False Charity Page 9

  She didn’t want to move to the seaside and play golf. Not her scene at all. Besides, if she did that, she’d lose touch with all her old friends. Like Coral, who knew her better than any of the people in their social circle. Coral had known her since she was a bedraggled divorcee with a small child in tow, desperately trying to make ends meet by cooking and waitressing while taking an IT course in the evenings.

  She didn’t want to let Coral down. Or those two awkward children, Maggie and Oliver, who had now joined Coral to look at her with wide, beseeching eyes. Where would they go, and what would they do, if she turned them out? Did she have the strength to fight their battles for them? Wouldn’t helping them out only be one way of staving off the loneliness which threatened to overwhelm her the moment she stopped thinking about something else?

  Well, Maggie would land on her feet. But Oliver? No, probably not.

  ‘Max,’ she said, ‘I’m really touched that you’ve been worrying about me so much. It makes me feel much less lost. Since Hamilton …’ She stopped for a moment, fighting a desire to burst into tears. ‘Since he died, I’ve concentrated on getting back home in one piece, and I’ve made it. I’m not sure what I do want to do with the rest of my life but I do know that I don’t want to go and live by the seaside and play golf. Perhaps I will want to one day. I don’t know. I can’t see into the future. So for the time being, I think I’d better just stay here and tidy up the remains of the agency and just give myself time. Right?’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ said Piers, emptying the last of the bottle into his glass. ‘You always were a sensible little thing, Bea. Is there another bottle somewhere?’

  That made her laugh. She, sensible? She didn’t feel it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Coral make wafting movements to Maggie and Oliver, edging them out of the room.

  Max stood with his legs slightly apart, head forward. Max was thinking up his next argument. Max was not going to give up easily.

  She went on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘Dear Max. What would I do without your support? You always were a kind, loving little boy, and you’ve grown into a fine man, a real prop and stay for your poor old mother, who doesn’t know what she’d do without you. Now I want you to stop worrying about me for the moment, and concentrate on finding somewhere for yourself and Nicole to live. Oh, and …’ she’d just remembered. ‘… some woman came here to see you about a cleaning job. She said she was going to try to track you down at the House. I hope she isn’t going to be embarrassing.’

  ‘They don’t let people in that easily.’ He put his arm around her in a fierce hug and then, probably feeling he’d demonstrated too much affection, let her go. Glanced at his watch. Busy, busy. I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date.

  Bea’s tired mind, continued, No time to say hello, goodbye, I’m late, I’m late, I’m late.

  He said, ‘I have to go. I’ll try to explain everything to Nicole. I do understand what you’re saying, and perhaps you’re right and you ought not to do anything in a hurry, but … when Nicole’s got an idea in her head, she’s not the easiest person to … no, no. I’m sure she’ll understand, too. In the long run. I’ll try, anyway.’ He aimed a kiss at her forehead, missed, and left.

  Only after he’d gone did Bea remember she’d meant to ask him about her car.

  ‘Anyone for coffee?’ Maggie came into the room bearing all the paraphernalia for coffee for five people. The coffee table which had been used to stand before the cream leather settee, had vanished. As – Bea realized with a frown – had the good table in the window on which Hamilton had been accustomed to play patience. She felt another surge of fatigue.

  Piers took hold of her elbow. ‘Do you want to go back to bed, or call a conference?’

  A conference? Was he mad? Or was she?

  Prompted by him, her mind cleared. ‘Maggie, let’s take the coffee downstairs, shall we? Into the office. We’ll keep all the paperwork there.’

  She half expected Piers to make some excuse and disappear but he helped Maggie carry the tray down the stairs, and settled himself into a corner of the settee. Bea seated herself in Hamilton’s chair, noting with pleasure that his computer was now back where it used to be. Or rather, a newer model now sat on her desk, which gave her bad vibes. Would she be able to cope with it?

  Coral sat opposite Bea – as client-in-chief. Oliver sat, warily, with some files on his knees. Maggie usurped Bea’s function as hostess, poured coffee and handed it round. Bea had to admit that Maggie made an excellent cup of coffee. She irritated Bea no end, but she had her uses.

