False Alarm (2 page)

‘I'm not sure. What actually happened?'

‘Someone tied a wire across the top step of the staircase so that he'd trip over it and take a header. Which he did, apparently. He had his mobile phone on him and phoned for help. He ended up in hospital with a broken arm and bruises, and lucky to get away with that. He could easily have been killed. I understand he has numerous enemies in the world of business. Maybe he's right, and he is in danger if he stays at the flat. I did wonder if he'd arranged the accident himself, looking for an excuse to leave her. But no; I don't think he'd do that.'

‘Not his style?'

‘Definitely not. A quiet man, if you know what I mean, but decisive. If he'd decided to leave her anyway, he'd have said so and walked out. Which is what he did. Go, I mean. From the hospital he went to the flat his firm keeps for visiting businessmen at his office. He sent his personal assistant to pack up his belongings.'

‘He's filed for divorce?'

‘Not yet, but I imagine he will. She'll lose her apartment, which she probably loves more than she ever loved any of her husbands, including my own dear father, who she discarded twenty years ago, and well out of it, I say.'

‘Has Lucas called in the police?'

Maggie shook her head. ‘She says not. Actually, I wish he would. There have been a couple of other incidents in the block, and I did wonder . . . but she brushed my concerns aside when I asked about them.' A gesture of resignation. ‘She wants – no, expects – me to go back to live with her. To keep her company. To act as a daughter should when her mother is in such distress.'

‘To be her slave.'

‘Yes.' Maggie's shoulders sank. ‘I
can't
leave her in such distress. She is distressed, you know. This is the first time one of her husbands has walked out on her, rather than the other way around. In a funny sort of way I think she really did care for Lucas, and all this froth and fury – it's covering it up.' She squared her shoulders. ‘I know I'll be letting you down as well. Do you think you can find someone else to move into my flat upstairs?'

‘No,' said Bea, meaning it. ‘This is your home. I know I'm not your birth mother, but you are like a daughter to me and nothing changes that. It's your flat for as long as you want it, and it's your office downstairs.'

‘Yes, but—'

‘Think about it, Maggie. You've built up your own business, you have an excellent reputation as a project manager, you get things done on time and under budget. Your order book is full for the next six months. You employ a part-time secretary and accountant. People rely on you to perform miracles in their houses, and your staff rely on you to pay their wages. You can't throw all that away.'

‘I have to.'

‘Your mother,' said Bea, indignation rising, ‘is a cow!'

Maggie sketched a smile. ‘Yes. She's a conniving, selfish woman, who had reduced me to a quivering wreck before you rescued me and gave me a home and a job and showed me I didn't have to spend the rest of my life apologizing for my existence. But, she is my mother.'

Bea wasn't going to give up without a fight. ‘She'll ditch you again, as soon as she's captured another husband. That's what happened before, wasn't it? As soon as she laid eyes on number three – can't remember his name, the one before Lucas – she wanted you out of the way and pushed you into a marriage with a total shit who was on the rebound from a failed love affair. And when that no-good creature ditched you and she thought you'd have to return home to live, she got you a job here in the agency—'

‘At which I was no good at all.'

‘No, but you soon found what you
were
good at, and you've got a delightful, faithful boyfriend and a new circle of friends and I don't think you should throw all that away just because she's had a spat with her latest husband.'

‘I know. But I can't refuse her.' Maggie's eyes flicked to and fro. ‘She expects me tomorrow morning. I'm trying to think who can take over the jobs I've got in hand.'

‘Maggie, this won't do. You aren't thinking straight.'

‘She's frightened and all alone.'

‘With a dozen intimate friends to call upon.'

‘It's not the same.'

Bea knew it wasn't. She cast her mind back over what Maggie had said. ‘Lucas says there was an attempt to kill him. Was there? Did you see the string stretched across the staircase yourself?'

‘No. It had gone by the time I got there.'

‘Did he imagine it? Did he fall down the stairs because he'd got drunk?'

