False Diamond--An Abbot Agency Mystery (11 page)

‘Splendid. Leon's arranged for Sybil to look after Bernice for a while.'

Next. Ring the hospital. ‘I'm enquiring after a woman who was brought in yesterday evening suffering from an accident in a bath. She's called Dilys …'

Transferred to another office.

Click, click. ‘Who did you say you were asking for?'

Bea repeated the details.

A lilting, Asian voice, disapproving. ‘She discharged herself against medical advice about an hour ago.'

‘What? Did her husband …? No, wait a minute, he can't have …'

‘Someone brought some clothes for her and took her away. She told us it had been arranged for her to receive treatment in a private clinic.' The phone disconnected.

Bea didn't know what to think. Had Benton's phone call, the one which Leon hadn't been able to overhear, been arranging for his wife to be whipped away so that she couldn't give her side of the story? ‘Treatment in a private clinic?' That sounded ominous.

Another question. If Benton was short of money, how was he going to pay the bills at a private clinic? Had he been planning to send her somewhere for ‘treatment' all along? Would Dilys emerge in one piece?

The phone rang. Sybil. A harsh voice, accustomed to being obeyed. ‘Are you there, Mrs Abbot? Have you the slightest idea what's going on? I've just rung the hospital and they say my niece discharged herself even though they said she was still very poorly. I rang that skunk Benton and he denied all knowledge, but he would, wouldn't he? So I tried Leon but he's not answering his phone, probably realizing it's me. Do you know anything about this?'

‘No, I don't. I find it very worrying.'

‘So do I.' A pause. ‘You think Benton's stashed her somewhere?'

‘It would seem so.'

‘Would the police act if we reported—?'

‘No, they wouldn't. She discharged herself.'

‘She's a nitwit.'

‘Agreed. But she's over eighteen, and we don't have any grounds for—'

‘And you're no better.' Disconnect.

Ouch. Well, perhaps Sybil was right. Bea didn't think she'd handled things too well with Benton and Max so far.

It was time to take Carrie, her office manageress, into her confidence.

A long peal on the agency doorbell.

Bea's office door was thrown open, and violence entered the room.

Bea and Carrie looked up from the papers spread out on her desk. Bea's main computer had been removed for the time being but her laptop sat on a table nearby, showing a screen saver.

‘Yes?' said Bea, taking off her reading glasses.

‘You!' Benton advanced on her, pointing his finger at her. ‘I'll have your guts for garters.'

‘Could you keep your voice down, please?' said Bea. ‘The child's worn out.' She indicated the settee, where Bernice was sleeping, covered by one of Bea's pashminas, thumb in mouth, fingers curled around nose, free hand clutching a tiny teddy bear.

Benton hoisted the manageress out of her chair with a hand under her elbow. ‘You. Out.'

‘Oh, really!' said Bea, managing to sound amused. ‘Well, Carrie; as the gentleman's in such a hurry, perhaps we can finish this later. But, hold on a moment …' She picked up a file and handed it over. ‘I must admit I'm concerned about this lad here, who's had hardly any work experience. Could you check for me? And you'll see that that package goes off? Good. And oh, I almost forgot, if the embassy calls back—'

Benton's colour rose. An unpleasant sight. ‘Get the hell out before I—'

‘Temper, temper,' said Bea. ‘Please, keep your voice down.'

Carrie quirked an eyebrow at Bea and went out, shutting the door softly behind her.

Max hovered, making ineffectual calming movements with his hands. He said, ‘Mother, this is serious! If what he says is true, you broke into his house last night—'

‘No, dear. I was invited in by Leon Holland to try to save Dilys's life, which Benton hasn't yet thanked me for, though I suppose he will remember his manners at some point. Do sit down, Max. You're making the place look untidy.'

Max sat on the edge of a chair. ‘You were caught illicitly taking photographs—'

‘I thought it was important to retain the evidence of Dilys's state of mind. I've never seen a suicide note written on a mirror before.'

‘What have you done with it?' Benton picked up the piles of paper on her desk – looking for what? Her mobile phone?