  Everyone looked at Bea, whose mind became completely blank. What on earth was she doing, chairing a meeting on something she knew nothing about?

  She stirred a sweetener into her coffee. Maggie nodded at her, giving the cue for her to start the meeting. Bea couldn’t think what she was supposed to say. Only a small part of her brain seemed to be in working order.

  She said, ‘What I don’t understand is … no, let me put it another way. Coral, you know that these people have pulled off a scam twice, using roughly the same format. Do you think they could have tried it on before?’

  Piers had managed to acquire paper and pencil and had started to doodle. He said, ‘Doubt it. There’s only so many people you can fool into buying tickets and giving money for charity in any one area.’

  Bea tried to concentrate. ‘But this is London, and London is enormous. If they target a slightly different audience every time, the number of different people they could reach is huge. Coral, did you recognize any of the same people at both functions?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Yes, perhaps.’

  ‘How about if these people don’t know they’ve been fooled, and actually think it’s a good thing to throw some money in the way of charity? From their point of view, they had a good night out, ate some decent food and drank some reasonable wine. I assume the wine was drinkable, was it, Coral? Yes? Anyway, they had a good night out, so why shouldn’t they turn up again at a similar function?’

  Coral tested out this theory. ‘Y-yes, I suppose that would work. The first event wasn’t so big. There was no headliner for the entertainment, just a singer who wasn’t much cop and a man tinkering on a piano, though he was quite good, I must say. Golden oldies, that sort of thing. Oh, then there was a DJ, very capable but turning the volume up as they do.

  ‘The second time they’d scheduled a cabaret and it was a much bigger do, only of course the star didn’t turn up. Done a sickie. They had some sort of rap singer instead. Garage, do they call it? Couldn’t make out a word he said, but then perhaps that’s just me. People seemed to like it, though of course some said they were disappointed. Then the DJ, the same one as before. He was quite good, not the tops, but handsome enough to turn heads. Making eyes at all the older women. You know. Oh, and an auction.’

  ‘If the customers had been well wined and dined, they were probably in a mood to forgive the star not turning up for the cabaret. At least, they’d forgive it once, but not twice. Who was it supposed to be?’

  Coral said, ‘Can’t remember, someone who’s had chart toppers in his time but not recently. Isn’t it on the flier?’

  ‘No, it isn’t. “Cabaret: to be announced.” That covers a multitude of sins.’

  Bea checked that Oliver was taking notes. Which he was. ‘They wouldn’t try that on twice with the same customers, would they? I wonder who else they didn’t pay? The hotels? Maggie, didn’t I ask you to check the hotels?’

  ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ said Maggie, beaming. ‘I couldn’t get anyone to talk to me about them at the two places Coral was stung, but then it occurred to me that maybe they were making a habit of doing it. Well, not a habit, exactly, but—’

  ‘We get the point,’ said Bea. ‘You’ve come across them somewhere else?’

  Maggie was so pleased with herself at being able to contribute that her words tumbled out almost too fast to follow. ‘I’ve just discovered that these people, at least, I thi
nk it’s the same because the name’s nearly the same only not quite, and Oliver says he thinks that’s what they do, change the name slightly each time, so nobody realizes. Anyway, they’ve got another do on in a couple of days’ time, Saturday, at the function room at Green’s, a hotel not far from here.’ Her voice died away. ‘Only, of course Oliver pointed out that it may not be the same people and they may be absolutely kosher, and I didn’t know how to check.’

  ‘Oliver?’ said Bea.

  ‘On to it,’ he said, leaving the room at a fast lope.

  Coral wasn’t convinced. ‘Hotels always ask for references and a deposit when they take a booking.’

  ‘References can be forged,’ said Piers, from the depths of his chair. ‘I’m sure Oliver could tell us how.’

  Maggie made an inarticulate noise but, having taken Piers’ measure, made no other protest.

  ‘How do they get round the deposit?’ asked Coral.

  Bea said, ‘The best scams, surely, are those which pay out something in order to get something back. If they give a genuine deposit which is cleared by the bank, then when it comes to paying the balance, why, that’s when they’re just not there. Like Macavity.’

