False Alarm Read online

  Bea’s hand hovered over the telephone and withdrew. What could she possibly say to Mrs Emerson, even supposing it was the same woman?

  Dear Mrs Emerson. Can you give me the low-down on Lady O? You aren’t acquainted with her? Oh dear. Sorry to have troubled you.

  Think again. She dialled. ‘Is that Mrs Emerson? This is Mrs Abbot here, of the Abbot Agency. You may remember using our services some years ago?’

  ‘Indeed, yes. Our golden wedding celebration.’ The cracked voice of an older woman.

  Relief! It was the same woman.

  ‘Happy days, long gone. But . . .?’ Mystified.

  ‘I’m so sorry to trouble you, but I had occasion to visit Lady Ossett today and noticed a For Sale board outside the flats. As it happens we have a client who has asked us to keep an eye out for a place in your area . . .’ It was quite true that they were occasionally asked to do this for a client now and then, but such queries were always passed on to a reputable estate agency. ‘I thought it might suit him very well, only I was disturbed by some hints that Lady Ossett dropped about vandalism . . .?’

  ‘Far be it from me to discourage your client from considering the purchase of a flat in our building, although I must warn you that considerable redecoration will be needed, as nothing has been done to the ground floor apartment since the occupant, who was an old lady who’d lived there for ever, died. As for the other, I understand it will need considerable refurbishment. The tenant has gone completely to pieces since his partner – if that’s what they call them nowadays – walked out on him. I’m not sure that that one is officially up for sale yet, but since the man’s lost his job, perhaps it will come on the market soon as well.’

  Bea made notes. One flat was for sale because someone had died, and the tenant of the other one had got the sack so would also have to sell.

  ‘They will both need updating, if that’s what they call it nowadays, which, as I said to my dear friend Carrie, Mrs Kempton, who lives above me, means that they will tear out a perfectly good bathroom and kitchen, cover every surface in black marble, put in a wet room instead of a shower, not to mention a false ceiling and dotting it with those tiny lights that you can’t get at to replace when they burn out.’

  ‘I know they can be difficult—’

  ‘Difficult? If my husband were only alive, God bless him, he’d have dealt with them in next to no time. As it is—’

  ‘I sympathize. I found all that side of things hard after my own dear husband died.’

  ‘Ah. You understand, then.’

  Bea took a deep breath. ‘May I come round to see you some time, Mrs Emerson? Perhaps you could introduce me to Mrs Kempton, too. And maybe the man whose flat is up for sale? What number is that flat, by the way?’

  ‘He’s opposite Carrie, at number eleven.’

  ‘So she’s below Ms Lessbury, is that right?’ said Bea, making notes.

  ‘No, indeed.’ A definite coolness. ‘Ms Lessbury is at number seven, but I doubt if you’d find her disengaged from teatime onwards, if you understand my French.’

  Bea grinned. So Ms Lessbury was known to be a lady of afternoon appointments, was she? ‘Well, if the apartments are in reasonably good condition, and we can discount the unfortunate happenings which Lady Ossett told me about, then my client might well be interested in having a look.’

  ‘Hm. I wouldn’t take much notice of what Lady Ossett says!’ Scorn in the voice? Lady O was no fan of Mrs Emerson’s? Or vice versa? ‘Well, shall we say ten thirty tomorrow morning? I don’t sleep well nowadays and it takes me a while to face the day, so Mrs Kempton usually joins me for a coffee mid-morning.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Emerson. Ten thirty would be splendid.’

  Bea put the phone down and started to make a chart of who lived where in the flats and what sort of person they might be. She told herself that it was too soon to generalize, but a picture was emerging of a number of single men and women each occupying a two or three bedroom flat. Bea told herself there was nothing unusual about that, but for some reason she had a sense of disquiet about the situation.

  After a lot of thought, she rang CJ to take him up on his offer of supper. Well, why not? At least she could talk through her reservations about Holland and Butcher with him – and avoid the subject of Sir Lucas and his near encounter with death.

  FIVE

  Friday morning

  Mrs Emerson and her friend Mrs Kempton were a double act.

