False Charity (6 page)

‘That's more than enough,' said Bea, trying for authority.

At which June opened her mouth and screamed. In that small room, the effect was ear-splitting.

‘What's happening?' shouted Jake.

‘Give her room to breathe,' said Coral, ditching the file and clutching at June's wrist.

June took a deep breath and then, eyes goggling, screamed again.

Bea made another attempt to control the situation. ‘June, shut up and listen to me!'

June screamed again.

Maggie shot across the room. ‘Dial 999? Ambulance?'

June continued to scream.

‘Yes, do that, Maggie.' Bea tried to attract Coral's attention. ‘When's she due?'

‘Not for another month, but you know how they are about dates!'

Jake was shaking June's arm, and she wasn't taking the slightest bit of notice. ‘Shut up, girl! Shut up!' he was saying.

‘Hysteria?' Bea shouted at Coral over June's continued screams.

Coral shrugged. ‘It's her first. She's frightened. I don't know!'

Jake grabbed Bea's arm. ‘Do something! Make her stop!'

‘I would if I could, but—'

‘Where's that ambulance? We've got to get her to hospital.'

Jake shouted in Bea's ear. ‘Where's your car?'

She shouted back, ‘Missing!'

Coral was vainly trying to get June to sit down again. June's face was bright red, her hair had come down and was hanging around her face. She continued to scream.

Coral dithered. ‘I could take her in the van, I suppose.'

Maggie came off the phone and inserted herself into the group. ‘There's a big pile-up on the High Street, and there may be a delay getting an ambulance through. Shall I call a taxi?'

Coral fished out her keys. ‘I'll take her.
June!
' She shouted at her daughter. ‘
We're going to the hospital, now!
'

June gave a couple more screams, but didn't object as her husband and mother propelled her towards the door. By the time she'd got to the steps and was being pushed up them by the combined efforts of her family, she was weeping and gulping, but no longer screaming.

Maggie cancelled the call for an ambulance.

Bea sank into the nearest chair and covered her eyes with her hands. June's screams still seemed to echo through the room.

‘Well, what a palaver.' Maggie screeched out a laugh, making Bea shudder. It seemed the girl had enjoyed the ruckus. ‘So what can I do for you now, Mrs Abbot? Some more coffee? Take your clothes to the cleaners?'

‘I'm all right for the moment, thanks.' Bea made an effort. She picked up the file Coral had dropped on the floor, but didn't attempt to open it. She felt shattered. She thought that June had probably brought on that alarming attack quite deliberately, in order to bring pressure to bear on the agency. But the consequences! If she lost the baby … it didn't bear thinking about.

Bea inched herself to her feet, sent a bright smile in Maggie's direction and took the door into the hall. In front of her, stairs climbed to the first floor, but from the interview room on her right – the office that had once been hers – she could hear the clatter of computer keys. Would that be the boy Oliver?

She hesitated about going in to speak to Oliver but eventually decided he could wait and, passing the tiny kitchen, went into the inner sanctum from which Hamilton had once directed the affairs of the agency. Because of the way the ground sloped, the reception room on the street was semi-basement, but Hamilton's large room at the back was at ground floor level, with another grille protecting more French windows on to the garden.

This was where Hamilton or Bea had once welcomed clients for a discreet, private chat. It was furnished as a sitting room with comfortable chairs, and just one desk by the window for Hamilton. The desk was no longer by the window, but had been moved into the middle of the room, dominating it. Presumably Max had preferred it that way, but it made a nonsense of the friendly ambiance which had once been the trademark of the agency. There was a stack of mail on the desk, awaiting Bea's attention. More sympathy cards, letters, official-looking documents. Max had dealt with most of the forms that were needed after a death but there were some things only Bea could deal with.

With an effort she inched the desk back to the window again. Hamilton had always liked to look out on the garden and the trees beyond and it was indeed a pleasant scene. He could gaze up at the sky, now blue as could be, with the spire of the church just visible through the summer leafage. He'd done most of his thinking in that big comfortable chair behind the desk, swinging round now to look out of the window and now to access his computer.

His computer wasn't there any more. Oh.