  ‘What?’ said Piers.

  ‘Sorry. My mind’s wandering. In the Cats show. When any mischief occurs, he’s never there. Macavity.’

  Oliver returned, holding his clipboard in front of him, but with a sparkle in his eye. ‘I think Maggie’s on to something. The charity is calling itself The International Emergency Fund for Aid to the Far East. A really big charity ball, cabaret, auction, late-night DJ. The contact person is a Mrs Amanda Briggs. I enquired for tickets, and they said I could phone her direct. It looks like a mobile number. Or write to their address which – wait for it! – is the same as the one they used earlier, the shop.’

  ‘Briggs!’ shouted Maggie, waving her arms around. ‘It was Briggs before, wasn’t it?’

  ‘If Oliver’s right and they just change their names a little each time,’ said Bea, ‘then it’s definitely the same people. The continued use of the accommodation address confirms it.’

  Piers’ eyebrows peaked. He was going to say something outrageous, Bea knew. She wondered why she wasn’t throwing him out. The problem was that although she knew he could be as unreliable as quicksand, there were times when he’d proved trustworthy. Maybe this was one of those times. He said, ‘Well, shall I get us some tickets, Bea? Oliver, get on the phone and magic them up for us, there’s a good boy. But don’t charge them to your father this time, right? Use this.’ He held up what looked like a platinum card for Oliver to take.

  ‘Righto, sir,’ said Oliver, only too eager to obey.

  ‘Stop!’ Bea clapped both hands over her eyes, to help her to think more clearly. Then removed her hands so that she could check on Oliver’s reactions. ‘Oliver, from the depths of your experience, is it a good idea to let a dodgy concern have access to your card number?’

  ‘Er, no.’ Oliver reddened. ‘Not really. They could use it to buy all sorts of things and sell them on ebay. Shall I use my father’s number, then?’

  ‘No!’ shouted Piers and Bea together.

  ‘No,’ said Bea, more quietly. ‘Let’s think this through. I agree that it might be a good idea for Piers to go to this shindig—’

  ‘I’m not going alone, my girl. You come with me, or nobody goes—’

  ‘—and I’m strongly of the opinion that if anyone goes, it should be Coral—’

  Coral had gone off into a corner to use her mobile and didn’t hear this. Presumably she was ringing the hospital.

  ‘—because she’s the only one who can recognize the people who are running the scam. If we can only make some kind of identification, we can … oh, I don’t know. Piers, could you do some sketches of them?’

  Piers looked at the sketch he’d been making, pulled face, and tore it into tiny pieces. ‘Not unless my wrist makes a miraculous recovery.’

  ‘What about taking photographs of them on a mobile phone?’

  ‘I hate those things,’ grumbled Piers. ‘I can manage the ordinary sort of mobile when I have to or in an emergency, but you need an engineering degree to make these camera phones work, unless of course you’re under twenty-five.’

  Oliver said, ‘I’ve got one, and I know how to use it.’ They all looked at him, and he reddened. ‘Well, I bought it for Maggie, but she wouldn’t take it when she knew how I paid for it.’

  That silenced everyone; could they square their consciences enough to allow Oliver to use a phone which he’d bought on stolen information?

  ‘Then it belongs to your father, not you,’ said Bea, but didn’t sound too sure about it. ‘Oliver, you really must sort yourself out with your father, confess what you’ve done, make restitution and so on. Now about paying for the tickets, since we don’t want to give them a card number I think we should pay them by cheque.’

  ‘One that will bounce?’ asked Oliver, hopefully.

  ‘I don’t know how to write a cheque that will bounce,’ said Bea, between amusement and shock.

  ‘Let me write it out for you,’ said Oliver. ‘You don’t need to know anything about it, just sign it. We’ll deliver it by hand to the address at the corner shop, and they send us the invitations by return. Before the cheque bounces.’

  Piers said, ‘I hate to throw cold water over what promises to be an enchanting evening, but what do we do when – if – we get to the ball, and Coral does recognize these people? We can’t summon the police and say, in lordly fashion, “Lock these miscreants up!” There’d be a riot. We’d be thrown out into the street as drunken revellers, or worse.’

