleasant surprise.’ Making it clear he wasn’t pleased at CJ’s presence. Clearly, he’d planned an evening with Bea cast as Piggy in the Middle.

  ‘Somewhat.’ CJ was giving nothing away.

  The maître d’ was hovering. ‘A table for four, sir?’

  Bea said, ‘I thought this place might be named after “A capella” for unaccompanied singing, but I don’t think so, do you?’

  The decor was white, black and red, with geometric shapes on the walls and a low level of lighting. She’d often wondered if low lighting was intended to hide poor cooking, but the tables seemed pretty full so perhaps it would be all right. The music was another matter: wailing pipes of some sort, not easy to identify. But at least the sound level was not ear-battering.

  ‘Specialities on the board,’ said the maître d’, seating them near the door to the kitchens and indicating a large blackboard on the wall, just too far away to read. ‘The menus … and the wine list.’ He handed a menu to each of them, but laid the wine list on the table before CJ, which amused Bea. There were times when CJ could be as unassuming as a dormouse, but tonight he exuded effortless authority. The waiter had got it right.

  Benton laid not one but two iPhones on the table and rubbed his hands. ‘Cold night. Brrr. Mrs Abbot, my better half tells me you’re not fond of lobster. Is that right?’

  ‘Indeed. It doesn’t agree with me.’ Bea was surprised that he’d remembered.

  ‘And you, Mr … er, Cambridge, is it? I was at Oxford myself.’ Benton treated them to another of his laughs.

  CJ’s left eyebrow rose one millimetre. It was clear to Bea, if not to Max, that CJ didn’t believe Benton had been at any of the more prestigious of the Oxford colleges. Possibly Oxford Brookes, the former Polytechnic? Not, Bea told herself, that there was anything wrong with Oxford Brookes. What was wrong was that Benton had tried to pass himself as a graduate of a top university and, failing to convince, had reinforced Bea’s poor opinion of him.

  Max laid his own iPhone on the table and attempted to take the wine list from CJ.

  CJ might be softly spoken but it would take a braver man than Max to wrench a wine list from his grasp. ‘A white wine to start with? It will be fish for you, Bea, won’t it? Not smothered in sauce. I see they do a sole meunière. I’ll have that, too.’

  ‘What, no starters?’ said Benton. ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘Something light, perhaps?’ said CJ. ‘Bea?’

  ‘Splendid,’ said Bea, squinting at the specialities board and failing to decipher the menu on it. ‘So long as it isn’t shellfish.’

  Max leaned back in his chair, almost toppling it over in an effort to read the menu on the board. ‘I fancy a steak. How about you, Benton?’

  ‘I’ll join you.’ Benton was eyeing CJ, trying to work out whether his inclusion in the party was going to work for or against him. ‘So, Mr Cambridge; what do you do for a living?’

  CJ’s nose twitched. In a cool voice, he said, ‘I suppose you could say I’m an … adviser.’

  ‘Hah! To one of the big companies, I trust. Much moolah, eh?’ He rubbed his thumb across his fingers, grinning.

  CJ allowed an expression of distaste to cross his face. He turned to Max. ‘I hear you’re being appointed to—’

  Max looked alarmed. ‘It’s all officially hush-hush at the moment.’ He shot a glance Bea couldn’t read at Benton.

  ‘Of course,’ murmured CJ, who didn’t make that sort of mistake by accident. Information of all sorts drifted CJ’s way. Bea wondered what he had heard. Whatever it was, it seemed to be something Max hadn’t seen fit to pass on to Benton. Max seemed annoyed that it had even been hinted at.

  Benton frowned. He was bright enough to know something was going on that he didn’t understand, but not bright enough to alter his plan of campaign. ‘Max and I have something to celebrate tonight. Mrs Abbot, I am so delighted you could join us. It will be in all the trade papers, of course, but you should know in advance that Max is being voted on to our board of directors. Where’s that wine waiter? We need some champagne!’

  Bea stilled. So this was what Sybil had been hinting at? She said, ‘My dear Max. I can’t keep up with all your little triumphs. Congratulations.’ Her tone was dismissive, and she saw his face fall. Now she came to see him up close, despite the poor lighting she couldn’t help notice that he looked somewhat strained.

  He was in trouble. Her stomach twisted. He was her one and only chick, and though she sometimes thought he lacked common sense – well, quite often she thought he could have done with sending to his room until he’d learned that
all that glitters is not gold – he was still her son and whatever touched him also touched her.