  Two elderly ladies with comfortable figures in woolly sweaters, unfashionably long grey skirts and support hose. Trainers with Velcro fastenings. They had no-nonsense short-cut grey hair; no make-up except for a colourless lipsalve; no nail varnish. One had a heavy gold locket on a chain round her neck, the other had a marcasite brooch pinned to her sweater. Their wedding rings could no longer be eased over thickened knuckles.

  They took Bea’s long black coat and hung it up in an old-fashioned wardrobe in the hallway; no fitted cupboards here. Everything in the flat was from an earlier age. You could call it Out of Date, or you could call it Date-less. There was even a hallstand with a mirror above and a lead-lined receptacle for a variety of sticks and umbrellas below.

  In the sitting room, the furniture was slightly shabby but solid, most of it pre-war. With some reupholstering it would be good for another decade. The temperature in the room was warm, the windows hermetically sealed against draughts. Airless.

  Mrs Emerson was called Lucy, and Mrs Kempton was Carrie-short-for-Caroline. Bea couldn’t distinguish between the two, but perhaps that didn’t matter since they spoke and thought as one. Perhaps they’d been friends from childhood?

  Bea said, ‘You mentioned a flat on the ground floor that’s up for sale—’

  ‘Probate hasn’t been granted yet, but the word is that Sir Lucas will buy up the remainder of the lease. But the one opposite me—’

  ‘We must warn you it’s not in good decorative condition because the removal people seemed to be there every other month. Tenants on short-term contracts, you know. Management level, moved around the world at a moment’s notice. Carrie even said she wondered if a curse had been put upon it, though of course we don’t believe in that sort of thing, do we? The people before last, such a pleasant couple, were posted to Manchester at short notice and had to sublet in a hurry—’

  ‘It’s not that we pry, of course—’

  ‘But we couldn’t help noticing, when we called on the new tenant, as of course we always do—’

  ‘To warn him about the end dryer in the basement which has never been satisfactory, and tell him about the caretaker who also does the cleaning but you have to speak very nicely to him because he takes offence at the slightest opportunity—’

  ‘And of course about keeping the noise down—’

  Bea sat back and listened as coffee was poured into fine bone china cups and a plate of home-made shortbread biscuits was passed around. Carrie had a mole on her left cheek. Lucy had the larger bust. Or perhaps it was the other way round?

  ‘So you see,’ they chorused, grey and brown eyes sparkling with what Bea could only think of as innocent malice, ‘he was warned.’

  They both nodded.

  ‘More coffee?’ asked their hostess. So she must be Lucy Emerson and the mother and grandmother of the children and young people in the silver-framed photographs lying around; two weddings, a christening and a degree ceremony.

  ‘I’d love some more coffee,’ said Bea. ‘As you probably know, Lady Ossett’s daughter lodges with me, so when I was asked to look out for a flat locally, I called round to see her, and she hinted . . . or perhaps you don’t know about it? Am I right in thinking that Sir Lucas is taking a break from his marriage?’

  Both nodded, heavy chins wobbling. ‘We hope it’s not going to come to that, but—’

  ‘We did wonder, we did indeed. She says it’s only temporary, but of course we know how such things happen. I do feel so sorry for her.’

  The other bridled. ‘She never t
roubled herself to invite us for a cosy cup of tea in all the time we’ve lived here, but now her husband’s done a runner, she’s ringing up and suggesting we might like to spend the day with her.’

  Her friend was more forgiving. ‘Well, dear; I expect her husband kept her busy. She must feel lost without him.’

  The other tossed her head; she really did. ‘Making use of us. I declined for us, of course. We attend her bridge afternoons—’

  ‘It’s very kind of her to invite us, but they’re playing for rather high stakes now which I did mention to her, in passing, but she doesn’t quite understand how it is for us, with the service charges seeming to rise every month—’

  ‘And we really do worry about how long we can stay on here. I was only able to get a short lease when I moved in, and it runs out in eighteen months which is all very worrying as I can’t possibly afford to renew on the terms he’s asking—’

  ‘Fortunately, mine has some years to go now. So we’re thinking of dropping out. Of the bridge parties, I mean.’