A brief smile. ‘Lucas doesn't get drunk. If he says there was a nylon string or a wire across the stairs, then there was.'

‘Did your mother see it herself?'

‘No, she'd gone out early to a drinks party, and when she got back he'd been taken to the hospital . . . As a neighbour was only too pleased to tell her.'

‘What neighbour? Doesn't your mother live in a penthouse?'

A shrug. ‘He phoned someone else in the building, I suppose, or he wouldn't have been able to get the front door open to let the ambulance men in.'

‘Your mother didn't see any sign of a booby trap? I wonder . . .'

Maggie stared at Bea. ‘What are you getting at?'

‘You said there'd been other “incidents”. What were they?'

‘Nothing important. Youthful mischief. Some vandalism, putting stuff through letter boxes, that sort of thing. Oh, and the old lady on the ground floor had a heart attack and died, but you can't count that, can you?'

‘Yet these “incidents” were enough to make Lucas flee for his life when he himself fell victim to some kind of “prank”. If that is what it was. And your mother is frightened.'

‘She can't really be frightened. No, she's putting it on to make me feel sorry for her. She can't stand being on her own.'

‘You said she collects men as other people might collect beer mats.'

‘She needs reassurance that she's not old and ugly.'

‘Which you are now supposed to give her? Come off it, Maggie. At least get Lucas' side of the story before you wreck your career.'

Maggie's mouth set in an obstinate line. ‘I promised I'd move back in tomorrow morning.'

Bea hit her forehead. ‘At least let me try to explain to her that you can't jettison your career without giving proper notice to everyone concerned. She ought to be able to understand that.'

Maggie huffed, meaning she didn't think her mother would see her daughter's career as being of any importance.

Bea improvised. ‘Look, I could find her someone to babysit her, someone she could play bridge with; perhaps someone who could chauffeur her around?'

‘The archangel Gabriel?'

‘No, no. She might try to seduce him.'

That got a laugh, even if it was only a weak one.

Bea cast around for ideas. ‘What about a toy boy? Someone to flatter and amuse her?'

‘The agency doesn't have any toy boys on their books.'

‘True. Regretfully. But it might be one answer to the problem.'

Maggie took a deep breath. Frowned. Let the breath out slowly.

‘Yes?' said Bea.

‘Suppose . . . Do you think you could persuade her to go on a cruise or something?'

Bea said, ‘That's a good idea. She'd have to go out and buy some new outfits, which would divert her mind wonderfully.'

‘She would need someone with her to approve of everything she bought and carry her purchases, get her taxis and stuff.'

‘We do have people like that on our books. “The Last Resort”, I call them. Older women with the patience of Job and calculators for brains to keep track of their expenses. Shall we try that?'

Maggie lunged at Bea and gave her a bear hug which left the older women feeling that she'd been assaulted. ‘Bless you!' Having neatly passed the buck to Bea, Maggie got out her mobile phone. ‘I'm going to give that plumber hell!'

Bea took herself off down the stairs and into her office, wondering if she hadn't promised to do more than she could easily perform. Her computer was still running; she'd left the lights on and the curtains open.

She turned off all the lights except for the one on her desk, so that she could stand by the window and look out over the paved courtyard in the dark. Oblongs of light fell across the stone flags from the kitchen on the floor above, picking out the huge stone pots which Maggie had filled with wallflowers, bulbs and ivies.

Bea looked across and up . . . up through the naked branches of the big sycamore tree at the end of the garden to the spire of the church at the bottom of the road . . . and beyond that to the twinkle of the odd star . . . or were those the lights of a plane going in to land at Heathrow airport?

Peace and quiet descended. Standing in the semi-dark by the windows, she was neither in the busy world of the agency and her extended family, nor in the shadows of the garden outside.

Dear Lord above, what have I got myself into now? I know . . . at least I think I know that you'd want me to help Maggie, but . . .

