False Alarm (29 page)

They transferred to a table in the dining room, where the seating was arranged by Max. He and Benton sat side by side: ‘So that our two lovely women can get to know one another.'

Bea told herself she'd feel better when she had some food inside her. There were breadsticks on the table.

Sticks. Sticks and stones may break my bones. Kamran's daughter had seen the caretaker pushed over the edge by a stick. Lavinia had had a stick. Who else?

‘My dear Mama!' Max, pseudo solicitous. ‘I'll choose for you, shall I?'

‘Anything but lobster. I like it, but it doesn't like me. Something light, and perhaps some sparkling mineral water.'

‘No, no. The champagne will buck you up nicely. Waiter! Another bottle of champagne!' He beckoned the wine waiter. ‘On this auspicious occasion . . .'

Max and Benton laughed, leaning towards one another. Enjoying themselves. We two, we happy band of brothers . . . sharing out the spoils they anticipated would come from the merger.

Fatigue kept Bea quiet.

Kamran's family were in the world, but protected from it. Hidden, almost. And wanted to remain that way. They weren't going to rock the boat by screaming ‘murder'.

Dilys was talking about her youngest son's chickenpox, which . . .

Bea tuned Dilys out, watching Max and Benton decide together on what they should eat and drink. More champagne came. She sipped some and felt marginally better.

Max was in charge, of course. He would be paying the bill. He was in his element as the host, the fixer, the influential director.

She accepted a plateful of a fishy dish whose ingredients she didn't immediately recognize. Not lobster, obviously. The sauce was divine.

‘Dilys, my husband says you're a director of Holland and Butcher?'

‘Why, yes.' She dimpled. She must have been an attractive girl in her late teens, though now, sadly, was beginning to look middle-aged before her time. ‘Pa is the chair – Mr Holland, you know? – and I always meant to go into the firm when I finished at college. I used to help out in the office in the holidays sometimes, and he made me a director when I turned twenty. Only then I got married and started having babies so I don't really have time for all that any more.'

‘You attend the meetings?'

‘No, but I give Benton my proxy vote, of course.'

‘You still draw a director's salary?'

A nod. ‘It's a great help with the children's school fees.' Not even a blush when she made the admission.

Bea sighed to herself. Yes, that was how it worked. The board of directors of some companies still had non-working directors who drew a salary. Max would be in good company if this merger came about.

The fishy dishes were removed, to be replaced with lamb noisettes. At least, that's what they looked like, though they tasted of . . . She wasn't quite sure what they tasted of, and she wasn't sure she liked it.

A long shot. ‘Tell me, Dilys; are you any relation to Sir Lucas Ossett?'

‘He's my godfather. Didn't you know?'

She was beginning to understand how Sir Lucas had gained information about a possible merger. Bea said, lightly, ‘He crops up everywhere. He married into the family of my protégée, Maggie, and has been talking about giving my adopted son a place in his organization. I'm told he can be a very generous patron.'

‘Oh, yes.' Eagerly. ‘He gave me a block of shares in Vicori when I was twenty-one, and when I got married he put a whole heap of money into Holland and Butcher.'

He did, did he? Put a good face on it. ‘Splendid. So one day in the future we might be connected twice over.'

Dilys sparkled with pleasure. ‘Benton says that Max is all for it.'

‘I know he's very keen on it,' said Bea. ‘But it takes two to tango, or words to that effect.' The champagne was making her feel light-headed.

Dilys wasn't stupid. She got the message, frowned and sent an appealing glance towards her husband, who refused to see it.

Bea picked at the lamb dish and pushed the rest aside. The two men were deep in discussion about finding premises for new offices. New offices for whom? Ah, for the joint company which would be called – wait for it! – Holland and Abbot. Over her dead body.

She wondered if Evonne and Connor would turn up on Wednesday, looking for jobs. Fifty fifty, she thought.

Benton had been imbibing champagne at quite a rate. His colour had risen. ‘Well, are you two girls enjoying yourselves?'

Dilys sent an agonized look to him. ‘Don't you think we should change places so that you can talk to Mrs Abbot?'

