False Pretences Page 8

  ‘No!’ said Lord Murchison, his breathing uneven. ‘No police.’

  ‘I insist!’ Lady Honoria’s mouth curved in triumph.

  Zander’s mouth was open in shock. A couple of elderly gentlemen grasped his upper arms, though he’d made no move to escape.

  Bea recovered some of her wits from the pit into which they’d fallen. Producing her tape recorder from her handbag, she switched it on and held it up. ‘Perhaps you’d care to repeat that accusation?’

  ‘What?’ The woman didn’t like that. ‘Put that away, you stupid woman.’

  Lord Murchison had fallen back into his chair, his colour poor. ‘No police!’

  Zander tried to reassemble his own wits. ‘You signed for the bronze! I have a copy.’

  ‘That item was crossed out on my copy,’ said Lady H, not giving ground at all.

  Zander shook his head to clear it. ‘Not on mine. And Mrs Abbot is not . . . Really she’s not . . . Mrs Abbot, I’m so sorry.’

  Bea kept her recorder on. ‘What he means, gentlemen, is that I am not the object of his affections. My much younger assistant is far more to his taste, and I can’t say I blame him.’

  ‘So you say!’ sneered Lady H, and such was the power of her personality that the men holding Zander were unsure who to believe.

  Lord Murchison felt in his pocket for a pillbox, extracted a tablet and popped it into his mouth. He lay back in his chair, eyes closed. Stalemate.

  ‘On the other hand,’ said Bea, resuming her seat. ‘Perhaps we’re wrong to let this boil fester.’

  Lady H bridled. ‘Are you calling me a boil?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Bea, in a limpid voice. ‘I am referring to your insinuations. Perhaps we should explore them, get the poison out into the open. Lord Murchison, I implore you; call the police and get this sorted out. Zander has the copy of the release which you signed—’

  ‘Correction!’ said Lady Honoria, flourishing a piece of paper. ‘I found his copy in his desk and I have it here. As you will see, the bronze has been crossed out and the crossing-out initialled by me.’

  ‘How very interesting,’ said Bea, ‘since I took a photocopy of the release after you’d signed it and kept it for my records. The bronze is not crossed out on that. So I assume that the paper you are now holding has been tampered with since I made the copy?’

  Silence while this sank in. The two men holding Zander released him and stepped back. One of them muttered an apology.

  Lady Honoria hissed, ‘I suppose you know how to remove ink marks from documents. Have you had much practice faking them?’

  Bea laughed. She held up her recorder. ‘Do carry on. You accused Zander of stealing a valuable bronze. I’ve proved this to be untrue. Slander can be expensive – for you.’

  Lord Murchison struggled to his feet, his breathing still laboured but under control. ‘No police. Honoria, it appears you jumped to false conclusions, grief and so on, most understandable. Perhaps it would be best if you apologized to all those concerned and we draw a line under it, right?’

  ‘If there has been any misunderstanding, then I apologize,’ said Lady H, lemon juice in her voice. ‘In return I expect Mrs Abbot to erase the recording she made; quite illegally made, I might add. And let that be that.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Bea, with a sweet smile. She pressed buttons and returned the recorder to her handbag.

  ‘Splendid,’ said Lord Murchison, reaching for his cane. ‘So now, in a spirit of charity, I suggest we adjourn for lunch. Zander, you may return to work without a stain on your character. Major, will you escort Honoria? And it will be my pleasure to take Mrs Abbot in.’

  Luncheon was served in another panelled room, this time overlooking not Kensington Gardens but a small garden at the back of the house. More mahogany, more silver, more cut glass, more gilt-framed portraits on the walls.

  Lord Murchison sat at the head of a long mahogany dining table, and he waved the others to sit on either side of him. The chairs were Hepplewhite, with brocade-covered seats.

  A bony woman in black waitress uniform served a chilled clear soup, followed by a selection of cold meats and salad. Bea sat on Lord Murchison’s right, and Lady H on his left. There was no sign of Zander. Did the lowly help eat sandwiches at their desks?

