False Diamond--An Abbot Agency Mystery (14 page)

Bea said, ‘Nothing much. Just sign a few pieces of paper for me. Oh, and I'm a bit short of cash, so do you think you could turn out your pockets and see what you can lend me?'

A restless night and a painful awakening. Her face felt raw, and she could hardly open one eye. She decided there was no point in trying to slap on make-up to disguise what had happened to her. It might even be possible to turn her bruises to her advantage?

She felt sluggish and unwilling to face the day, but she knew – or thought she knew – that there would be more pressure put upon her that morning and she must prepare herself to meet it. She picked up her Bible, found her reading glasses had dropped to the floor, couldn't be bothered to pick them up, hoped God would understand if she didn't spend time with him that morning and forced herself out of bed and into the shower.

Downstairs, she fed Winston, made a cafetière of coffee and poured some out for herself. She drank it black. Shuddered. Put in some sugar. Decided not to tussle with the toaster, but managed to deal with a bowl of cereal. It was a dark morning, cloudy but not cold. She could hear movement in the office below. The agency was doing so well that they now had to staff it on Saturdays, too. Bea wondered if she should go down there and help. Decided against it. Dawdled.

Maggie came downstairs, talking on her smartphone, dressed all in black but with a purple and yellow scarf wound around her throat. The purple matched her eyeshadow. It didn't look as if she'd slept well, either. Bea wondered whether or not to mention Maggie's problem with her faithful boyfriend and decided that this was not the moment to do so. Maggie was being bright enough as she talked to … whoever.

‘But that's terrific. I can't wait to see them. Hold on a mo. Here's Mrs Abbot, who would like a word.' She mimed the name ‘Bernice' and handed the phone over to Bea.

‘Mrs Abbot?' A small voice, not at all sure that it was welcome.

Bea said, ‘Bernice, my dear? How lovely to hear from you. How are you getting on?'

‘Very well, thank you.' A well-brought-up poppet. ‘I've just had breakfast in a huge kitchen and Maria said I could have whatever I like to eat but she offered me so many things it was difficult to choose so she chose Weetabix and scrambled eggs and toast for me. I'm going out with Aunt Sybil in a minute. She said she couldn't have me going around in my brothers' old clothes so she bought me a coat with a hood lined with soft fur and a skirt, which feels very odd because I've never worn a skirt before, and a top which is all fluffy and striped leggings to match. And I've got my own big room with a rocking horse in it that used to belong to my mummy, and Aunt Sybil says we can go to see her soon.'

‘Ah,' said Bea, hoping that wasn't all wishful thinking.

‘I must go now,' said the polite little voice. ‘Aunt Sybil says I must wash my hands and brush my teeth and be ready to go out with her in five minutes, and she doesn't want me to keep her waiting.' Click. Off went the phone.

Bea handed Maggie back her mobile. ‘How do you think she's doing?'

‘She's a little soldier. She says it seems very quiet because the boys aren't around. I would have thought it would be a relief to her to be away from them for a while but I think she's a born worrier. She said a nice lady called Maria brought her up some hot milk when she went to bed and showed her how to work her very own telly, and read a book to her before she went to sleep last night. She says she's supposed to be seeing her mummy soon.'

‘Yes, she told me that, too.'

They both frowned. Then Maggie gave a great sigh. She turned Bea towards the light and, without changing her tone, said, ‘Your face looks awful. Does it hurt much? Have you tried arnica?'

‘No, but I do have some somewhere. I've heard it helps. So, there's no real news of Dilys? I can't bear to think of her in a locked ward somewhere.'

Maggie poured herself a mug of coffee and drank it, standing. ‘How about we kidnap Benton and threaten him with a hot iron to make him tell us where he's taken her?'

‘Don't tempt me. You're working today?'

‘I have a couple of appointments which I can cancel if you think I'd be of any use to you here.'

‘No. You go. Max hasn't any keys to get in now, so I'll only receive visitors downstairs and can call on the staff for help if things get awkward.'

Maggie pinched in her lips. Bea had got hurt yesterday even though her staff had been within call. ‘Well, you've got Oliver now. He was up till the small hours on his computer. Still asleep now, I think. Shall I hoick him out of bed for you?'