Good for Dilys, thought Bea. You're not as silly as your husband tries to make out. ‘Oh, that's all right,' said Bea out loud. ‘After all, we're not here to talk business tonight, are we, Benton? Some time soon, perhaps in the New Year, once we've all recovered from the festivities and my solicitor is back from his holidays, I shall have time to look at the paperwork you've sent me. Did I tell you he's off on a cruise? My solicitor, I mean. I can hardly believe it. He always said he could get seasick in a punt on the river.'

Silence. The men looked at her in shock.

‘Oh, but surely . . .' That was Benton.

Max's colour had risen, too. ‘Mother!'

She didn't want to show him up before his guests, but this had to stop. ‘Don't you “Mother” me,' said Bea. ‘I am not in my dotage, and I'm perfectly capable of choosing what I want to eat for dessert. Did I see some meringues on the dessert trolley? I love meringue but don't often indulge. I like almost anything but sago pudding.' She could hear her voice rising. Too much champagne, too much death. She was feeling rather peculiar. She really ought not to have come out this evening.

Dilys tried to follow Bea's example. Her voice cracked, but she managed to say, ‘I'd love some pavlova, if they've got any. It's something I never have at home.'

‘Nor me,' said Bea. She wondered who would deal with the defrosting meal for one which Harvey had left out on his kitchen worktop. She also wondered who Carmela had invited to join her for supper.

She said, ‘I'm glad it's stopped snowing. I've ruined two perfectly good pairs of boots over the last few days. Perhaps I shall have to resort to wellington boots if I go out tomorrow.' The next time she went up that fire escape it would be in the clunkiest of her shoes with the thickest of heels. If ever.

Dilys tried to smile. ‘My youngest has got some wellies with pink flowers on them. She wants an umbrella with ladybirds on, too. I'm afraid her taste is for the brightly coloured.'

‘My dear, I warm to her. The sooner she goes to school, the sooner you can get back to work with Holland and Butcher, right?'

‘Yes, but . . . I don't think . . .' She looked to Benton for help.

‘Oh, I'm sure you'd be a voice for common-sense,' said Bea, aware that Benton was looking horrified. ‘It's sadly lacking in many boardrooms today, don't you think?'

Max had turned puce. ‘Mother!'

The dear boy had bitten off more than he could chew, hadn't he? ‘Dear Max, you'd better not have a dessert. So fattening, and you know your dear wife worries about you putting on weight.'

Did Dilys giggle? It was a very small giggle, but it was definitely there. Benton looked daggers at his wife. Benton didn't understand what was happening. He was out of his depth. Good. No need to say anything else. No need for a row in public. Max had understood what she'd said. Now perhaps they could all go home and get some sleep.

Bea felt most strange but couldn't think why. She'd only had one glass of champagne, and two courses, of fish and meat. Not lobster. No, no. Pray there hadn't been lobster in the sauce! But she recognized the symptoms only too well.

‘Time to go beddy-byes,' said Bea, helping herself to her feet by leaning on the table. ‘Waiter, was there lobster in the first course?'

‘I don't think so, madam. Shall I enquire?'

‘Mother, we haven't had our coffee, yet.'

She shook her head at him. ‘Sorry, everyone. Got to make my excuses.' Where was the ladies' room? Ah. Yes. There. Across the room. Could she make it in time?

She let the door slam to behind her and dived for the nearest loo. Up it came. Ugh. And again.

Another slam of the door. Dilys had followed her. ‘Can I help? The waiter admits there was some lobster in the sauce! Oh dear.'

Bea retched again. And again. She wanted to tell the girl to go away, but hadn't enough energy to do so. Dilys hovered. Bea slipped down to the floor, and stayed there, waiting for the next upheaval.

The door banged again as another diner entered. And banged again when she left. Dilys disappeared. Bang.

Which reminded her. Dimly. Kamran said his daughter hadn't heard anything after the caretaker took a dive down into the yard, except – and he wasn't entirely sure about that – she might have heard a door closing.

Which meant that she could guess – as he had – who'd killed the caretaker.

And he'd passed that information on to Bea, who was quite unable to do anything about it.