  ‘Forgive me, Mrs Abbot,’ said Lord Murchison, all courtesy. ‘I have been much remiss in not introducing our board of directors to you. Honoria, I believe you are already acquainted with . . .? Yes, of course you are. Mrs Abbot, may I introduce Sir Cecil Waite, sitting on your immediate right. Cecil is the man who sees to our finances.’ Sir Cecil was a shrimp of a man with a pronounced dowager’s hump and an overlarge head. Slightly misshapen, but with a lively eye. Bea got the impression that he fancied her, which she thought rather amusing.

  ‘Major Buckstone is sitting next to Honoria. He has the responsibility for looking after our staff, both here and at our offices in the city. He is also responsible for the smooth running of these premises.’ A tidy, well-brushed, white-haired man in his sixties; presumably this was the major who’d been courteous in his dealings with Zander?

  ‘Lastly – how selfish of me to keep you two ladies all to myself at this end of the table – Mr Trimmingham and Lord Lacey, who have the onerous tasks of keeping us on the right side of the law and of fund-raising for the Trust.’ Two plump men with identical sharp noses poking out from fleshy cheeks; brothers, perhaps? No, perhaps not, for one was around twenty years older than the other. Possibly related, though.

  ‘Delighted,’ said Bea.

  ‘There are a number of other directors, of course,’ said Lord Murchison, whose breathing still seemed erratic. Asthma? ‘But on a Monday, and at short notice . . . These are the core, so to speak, of our fellowship.’

  Some fellowship! thought Bea, not much liking their looks.

  ‘They all have offices here, of course,’ continued His Lordship, ‘and avail themselves of the talents of our secretarial staff. They used to call it a typing pool, but I gather nowadays they have some modern title that eludes me, all being computer trained and so on. What do you call your staff, Mrs Abbot?’

  He was being deliberately obtuse, playing the part of a bumbling dodderer, out of touch with reality. In truth, he was probably sharper than most people whom Bea had to deal with. ‘My assistants? I call them by their Christian names. One is a project manager, another is our accountant, and the third – what do you call a computer expert who can do everything?’

  Bea jumped as a warm hand was placed on her knee. Sir Cecil was smiling into the distance, but it was definitely his hand which was now working its way up her thigh. Bea put her knife on her plate and dropped her right hand below the table. Locating the back of Sir Cecil’s hand, she took a nip of his skin and twisted it. Now it was his turn to jump. And to remove his hand. There was a flush of red on his cheeks which hadn’t been there before.

  She picked up her knife again and smiled angelically – well, perhaps not too angelically, come to think of it – at Lord Murchison, who had probably registered everything but wasn’t going to say so.

  Lady Honoria was tearing a bread roll into pieces, with vicious strength. ‘Are you a “Miss” or a “Ms” Abbot?’ Trying to put Bea down, of course.

  ‘Twice married, once divorced. My ex is still living; my dear husband of thirty-odd years died last summer, cancer. So we are both widows, you and I.’

  ‘I am sure,’ said Lord Murchison, waving a dessert of fresh fruit away, ‘that you have much in common.’

  Bea wanted to laugh at this but managed to restrain herself. She had to admire the chairman’s ability to pour fire-extinguishing foam over boiling oil. Perhaps his enforced peace would last out the meal? Coffee was served in fragile, translucent cups, hand-painted, with gilt rims. Bea only just managed to stop herself upending the saucer to check if they were Royal Worcester. She was pretty sure they were.

  ‘Would you care to bring your coffee into the library, Mrs Abbot?’
/>   Lady H rose to her feet. ‘I’ll bring mine, too.’

  His Lordship was equal to the occasion. ‘I wouldn’t dream of taking you away from the men, Honoria. Please stay and enjoy their company. I’m afraid my advanced age requires me to have an afternoon nap, but I want to show Mrs Abbot our first editions before she leaves.’

  Bea picked up her cup of excellent coffee and followed His Lordship back to the library, where he subsided into the chair by the fireplace again. ‘You handle yourself well, Mrs Abbot.’ A nicely graded compliment, with only a touch of patronage.

  She inclined her head.

  ‘My friend Cambridge tells me your agency has occasionally been involved in – ah – crime solving.’

  ‘We are a domestic agency. We don’t do murder.’

  He was startled. ‘Who’s talking about murder?’