Max knew how to use a computer, didn't he? Yes, surely he did. Perhaps he'd stored Hamilton's computer somewhere else, thinking Bea would have no further need of it? Or was Oliver now using it in his room upstairs?

Well, it didn't really matter what had happened to the computer, did it? What mattered was that June shouldn't lose her baby, even if she had been responsible for bringing her labour on early. What mattered was that their mortgage should be paid, even if it was Jake's fault that Coral couldn't go to the police.

It was not a simple question of right and wrong, though right and wrong came into it. Coral and her son-in-law had probably been greedy, had not bothered to check the client out, had been lax in their book-keeping. Yes. But they hadn't deserved to lose all that money.

Bea opened the file, put on her reading glasses and discovered the total of how much they'd lost. Ouch. The agency could wash its hands of the affair. Naturally. They were not at fault in any way. Were they? No.

We-e-ll. Not in law, maybe. But yes, they were morally responsible, weren't they? Hamilton would certainly have said so. He used to quote some lines about being ready to right wrongs, or being a knight or something. She couldn't remember exactly what.

But there – Bea pushed the paperwork aside – this was no longer anything to do with her. She'd retired from the agency ages ago, and couldn't possibly be held responsible. A mistake had been made but mistakes do happen even in the best regulated families and it was not her problem. Was it?

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

Wednesday, morning

The team had slept late but now there was work to be done. They'd dumped the bin bag containing the stained rug in a wheelie bin in Camden Town. The washing machine was working on the shower curtain, and Richie had dropped off their clothes to be dry-cleaned.

Lena, dressed in a black leotard and sequined slippers, put on some rubber gloves to check out the victim's mobile phone. It was brand new, performing everything except the polka.

Noel was easing stylish boots over designer jeans. ‘If I've got to get rid of my mobile, why can't I have his?'

‘Don't be silly,' said his mother, accessing the address list. ‘Ouch, he's got a couple – no, three – girls' telephone numbers in his memory.' She tapped her teeth. ‘He said he was playing the field. Suppose he wasn't gay but—'

Noel pouted. ‘He was gay.' He snatched the phone out of her hands. ‘Swap you mine for this, right?' He fiddled with the phone. ‘Who shall I send a photo to?'

Richie slid into the room, another phone to his ear. ‘The hotel confirms the special offer on the wine. All right?'

‘Sure,' said Lena, watching her son with a mixture of irritation and pleasure. ‘Noel, you know you can't keep it.'

He whooped. ‘Will you look at this!' He showed her an image of herself on the mobile.

She said, ‘Look!' and pointed. Grabbed at the phone and missed.

Laughing, he opened his fingers and let the phone smash down on to the floor. And stamped on it. She drew the back of her hand across her forehead. ‘Oh, Noel!'

‘Was there anything on it?' asked Richie, through his teeth.

‘You should have let me keep it,' said Noel, spreading his hands wide. ‘Now look what you've made me do!'

Wednesday, midday

B
ea started up out of her nap. After a moment's disorientation, she adjusted her glasses and picked up Coral's file. Even though she was not responsible for the mess Coral had got into, she might be able to come up with a constructive suggestion.

The paperwork was not in chronological order. She spread the bits and pieces out on Hamilton's desk, trying to get a picture of what had been going on.

Maggie blundered into the room, all arms and legs. ‘What can I do for you, you poor thing? How are you feeling? Jet lag's terrible, isn't it? Would some coffee help? I can make it in a trice.'

Bea told herself the girl was only trying to help. ‘You can tell Oliver to come in. He's the computer buff around here, isn't he? I assume he's got Hamilton's computer and if so, tell him to return it, pronto.'

Silence. Maggie twisted her lips together, displaying reluctance to do as Bea had asked. Where did she buy her clothes and what colour had her hair been originally? She wouldn't be bad looking if she held herself better and paid a visit to a decent hairdresser. Was she anorexic, perhaps?

‘Promise you'll be gentle with him,' said Maggie. ‘He cries if people shout at him.'

Bea slammed her hands down on the desk. ‘Heavens above!'

Maggie winced, but stood her ground.