‘You poor thing,' said Dilys, reappearing with a bottle of mineral water in her hand and a box of tissues. ‘Max has told the maître d', who's told the cook, and they're taking that dish off the menu and of course there'll be no charge for the meal, but oh dear! Poor you! Could you drink some water? Here, I've got some tissues. If I wet them, I can get you cleaned up. And then we'll take you home.'

Bea croaked, ‘Water. Thanks.'

Dilys ministered to her. Good for Dilys. Nice child. Deserved a better partner in life than Benton.

At last Bea got to her feet, swaying, stomach empty.

Dilys fetched Bea's coat; Max had a cab waiting, and she was transported home. She saw that the answerphone light was blinking in the hall, but she ignored it. She'd be all right tomorrow. Hopefully.

A
disturbed night. Bea went on retching at intervals. The floor rose up to meet her when she got off the bed. Luckily, her bedroom was en suite.

She dozed and woke. It was morning.

What day of the week? Monday? Probably. She felt dreadful.

She tottered down the stairs to feed the cat and collect some bottled water to drink. She mustn't get dehydrated or she'd be seriously ill. She used the internal phone to advise the manageress at the agency that she'd been incapacitated, found her mobile phone and went back to bed. She was alone in the house but didn't want company, thank you very much.

She dozed awhile. Her symptoms were subsiding. Or were they? No, they weren't. She made it back to the toilet just in time. And dozed off.

In the evening she fed the cat and began to worry about Maggie and Oliver. She rang Maggie, who never ever turned her mobile phone off. It was turned off this time, though.

She rang Oliver, who did answer eventually. ‘Oliver, are you both all right?'

Oliver sounded subdued. ‘Sorry not to have rung you. Maggie and I had a rough night. Stomach upset. Something we ate. But we're all right now, more or less.'

So they'd had a reaction to the lobster, too? No, no. Think straight, Bea. They didn't have lobster for supper and . . . they must have eaten something else. But they were all right now, which was more than she could say for herself. She envied the ability of youth to throw things off.

‘What happened?' said Bea, trying to think clearly. ‘Is Lady Ossett all right?'

‘Sure. They didn't eat with us last night. Stayed out till late.'

‘Oh. Good. I think. I've had a stomach upset, too. Speak tomorrow.'

She went back to bed.

She got up, feeling swimmy in the head. She knew she ought to eat something, but couldn't face it. It was odd that Maggie and Oliver had also had a stomach upset. She had a horrid feeling she was missing something important. Her head was muzzy. She couldn't think.

She rang Oliver again.

He sounded tired. ‘Yes, we had another late night. I don't know how you oldies cope! Lady O quarrelled with the Professor about something obscure in a crossword puzzle, would you believe? Then, just as we were about to go to bed she decided to change all the furniture round and we were up till two o'clock doing that. She had me on the Internet looking for new lamps to buy. Yes, you might well laugh . . .'

Bea really was laughing. She hadn't thought she could, but she did. ‘Has Maggie been able to go off to work today?'

‘Looking like death, but yes; she has gone. I promised not to leave Her Ladyship alone, which is fine because she isn't out of bed yet and I gather she has appointments with the beauticians this afternoon. She's got them coming here, rather than her going to them. I thought I might be able to get away, but she's paranoid about being left alone.'

Maybe she was right to be paranoid. ‘It's all right, Oliver. You look after her. I'm OK. Or soon will be.'

‘The Professor knocked on the door a while back with a bunch of flowers for Her Highness, so I imagine all will soon be fine in that department again.'

‘You think it's a match made in heaven?'

‘What has heaven got to do with it?' Oliver was unusually terse.

‘Well, I've been off colour for a while, too, so I'm taking it easy today. I should be back on form again tomorrow. Keep in touch, right?'

She made herself some toast and decided she didn't want it. Ate half a banana. Fed the cat. Drank a lot of water. Checked with the agency that all was well. Was asked what she wanted to do about a request for a caretaker that had come in over the weekend. Bea remembered this was Sir Lucas's attempt to involve her further in his network. She told her manageress to say that the Abbot Agency didn't provide caretakers and that they would pass the enquiry on to someone who did.