  ‘Sorry. One of my assistants has an overactive imagination.’

  Perturbed, he said, ‘Denzil had a heart attack.’

  ‘Did he jump, or was he pushed? Local gossip says he was pushed.’

  ‘Local gossip!’ He spread his hands, dismissing it.

  ‘Forgive me, but did you follow up Zander’s suggestion and demand to see the bank statements?’

  ‘Yes. Denzil said he’d fetch them, but before he could do so, he was taken ill. Under the circumstances we couldn’t insist, and of course we expected him to return the following day, when we’d agreed to go into the matter further. I wanted to send him home with my chauffeur as I didn’t think he was fit to travel, but he insisted on driving himself. He never returned.’

  ‘At that point you arranged for his office to be searched, with a view to unearthing evidence?’

  A tinge of colour. ‘Yes, I did. No statements were found.’

  ‘Yet your understanding was that the statements were in his office, and not at home? Surely, bank statements usually go to one’s home?’

  ‘The bank statements came here. I checked with the office staff. I suppose he may not have wanted Honoria to see them.’

  ‘Meaning that she didn’t know he was taking backhanders?’ She frowned. ‘I can’t believe she didn’t know.’

  ‘Well, we can’t do anything about it now. We have to draw a line under it and move forward. Honoria threatened to sue us. The major and Mr Trimmingham have been backwards and forwards, trying to avoid publicity, and finally . . . Well, you’ve seen that we had to agree to her terms. What I want to know is, can you get rid of her for us?’

  ‘What? Why me?’

  ‘We’ve failed. My friend Cambridge thought you might be able to come up with something.’

  Bea got to her feet. She thought better on her feet. She paced the room, thinking hard. ‘I don’t see how I can help. As an outsider . . . Well, there is one thing. It struck me she didn’t want the police any more than you do.’

  ‘She was insistent—’

  ‘She tugged at your chain, and you responded. She now knows that she can throw a hissy fit any time she wants, and you’ll agree to her terms. In effect, she’s blackmailing you, not for money, but for power.’

  ‘Power?’ he echoed, long fingers rasping his chin.

  ‘If she’d sued for compensation to cover her husband’s death, however little you wanted publicity, you’d have been forced to defend yourselves by disclosing the circumstances which led to his heart attack. His suspect – if not actually fraudulent – dealings would have been front-page news. Yes, the Trust would have suffered, but her suit against you for contributing to his demise would have been laughed out of court.

  ‘This way, she’s happily ensconced in her husband’s place with sole responsibility for granting contracts, and therefore for receiving kickbacks. As I see it, you’ve handed her a licence to print money, and you’ve assured her that she can be as obnoxious as she pleases because you won’t risk going to the police.’

  He shook his head. ‘We’ve insisted she uses different firms, not Corcorans.’

  ‘What sort of contract does she have with you?’

  ‘Trimmingham settled all that. Her contract will be ratified at a board meeting later this week.’

  ‘Trimmingham is the lawyer, right? He has your best interests at heart?’

  A bland look. ‘He’s a legal eagle, highly recommended by Denzil, after my cousin retired from the job.’

  She faced him across the room, putting her hands on her hips. What a way to run a business!

  ‘Say it,’ he said.

  ‘What on earth were you doing, to let her take over the Trust like this? From my own observations, and from what I’ve heard about Honoria and Denzil, she was the dominant partner. She’s been spending money to restore the ancestral home. And I mean, what she’s been doing costs real money. Do you know if she has any income of her own?’

  ‘I don’t think so. She was running a business with her first husband, I believe, but it failed when he died. Then she married Denzil, who bought the manor for her. He got it cheap because it was a total wreck. Since then she’s concentrated on restoring the house.’

  ‘Denzil was only paid an honorarium and expenses here, right? That’s not enough to account for what they’ve been spending. It seems to me unlikely that she didn’t know what was going on here. She probably instigated it.’

  ‘Then why were his bank statements sent here and not home?’

  Bea thought of his payments to Kylie. Small beer, but probably something he’d like to keep from his wife’s knowledge. ‘I suspect he was creaming off a percentage which he could keep for his own personal use. He conveniently dies on the day his fraud is exposed. So Honoria, who is determined not to lose her source of income, sets out to threaten and cajole you into replacing him.