  Their dropping out wouldn’t be anything to do with the sharpness of their brains. They were as bright as buttons but wouldn’t wish to run into debt. Living on reduced pensions, with prices rising all round, the future did indeed look grim.

  Bea prompted them. ‘You know about Sir Lucas’s fall?’

  A slight frown from Mrs Emerson. Lucy. ‘Oh, that. The landing light was out, or he hadn’t put it on and missed his step. What a fuss! When my grandson broke his leg playing rugby, he walked around on it for two days before his mother made him go to the hospital and have it seen to. Young people nowadays have no stamina.’

  Carrie lent forward, happy to gossip. ‘I heard him bellowing even above the wireless, would you believe. I almost didn’t go out to see what was the matter because I knew the people above me were away because they asked me to rescue their post and put it through their door—’

  ‘Lucky you did though, dear. Might earn you brownie points with His Lordship.’ A sarcastic tone. It seemed that Lucy was the one less likely to forgive and forget.

  Carrie Kempton might be the less dominant personality, but she was no doormat. ‘I was never a Brownie or a Girl Guide like you, dear. I was evacuated during the war to Wales and never had the opportunity. Sir Lucas would have been all right, anyway. He was on the phone to the ambulance men by the time I got to him.’

  ‘But it was you who had to put yourself out by going downstairs to let the ambulance men in.’

  Carrie gave a weak smile. ‘I suppose he was right to be frightened. He’d cut his head, and there was a lot of blood. The caretaker was very upset about that.’

  Lucy announced, ‘I don’t object to blood. When I was a nurse . . .’

  Carrie nodded. ‘Yes, dear. And I’ve done first aid in my time.’

  ‘Not the same.’

  A ripple of annoyance. So the two women didn’t think as one all the time? Bea put down her empty cup. ‘So, Sir Lucas’s fall was an accident. What about the other incidents that Lady Ossett referred to?’

  A pinching of lips. A sly exchange of glances.

  ‘We . . . ll,’ said Lucy, in grudging tones. ‘We don’t wish to cast aspersions—’

  ‘We do feel sorry for him, in a way. But he did bring it all on himself, and as he’s leaving anyway and he really does need to sell the flat, then perhaps we ought . . .’

  Another exchange of glances. A nod each.

  Lucy prepared to Tell All. ‘You can tell your friend that whatever happened, it’s all in the past. It’s true we have had one or two little problems—’

  Carrie was enjoying this. ‘But nothing to take to the police. I mean, it was annoying when cards for call girls were left in the mail boxes in the foyer, can you believe it? It meant nuisance calls for some of us, which was—’

  ‘Irritating, of course. But not serious. No, dear. That wasn’t the start of it, and you know it.’ To Bea, ‘It all started when someone keyed Sir Lucas’s car.’

  ‘I think it started even before that,’ said Carrie, not to be outdone. ‘We’ve lived here for years and nothing untoward ever happened, except for the usual comings and goings and we were used to those. But when someone you’ve known for ever dies unexpectedly, well, it’s a shock.’

  ‘Natural causes, dear.’ Lucy swept her friend’s words aside. ‘Natural causes. But there was nothing natural about the damage to Sir Lucas’s car, was there? Even though it was understandable.’

  ‘You see,’ said Carrie, drawing her chair even closer to Bea, ‘we knew who was responsible, and really we couldn’t blame him. Or at least, not very much, and we don’t want him to get into any more trouble.’

  Bea looked a question.

  Carrie looked around as if to check for eavesdroppers – she really was enjoying this, wasn’t she? – and dropped her voice. ‘It was Tariq, of course. He lives opposite me in number eleven. He moved in when the last couple went up north. It was a sublet through someone at the firm they both worked for. I don’t know exactly where his people came from originally – Tariq, I mean – but he was born here, and he’s ever so polite, helping us up the stairs with our shopping when the lift is out of commission, and although he did have lots of parties at the weekend it wasn’t so bad in the cold weather because we didn’t have the windows open at night. It’s true that Lady Ossett did complain about the noise a couple of times, and he did keep it down for quite a while. But then . . .’ She hesitated, glancing across at Lucy for permission to proceed.