  ‘Brilliant news!’ Benton glistened with triumph. His teeth looked expensive.

  CJ gave a tiny cough. ‘I bet that set you back a few quid, Max.’

  Max moved uneasily in his chair. ‘Well, what are mortgages for?’

  Bea felt faint. She knew perfectly well how much of a mortgage Max still had on his flat near the river. She knew, because she’d helped him to buy it. Along with his parents-in-law. Her mouth was dry. ‘A second mortgage, I suppose?’

  ‘It will be a sound investment.’ But there was sweat on his brow. He wasn’t as happy about it as he pretended.

  Benton jumped in. ‘Why keep capital locked up in bricks and mortar when it could be set to work for you in the marketplace?’

  Bea tried to hide her unease. She looked around for the waiter. ‘I must admit I’m hungry. I was working late, there were interruptions, and I seem to have missed lunch. But no champagne for me, please. It doesn’t agree with me.’

  Benton treated her to a smile which looked sour. ‘So many things disagree with you, Mrs Abbot, don’t they? How unfortunate.’

  And that, my dears, is a threat.

  CJ put his hand over Bea’s, warning her not to reply. He said, ‘Well, what a happy occasion this has turned out to be. Don’t let’s talk business any more. We’re here to enjoy ourselves, aren’t we? Waiter!’

  Benton launched into a dissertation of how excellent his firm was, how there was nothing to compare with it on the market, how all their employees were as happy as sandboys and how soon they would be receiving medals from a certain ministry … at which Max tried not to look shifty.

  Did Benton also add that Mr Holland was about to be knighted by the Queen for services to industry? If so, Bea missed it, but she heard enough to make her heartily sorry she’d accepted Max’s invitation.

  The food was tolerable. The wine was overpriced. The music was turned up in volume as the evening wore on, so that eventually Bea received the impression that Benton was opening and shutting his mouth soundlessly, like a goldfish.

  She made an excuse to leave as soon as their coffee had been served. Max helped her on with her coat, saying in her ear that he’d be round to see her in the morning.

  Quite. She’d seen that one coming.

  Going home in the taxi, Bea said, ‘I think Max must have remortgaged his flat. I wonder if he’s also mortgaged the house his parents-in-law bought him in his constituency.’

  ‘Wouldn’t his wife have something to say about that?’

  ‘You’re right. Oh, that’s a relief! The deeds are in their joint names, because her parents helped them to buy. So she must have agreed to the mortgage, which means her parents won’t let him go to the wall. I can’t say I like it, but I suppose you’ll now say he’s a grown man and should be allowed to go to the dogs if he wishes. Unfortunately, I can’t agree. I’m his mother. However foolish he’s been, my instinct is to rescue him from his folly.’

  ‘Benton assures us that Holland and Butcher is an old, established firm with a good reputation.’

  ‘And a rubbish management. They’re doing all they can to create a merger with the Abbot Agency, so that I can wade in and sort them out.’

  ‘I don’t think Benton would want you to take over. He’d want to be top dog.’

  ‘So he would. Can you see me acting as his junior partner? Over my dead body.’

  He twitched a smile. No comment.

  She said, ‘In my book he’s a bully who’s terrorized his wife and upset his workforce. Oh, and I understand the balance sheet doesn’t look too good.’

  ‘Now, how did you come by that information?’

  ‘Never you mind. But I’d bet my life on it being accurate.’ She smiled and laid her own hand on his. ‘You are a good friend, CJ. Thanks for coming with me tonight. I’d have shamed Max by losing my temper and walking out if you hadn’t been there to keep me calm. Every instinct I have tells me that Benton’s a bad lot. He substituted zircon for a diamond in his wife’s engagement ring and told her he did it to pay off a debt to a previous girlfriend. And then, hello! Surprise! She died. Run over in the street.’

  ‘Ah. He reminds me of a man I knew once. Part Albanian, part Lithuanian. A toxic mixture.’

  ‘A con man? What happened to him?’

  ‘A life sentence. He was a murderer.’

  THREE

  Bea couldn’t go straight to bed – which is what she was longing to do – because as she put her key into the lock she could tell that all was not well within.

  For one thing, the alarm didn’t ping as she entered. She’d set it when she’d gone out, because there’d been no one else in the house. Maggie, her ugly-duckling-turned-swan of a protégée, must have returned from her evening out and turned the alarm off. Fine. But she ought to have reset it.