I am not the right person to deal with a selfish, conniving little screw-head like Lady Ossett. I just don't have the patience. I'd want to tell her to pull herself together or slap her or . . . I mean, tact is required here, don't you think? And is that my strong point? Well, not without an effort, no.

All right, I know I'm not supposed to despise Maggie's mother, however difficult she may be. If Maggie's right and the woman is frightened, then I should be trying to help her, not thwart
her desire to have her daughter at home with her.

Except that . . . if she really is frightened . . .

I don't understand what's going on here. All I know is that I am not the right person to deal with Lady Ossett.

All right, all right. You've dumped it on my plate, and I suppose I have to deal with it. But not without complaining. I am allowed to complain, right?

I mean, I'm no saint, am I?

Having argued herself into a better frame of mind, Bea pulled the curtains to and turned on the overhead lights. Her computer was still humming. She brought up the document she'd been studying when Maggie had burst in upon her, and sighed.

Another problem that she didn't know how to solve. Should she sign a contract to have a binding relationship with another firm or not? She must decide soon. They were pressing her for a decision, and it made sense in so many ways to link her agency with them. And yet . . . and yet.

She saved the document and shut down her computer for the night.

Her landline rang. A glance at the clock showed her it was the right time for Oliver – her adopted son – to ring. He often did so on a Friday before he went out for the evening. Oliver was at university studying something wildly academic and non-understandable in the field of higher mathematics, so perhaps he'd have some words of wisdom for her in the matter of the contract.

Oliver was on another tack altogether. ‘What's this about Maggie's mother wanting her back home? I told her that's ridiculous, she'll be on tranquillizers within a week and then what good will she be to man or beast? You've got to stop her.'

‘You've heard, then.'

‘Heard? I was just about to go out when she rang, hardly making any sense, saying that if you don't think of something to rescue her, she's going to do her duty if it kills her, which it probably will—'

‘Agreed.'

‘Can't you talk some sense into her, Mother Hen?'

The use of her nickname made her smile. Wryly. ‘Have you tried, Oliver?'

‘She wouldn't listen. Look, term's nearly over. I could come back early if you like. Maggie thinks you shouldn't be left on your own.'

‘Absurd!'

‘Yes, but what about the end of year party? You won't be able to do it without her.'

Bea bit her lip. She hadn't forgotten it exactly, but it hadn't been high on her list of priorities. It had been Maggie's idea to celebrate the launch of her business as a registered company, Bea's sixty-second birthday and the signing of the contract with Holland and Butcher. Maggie had wanted it to be a splendiferous event in the annals of Kensington, with entertainment and champagne flowing regardless of cost. Bea wouldn't have dreamed of holding such a big ‘do' if Maggie hadn't suggested it. And in any case, she wasn't at all sure she wanted to plunge into a relationship with H & B . . . Or not without giving it a lot more thought, anyway.

‘I want to stop Maggie committing suicide as well. Any ideas?' she said.

‘Just one. I gather Lady O enjoys an extravagant lifestyle. You could hint that Maggie might become a drain on her finances, that she might even be sued, if she doesn't complete her current contracts. And if she's not earning, then who would have to pay her debts?'

‘A really underhand suggestion. Not worthy of the fine, upstanding, down-sitting young man that you're supposed to be. I shall adopt it with pleasure.'

‘Good.' Silence. ‘Maggie said her mother was frightened because Lucas fell down some stairs. Is that right?'

‘Isn't it enough that she fears losing her husband, her comfortable way of life, and her home?'

‘You know her sort better than I, but I don't like the sound of Lucas' fall down the stairs. There really is no cause for alarm, is there?'

B
ea paid off the taxi and looked up – and up – at the block of flats in which Lady Ossett lived. It was built of cream coloured London brick and had rounded corners, giving the impression of a ship about to sail. Not as tall a block as some. Not a skyscraper. Six or seven floors only? Nineteen twenties, probably. Substantial, not to say solid-looking. Windows shining, paint glistening. Well-maintained. Pricey.