  Lucy nodded in magisterial fashion. ‘A delicate matter. Of course we’d rather have seen him marry a nice young British girl, but you have to be broad-minded these days, don’t you, and if hadn’t been for the noise . . . You see, he invited a friend to move in with him to share the costs, and he was black as . . . Well, much blacker than . . . Really, really black. Though I know it shouldn’t make a difference, but his taste in music was . . . well, like all on one note—’

  ‘It’s called “rap”, dear.’

  ‘I don’t care what’s it’s called. It was very loud indeed. Lady Ossett complained again, and I can’t say I blame her.’

  ‘He was a really nice young man,’ said Carrie, with the mildest of rebukes to her friend in her voice. ‘We understood that they were serious about one another and going to have a special ceremony, some sort of lifetime commitment, and of course they invited us to attend because . . . well, just because.’

  ‘Because we’ve always behaved politely to him,’ said Lucy. ‘We declined, of course. They said to come to the party afterwards, and we didn’t really want to, all that spicy food doesn’t agree with us, but we said we’d love to drop in later and we bought a couple of pot plants to give them from Marks and Spencer’s.’

  ‘Only, the music was so terribly loud that night. They left their door open, you see—’

  ‘And their guests kept coming up the stairs and using the lift and shouting and I said to Carrie – we were watching television together in here that evening as we sometimes do, particularly when it’s a good thriller which we both like and it’s so much more cosy watching with someone, isn’t it? And my television is bigger than hers. Anyway, the noise was so loud, and the visitors were all very young, from all over the place, if you take my meaning, that I said to Carrie that I didn’t think his idea of a party was quite our cup of tea and we could take the plants in later in the week. And she agreed.’

  Carrie nodded. ‘But after our programme finished it got noisier and noisier. When I went back upstairs it seemed as if the whole building was shaking, and I wondered if there’d be more complaints, which there had been before only this was much worse. I took a herbal sleeping pill but it didn’t seem to work and I was tossing and turning . . . I even thought of going across to complain myself but of course I didn’t and I thought they’d get tired and stop but then I woke up with a start at just after four o’clock. Someone was banging on the door and I thought at first it was my door, but it wasn’t. It was theirs. So I go
t up and opened my door a crack to see.’

  Lucy’s turn. ‘It woke me up, too. It was the Noise people. They had been round to warn Tariq earlier that evening but he’d not taken any notice, so they went in and confiscated all his lovely music equipment and people were screaming and . . . well, it was quite something. That was the start of it all, if you ask me.’

  Carrie said, ‘Tariq’s friend, or husband or whatever, left that weekend, which says something about his commitment to the relationship, doesn’t it? It was his music equipment that was taken away, you see. Perhaps he loved his stereo more than he loved Tariq? And then we heard Tariq was being let go from his job. Under the terms of his sublet, he’s got to find a new tenant or he’ll be in debt for ever.’

  Lucy nodded at a fine azalea on the window-sill. ‘We kept the plants, naturally. As my mother said, plunge the root ball in water to cover, once a week, and spray the leaves. Keeps them going a treat, even with central heating; though of course I don’t keep mine turned up too high because I have to think of the fuel bills, don’t I?’

  ‘Mine died,’ said Carrie. ‘I’ve never been any good with house plants.’

  Bea tried to gather her wits. ‘You think Tariq was responsible for the vandalism?’

  ‘We didn’t think so, at first. But we wondered, didn’t we, Carrie? Who it might be. When it was just the cards for the call girls, we though it might be someone who objected to the goings on in a certain flat . . . Well, no names, no pack drill . . .’

  Bea mentally filled in the gap with the name of Carmela Lessbury.

  ‘Lucy thought it might be our caretaker because he disapproves of what he calls “those nasty goings on”. Then one of Sir Lucas’s cars was vandalized, not the Rolls of course, but the sporty one, and we knew the caretaker wouldn’t ever have done anything to it because he worships those cars. Spends hours cleaning and waxing and polishing them. No, he wouldn’t harm those cars. But Tariq, now. It was Them Upstairs who brought in the Noise people and confiscated his music equipment, you see, and that caused the break-up of his marriage or whatever you like to call it—’