  Also, when Maggie got in the first thing she did was to turn on the television and the radio. Maggie seemingly couldn’t exist without noise, but there wasn’t a sound to be heard.

  There were no lights on in the living room but there was one in the kitchen, so that’s where Maggie must be. Only, without radio or TV?

  Bea called out, ‘I’m home!’ as she double-locked the front door and re-set the alarm.

  A muffled sound came from the kitchen. Bea braced herself. Maggie, in tears? A problem with her difficult, demanding mother? No, that couldn’t be it. Her mother had gone off on an expensive cruise to the West Indies.

  Was Maggie having trouble with her boyfriend, a delightful young man of mixed race? He had a good job and loved Maggie to distraction. What could have gone wrong there?

  Bea found Maggie in a huddle on a stool in the kitchen, her arms overflowing with Winston, their heavyweight cat. And yes, Maggie had been crying.

  Bea thought it best to ignore the tears. ‘Fancy a goodnight cuppa?’

  Another strangled sound. Maggie turned her head away from Bea.

  Bea forced herself to be cheerful. ‘Horrid night out, but at least the meal was tolerable. Tea, coffee or cocoa?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Maggie slid off the stool, dumped Winston on the floor and slipped past Bea. Usually, she took the stairs up to the top floor two at a time, thundering up them with no respect for other people’s need for peace and quiet. Peace and quiet didn’t often occupy the same world as Maggie.

  This time, nothing. Nada. Silence.

  A door closed quietly on the top floor.

  Maggie must be seriously upset to start behaving like an adult.

  Bea asked Winston, ‘Well, what was all that about?’

  The cat twined around her ankles. At least Bea knew what he wanted. She fed him, made herself a hot drink and went up to bed. She’d had enough for one day. Let tomorrow look after itself.

  Thursday morning

  Bea didn’t sleep well, but was up bright and early next morning. She couldn’t afford to lie in when there was work to be done, and she remembered all too clearly that Max had announced his intention of calling on her that day. She dressed with care and took trouble over her make-up, giving special attention to what her late husband had called her ‘eagle’ eyes. Bea believed that if she looked as if she were in control of a situation she was three-quarters there. She also believed that if she went down to the agency rooms looking like a slob, dressed in a tatty dressing-gown, down at heel bedroom slippers, with her hair all over the place, and wearing no make-up, then her staff would treat her accordingly.

  The house was too quiet. Judging by the dirty dishes left on the table – and not put into the dishwasher as usual – Maggie had got up at her usual early hour, had breakfast and left. All without turning the TV or the radio on?

  This was serious.

  The girl had left a note on the kitchen table to say that there was a crisis over a new kitchen being installed up in Hampstead, and that she wouldn’t be back till late.

  Bea fed Winston before she remembered Maggie had prob
ably already done just that. No wonder he was putting on weight, getting two breakfasts for the asking. And what, pray, was wrong with Maggie? No doubt she’d come clean in due course.

  A nice, quiet breakfast with the daily papers, without any necessity to make small talk or even listen to the radio. Winston, that enormous furry brute, purred loudly as he ate, and some blackbirds squabbled over the nuts Maggie had hung in the laburnum tree in the back garden. Otherwise, it was blissfully quiet …

  Except that the toaster had gone on the blink. Bea fiddled with the controls and out shot the toast, making her jump. Oh well. Perhaps that useful but not essential piece of equipment was due for early retirement? Put it on the shopping list.

  She developed a slight tension headache.

  Downstairs she went to greet the members of the staff as they trickled in. The day’s password was given out. Computers were booted up. Telephones began to ring. Queries were handed to Bea. The youngest member of the staff prepared to make the first cup of coffee of the day.

  Max arrived.

  Bea didn’t think he looked as if he’d slept well, either. ‘Coffee? It’ll be up in a minute.’

  He declined, leading the way into her office. ‘I thought you were a bit off last night, Mother. You didn’t make Benton feel very welcome.’

  Bea acknowledged that Max had made a good start. The best defence is always attack.

  ‘Really, dear? Perhaps because I didn’t know he was going to be there. I’m wondering if I should have my hearing tested. The music was a bit loud. But it was lovely of you to invite us out. I know CJ appreciated it, being on his own so much.’

  Max hadn’t come to talk about CJ. ‘The fact is …’ He didn’t know how to proceed.

  Bea helped him. ‘You’re going to be put on some important government committee or other? Something to do with British industry, encouraging small companies to show what they can do? With grants to give out to deserving cases?’

  He reddened. ‘CJ told you?’