Bea frowned. ‘Please don't disturb my papers, Benton. They're all in order at the moment.'

He swept the lot off the desk, snarling. ‘Ah!' He pounced on her handbag, emptied the contents on her desk, picked out her mobile phone and threw it against the wall.

Bea recoiled. ‘What are you doing! How dare you! You can't just force your way into people's offices and destroy their belongings.'

‘There!' He stamped on the phone, once … twice … three times.

He wouldn't want to destroy the phone unless the evidence was incriminating. His sister's told him he got the lipstick wrong, and he wants to make sure I can't produce any evidence.

She half rose from her chair. ‘Please, leave now! Or I'll call the police.'

He thrust his face at her, crowding her back in her chair towards the wall. ‘Max says you transfer pictures from your phone to your computer. This it?' He hauled the laptop back on to her desk. ‘Show me where you keep your pictures, woman! Now!'

‘I'll do nothing of the kind. What on earth makes you think you can act like—'

‘This does!' He thrust his fist into her jaw, once, twice. Lightly, but making sure she rocked in her chair each time.

Max shot out of his seat, twisting his hands together. ‘No, Benton. You can't. You mustn't. Look, if it's so important, I'll find them for you …' In a fever, he pounced on Bea's laptop and set to work on it. ‘Yes, here's her photo gallery … but …' He looked up at Benton. ‘There's nothing recent.'

‘What! Show me!' Benton swung the laptop round, to check. And straightened up. Slowly. ‘She's put them somewhere else. Bitch! What have you done with them? Answer me!'

Bea stood up, slowly, trying not to shake. ‘I told you to leave.'

‘I said, “Answer me!”' He picked up the laptop and smashed it down on the corner of her desk.

Bernice yelped in her sleep and curled herself into an even smaller ball.

Bea said, ‘I wish now that I
had
transferred all my recent pictures from my phone to the laptop. Pictures of my grandson and our last big party …' She allowed her eyes to fill with tears. ‘I thought there was plenty of time and now … I'm sending you a bill for my phone and laptop, and I shall expect a cheque by return.'

He seized her wrist and drew her close. ‘If I thought you were lying, I would …'

‘Steady on!' Max was alarmed but not going to interfere.

Bea said, ‘How dare you!'

He laughed in her face, released her with such violence that she fell back into her chair. He walked around the room, looked out on to the patio garden, adjusted his tie. Considered what he'd learned, decided he was not finished yet. He yanked the chair by the desk out and seated himself. ‘Now let's get one or two things straight. You have no option but to play ball with me. Ask Max. He'll tell you. Holland and Butcher are going to take over your agency. Max is about to made a director, and so are you. You will take over my duties at the firm, and your office staff will run both companies. You and I are going to work so closely together in future that we will speak with one voice. All dealings with the press will be handled by me, or by Max. You will back Max's application for a loan, offering this house as collateral. Do you understand?'

‘You must be mad!'

He grinned, revealing white, too white teeth. ‘You've run out of time. Max has been too clever for you. He's let me have your client list and the contact details of several disgruntled employees and employers who will be only too glad to tell their stories to the press – unless you cooperate.'

‘What?'

He ticked them off on his fingers. ‘Two men allege sexual discrimination. I imagine they are gay, but that makes an even better story, doesn't it? Then there's the woman who says you refused to pay her for work done, and another who claims you supplied a cook who stole from her … Just imagine what that will do to your saintly image!'

‘What?' she said again. She laughed in his face. ‘Oh, really! Benton, those cases go back fifteen years, maybe more. And they concerned unreliable characters whom you could never produce in court.'

‘If we circulate their details to your client list—'

‘I'd sue the pants off you. Publish and be damned.'

He straightened up. Smiling. ‘I'll leave Max to show you the error of your ways. But, before I go, I'm going to give you something to remember me by.'

He's going to hit me!

I could duck, but …

Max will surely not stand for—

He hit her, hard. First on one side of her jaw … she rocked back in her chair … and then the other.