  No one had the answer to that. Bea tried to think, rubbing her forehead, wishing that Hamilton would beam down the answer to her from wherever he was now, heaven, probably, if you believed in heaven, which he had done, bless him. Now and then she believed in heaven herself, but not always, not all the time.

  Maggie was frowning at Oliver, who was biting a fingernail, disgusting!

  Coral was still busy on the phone, staring at the wall, oblivious to what was going on behind her. Worrying about her daughter. This was, of course, only right and proper, but Bea felt like slapping her. And all of them. Why? Because they weren’t Hamilton, that’s why.

  Piers had finished his coffee. Any minute now he’d ask if there were another bottle of wine going. Bea stood up, wanting to be out of there, wanting to be sunning herself on a palm-fringed beach, in a five-star hotel in France, anywhere but here. Wanting Hamilton. She’d been too abrupt. Their shocked faces proclaimed that they’d been prepared to go on talking all night. Well, she wasn’t.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’ll have to throw you all out,’ she said. ‘It’s just hit me, jet lag or something. Sorry, sorry, but I’ll be no use to man nor beast till I’ve had a good night’s sleep.’ Even as she said it, she knew she wouldn’t sleep tonight, either. She was too tired, too sad, too far over the hill and down the other side.

  Coral clicked off her mobile. ‘Jake says they’re keeping June in tonight, but the contractions have stopped, which is good, isn’t it? Ready for bed, Bea? I should think so and all. It takes days to get over a long flight and months, sometimes years, to get over losing your best friend. So I’ll be on my way. I’ll check back with the hospital first thing tomorrow, and if there’s no news I’ll come on in, see what’s on the menu, right?’

  ‘We need more information,’ said Piers, grumbling to himself, but getting to his feet. ‘The hotel is the logical place to start. Where am I sleeping tonight, does anyone know?’

  Bea was so tired, she ignored him. She tried to close the French windows that led on to the garden, but couldn’t seem to make the catch work.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ said Maggie, predictably taking over.

  It seemed for an instant as if Bea were back in the plane, hearing the drone of the engines. She shook her head to clear it. What nonsense. She put on a smile, and made her way to the stairs. She was aware
of someone following her. If she concentrated hard enough, she’d get up the stairs to the first floor. There, she’d made it. And now the second set of stairs. She was floating up them, how very odd.

  Someone came into the bedroom with her and closed the windows, drawing down the blinds, talking to her in a soothing monotone. Here’s your dressing gown, that’s right, this arm first. This way to the bathroom, I’ll wait outside, shall I? She stood in the shower, thinking how absurd this all was. She was being treated like a small child.

  Here’s a nice, big towel. There you go. And I found this nightie for you, isn’t it pretty? Where did you get it? Well, never mind all that now. Look, I’ve turned down the bed for you, and all you have to do is pop yourself in and I’ll turn off the lights as I go out, right? See you in the morning.

  Bea lay on her back on ‘her’ side of the big bed, and resolutely closed her eyes. She told herself she was tired enough to sleep through the night and half of the next day, and feared she wouldn’t sleep at all. She ached all over. She wanted to get up and find her reading glasses and open Hamilton’s Bible and read something soothing. A psalm, maybe. But she hadn’t the energy to get out of bed.

  After a while she found herself staring up at the ceiling. As dusk drew on to night, the edges of the room faded into darkness. She only realized that she’d been crying for a while when the pillow beneath her head became sodden.

  She made herself move over to Hamilton’s side of the bed.

  When he couldn’t sleep, he used to get up and go downstairs so as not to disturb her. He’d sit and play a game of patience at his table in the window. Sometimes he’d pick up a book of puzzles, and work through several until he felt relaxed enough to come back to bed. She’d heard him crying in the night, once, when he thought she was asleep.

  She stared at the ceiling. Willed her eyelids to shut. Lay still, still, still. Did she doze off? She rather thought she might have done. Eventually the first of the birds began their chorus. Just before dawn, and not at dawn as the poets said. The night would end sometime. She had to believe it.