‘Oh, very well.' Bea moderated her voice. ‘I promise to handle him as if he were made of glass. Just get him in here, fast.'

Oliver sidled into the room, looking about twelve years old. He was wearing a pair of moccasins in addition to the same casual gear as before. Bea gestured him to take a chair, which he only did after sending a pleading glance to Maggie. He was a finely cut lad, fine-boned – almost sparrow-boned. Too thin. If he put on a bit of weight, he might be handsome. There was a dusky tint to his skin. A mixed race ancestry, somewhere along the line?

‘You too, Maggie. Sit.'

Maggie sprawled on the settee but Oliver sat on the edge of a chair, looking terrified. Bea repressed an impulse to blast him into outer space. He really was victim material.

‘Now, I'd like an update, please. I want my husband's computer back. Also I need to know how many outstanding jobs we have on our books, what we owe, what is owing to us, and what sort of timescale to shut down we're talking about.'

Oliver gaped at her, wordless. Maggie shrugged, gazing out of the window, distancing herself from what was happening. Bea remembered that Maggie wasn't supposed to be much good at office work. All right. But what about Oliver?

Bea sat on her impatience. All right, an outright order to Oliver didn't work. She'd try another way. She put on her Little Woman act, almost batting her eyelids in an effort to convince them that she was the original nitwit and he was the White Knight of the keyboard who could ride to her rescue. In a soft voice she said, ‘You see how helpless I am, Oliver. Anyone could take me for a ride at the moment. I really need your help, to try to understand what's been going on.'

Oliver's narrow chest expanded as he got the point. Maggie gave a sharp nod, expressing approval of the way Bea was handling the boy.

Oliver said, in the tones of one who can hardly believe their ears, ‘You want me to show you what I've been doing?'

Give the boy a cherry. ‘Please.' She tried to sound humble.

Having reduced her request to words that he understood, Oliver was happy enough to bring in various spreadsheets and analyses of computer programmes that he'd been running. He laid them out on the desk, and began to explain them to her.

It was soon clear that while Maggie had been acting as receptionist and housekeeper for Max and Nicole, Oliver had been running what was left of the business.

‘There's a bit of a gap at the beginning of the month,' said Oliver, as he began to wind down. ‘Someone was keeping the books straight before me but she left and I'm sorry but I haven't been able to track every transaction down.'

‘You've done a remarkable job,' said Bea, truthfully. ‘I couldn't have done half as well.'

He managed to stop fidgeting at that, and even produced half a smile.

Bea put her elbows on her table, and rested her chin on her hands. ‘Does my son know how much you've been doing?'

A shrug. ‘He knew and he didn't know, if you know what I mean.' He shot a look at Maggie, asking for help. Shuffled his feet. ‘He said he couldn't afford to pay me, but as I was Maggie's boyfriend—'

‘Which he's not,' said Maggie, pugnacious in defence. ‘I was sorry for him. Like a puppy left out in a storm, he was. And the room upstairs wasn't doing anything. To be frank, I'm not much good on the computer. I can produce the odd letter and make phone calls and that, but not this complicated stuff. So what I can't do, he does for me and I feed him and keep the house clean. And that's it, really.'

‘My son mentioned that there might be some cases outstanding, possibly people who've had cause for complaint?'

Oliver and Maggie exchanged glances. Maggie said, ‘One or two. But honest, nothing for us to worry about. Max had them checked out by his solicitor and we're in the clear.'

‘Including Coral's case? Are we in the clear on that?'

‘Yes,' said Oliver, but he looked unhappy about it.

‘Yes,' said Maggie. ‘Strictly to the letter of the law. Max explained it to me; there's always bad debts, and she should have been more careful.'

‘Did she pay us an introduction fee?'

Oliver said, ‘Yes, she did.'

Bea swung the big chair round and looked out over the garden. It was green and restful out there, and the temperature was rising. It would be another hot day. She unlocked and opened the grille and the French windows. Now she could hear the buzz of bees on the brightly coloured annuals in the big tubs outside. There were butterflies on the buddleia tree, and above the sycamore tree at the end of the garden rose the spire of the church.