  ‘The major seems a decent sort but hardly up to her weight. Trimmingham – he was brought in by Denzil, and we can deduce from the fact that he’s giving her what she wants that he’s on her side – and possibly on the take as well. She knows you fear publicity and, using that fear, she’s blackmailing you into accepting her terms. The next thing you know, she’ll be suggesting you step down as chair, so that she can take your place.’

  Bea didn’t know where that last idea had come from, but it fitted. ‘And you are going to sit there and let her, right?’

  ‘No, my dear. Wrong. I admit I have been remiss of late. My health is not good and, since my dear wife died, I have spent a lot of time at my house in Antigua.’

  Bea threw up her hands. ‘What a way to run a business!’

  ‘True. And that’s where you come in. Reasonable or otherwise, I’m prepared to pay you to get rid of her.’

  ‘What? How? You must be joking!’ She looked at her watch, noted the time, picked up her handbag, and checked to see that she had everything. ‘Thank you for lunch. It was most entertaining.’

  ‘Ah, that reminds me; your tape recorder. You didn’t erase Honoria’s accusations this morning when you turned it off, did you?’

  ‘No, of course I didn’t.’ Bea was getting cross. ‘I kept them because I felt sorry for Zander, though of all the weak-willed . . . and you, too, as well! One look at you lot, and Honoria realized she could do whatever she liked with you. Well, I can’t be expected to help people who won’t help themselves. I’ll see myself out.’

  She stormed down the staircase. It seemed to her that the portraits on the walls bent over to watch her pass by. She paused in the hall, debating whether to put her head round the door marked ‘Reception’ to say goodbye to Zander. She heard a phone ringing and someone answering it. She wondered what lay behind the other doors off the hall: office staff, kitchens? No, the kitchens would be in the basement, wouldn’t they? With a butler’s lift to carry food up to the dining room?

  She went out into the fresh air. Busy street, Kensington Gardens opposite, splendid views. People everywhere. Noise.

  There hadn’t been much noise inside the Trust building. Except for Honoria.

  ‘Humph!’ Bea twitched her neckline straight and headed for home.<
br />
  Monday evening

  Someone rang the front doorbell. Bea, Oliver and Maggie had finished supper, but no one was expecting visitors. Oliver went to see who it was, and returned with Zander, who was carrying a stunning white orchid in a pot.

  Maggie shrieked, ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘Calm down,’ said Oliver.

  Maggie slammed plates into the dishwasher. ‘Isn’t there anywhere I can be safe from him?’

  Zander blinked, and took half a step back. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—’

  Oliver glared at Maggie. ‘Grow up, girl. He’s not here to see you.’

  Bea took the plant off Zander. ‘For me? How thoughtful. It’s quite beautiful. It needs to be kept out of the sun, right? Come into the sitting room, and we’ll find a place for it.’

  Zander sent an enigmatic look in Maggie’s direction and followed Bea into the sitting room. Bea put the orchid on the coffee table and waved him to a chair. ‘I’m not taking any money from you, Zander, and it wasn’t necessary for you to buy me a plant, though I must say it is delightful.’

  ‘If you hadn’t been there this morning, I’d be in a police cell by now.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t. She doesn’t want the police in. She’s using that as a threat to make everyone do as she wants. She’s poison. Get out while you can, even if you have to lose a month’s money or whatever.’

  ‘I thought you wanted me to stay and fight.’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind about that. She fights dirty. You don’t. So you can’t win.’

  ‘Maybe not. But let me tell you what happened this afternoon. The major came down to see me. He apologized for the, er, misunderstanding about the bronze. He said he quite understood that I wouldn’t wish to stay on now, but begged me to see the month out. He said he’d put it in writing. He promised me a bonus. He also promised me that I wouldn’t have to have anything more to do with Lady Honoria. He said that if she tried to order me about I was to let him know, and he’d sort it. He said he’d arranged with her to use one of the girls in the office instead. I suggested someone who’s been there for ever, is as tough as old boots and looks rather like one, too. She’s seen everything in her time and won’t put up with any nonsense from Her Highness.’