He wiped his hands off, one against the other. ‘Now we know where we stand, don't we? Max, you've let your mother go her own way too long. You need to teach her some of the basic facts of life.'

The door swung to behind him.

B
ea put her hands to her face. Tenderly. Her cheeks were swelling.

Blood. A trickle down her cheek.

He'd been wearing a signet ring, had cut her.

Max hovered: panic, alarm and guilt fought for precedence. ‘Mother, you should have listened to … Let me …'

He offered her a tissue from the box on the table. She struck his hand aside.

No one has ever hit me before.

Max said, ‘Shall I get you some water?'

In a moment anger will replace Max's concern.

The child on the settee made a mewing noise. Bernice was awake. Had she witnessed the attack her father had made on Bea? He'd walked out and left her like a piece of unwanted luggage. Though perhaps it was just as well that he hadn't taken her with him, considering the treatment the child had received at his hand.

Bea hauled herself to her feet and made it to the settee. ‘All right, little one? A bad dream, was it?'

The child looked terrified. She whispered something.

Bea bent closer.

‘I've wet myself. Don't hit me!' She ducked her head under her arms.

Of course she'd wet herself, poor scrap.

Just as she'd anticipated, Max was moving into angry mode. ‘Mother, we've got to talk, to straighten this out …'

Bea pulled the child into her arms. ‘It's all right, my love. Maggie brought your suitcase with her, and we've got a change of clothes for you. And then—'

‘Mother!'

‘Get lost, Max.' She lifted the child up off the settee. Her cheeks were stiffening up. Blood was running down her neck.

His voice rose to a shout. ‘You're not listening! I was only showing Benton how much I could help when he takes over the agency. It never occurred to me in a million years that he would raise a hand to you. He's out of his mind with worry, you see, and—'

‘Max, this child needs first aid, and so do I. I would like you to leave before I say something I might regret.' She took a step towards the door, realized she wasn't going to make it while carrying the child, and fell back on to the settee. ‘Bernice, do you think you could manage to walk by yourself? We've got a nice toilet here, and we can clean one another up. How does that sound?'

The child slid on to the floor. One hand still grasped the teddy bear. It looked new. Maybe Maggie had bought it for her? Bernice held out her hand to Bea, who took it.

Carrie appeared in the doorway. ‘Is everything all right? Oh!' Seeing the devastation.

‘Carrie, will you see Max out?'

‘Mrs Abbot, your face!'

‘It will heal. Come along, Bernice. Clean-up time. Did Maggie tell you that you're going to stay with your Auntie Sybil? She looks ancient but she really cares about you and your mummy.'

A bad idea to mention the child's mother.

‘Mummy?' Again that look of dreadful anxiety.

‘She's being properly looked after. I'm sure you can see her soon.' Crossing fingers and toes.

Max said, ‘Mother, you're making a terrible mistake. I can't let you—'

‘You have a choice to make, Max … between me and everything I represent, and Benton and what he represents. Until you've decided, I don't want to see you. Please leave your keys on my desk and go.'

She was in shock. Time expanded so that she saw Max leaving her in slow motion … and then it shot forward as she helped Bernice to her feet and rushed her towards the toilet, passing Carrie who was looking distressed and saying something Bea didn't catch.

The girl stripped off her wet clothes. Oh, the bruises on her thin arms and legs!

A rush of anger. Bea was shaking. She held on to the washbasin. Was she going to be sick?

Control yourself, Bea. She looked into the mirror and saw that there was a drying trickle of blood down her cheek and on to her neck. She hurt in various places. Were her own arms bruised where Benton had grasped them? She fought for control.

She put her head out of the door. ‘Carrie?'

‘I'm here. Do you need a stitch in your face?'

‘A picture or two.'

Carrie kept her head. She produced Bea's smartphone, the one she'd hidden when expecting Benton, the one which had recorded what had happened to Dilys. Snap, snap. The damage to Bea's face was added to the rest of the evidence against Benton.

Bea knelt beside the child. ‘I'm afraid your daddy's been hurting you, too. Will you let me take a photo of your bruises now?'