‘No need.' Oliver appeared in an ancient T-shirt and jeans, barefoot, yawning, his hair all over the place. ‘Is there some coffee?' He dumped a sheaf of papers on the table. ‘This is as far as I've got. Maggie, are you cooking breakfast?'

Maggie thumped him one. ‘Cook your own. I'm off. Give me a ring if you need me.' She went out, slamming the front door behind her.

There was a lot of other noise going on somewhere. People shouting? Downstairs in the agency rooms? Oliver turned his head, listening.

Bea got out the frying pan. ‘I must find my reading glasses. Do you want full English breakfast?'

‘Brain food needed, definitely. What's going on downstairs? Can the girls cope?'

‘Expect so.' Bea investigated the contents of the fridge. Did she fancy a cooked breakfast herself? No. Her tummy was too uncertain, fearing what would happen next.

She had recognized at least one of the voices. Max, arguing with Carrie.

Bea had had a stout door with a good lock installed across the bottom of the stairs leading from the agency rooms to the ground floor of the main house. Someone was pounding on that. Max?

Oliver said, ‘Carrie has keys to that door?'

‘She won't use them without phoning me first. What did you find out about Benton?' She started to fry some sausages.

Oliver poured himself a large glass of orange juice. ‘I didn't get far with him before I got caught up with investigating the Holland dynasty.' He shoved the papers towards her. ‘Prepare to be amazed. Old Man Holland is a multi-billionaire who likes to keep out of the limelight but has fingers in pies from India to Indianapolis. Once I'd worked out that Holland and Butcher was just one small company in a consortium, I had access to a lot more information through trade papers. So, the head office is in the country mansion, but … wait for it … his registered offices are in the Cayman Islands, which cuts his tax bill to almost nothing. You've never met him, have you?'

‘I understood that he was a decrepit old man who couldn't be bothered with the detail of running his business any more and had installed a series of general managers to do it for him. I've only had contact with Mr Butcher – he was the managing director before Benton – and what a nasty piece of work he was! And then with Benton.'

‘Mr Holland is a spider, running his various operations from his home. He's chair or president of each of his companies, here and overseas, but installs managers to do the nitty gritty and rarely appears in public. As far as I can see, he inherited the training college from an uncle, diversified first into a window-cleaning business, and then into the service industries. Finally, he made the move into information technology – that's where the Indian end of the business comes in – and after he started that, the world was his oyster. Holland Holdings are all over the globe, and his shares stand high in the marketplace.'

‘Phew,' said Bea, adding bacon and tomatoes to the sausages. ‘Why does he still bother with a piddling little organization like Holland and Butcher?'

‘I suppose the business rates are less in the sticks than they would be in the city.'

‘No, let me think. I'm sure there's another reason. Leon told me that his sister had moved in with her brother, who had a big house with a guest wing, out in the country. Sybil took Bernice there. Bernice told me she's now sleeping in a room which once belonged to her mother. What if this mansion were the original Holland family house? And, if it's that big, it might also be where they train the Holland and Butcher domestic staff?'

‘Well, it is his main residence, apparently. Unlike most billionaires, he doesn't seem to have acquired houses in other parts of the globe. Having a school to train staff on the premises must be a convenient way to keep a big house going these days. I'll check.'

There was more banging from below and more raised voices.

Oliver said, ‘Aren't you going to let Max in?'

‘He can wait.'

The landline phone rang. Oliver picked it up. A furious babel of sound. Eventually, Oliver said, ‘Calm down, please. If you want to see Mrs Abbot, well, I'm afraid she's not down yet. She had a bad night. We were in two minds about taking her to hospital but—'

More sound and fury.

Bea cut some tomatoes in half and added them to the bacon and sausages.

Oliver said, ‘No, I'm not going to get her out of bed just when she's managed to fall asleep. Why don't you come back tomorrow when—'

Bea inhaled. The smell of bacon cooking was delicious. Perhaps she'd be able to manage a few bites herself. Now what about a tin of baked beans? And weren't there some mushrooms somewhere?

‘No, Max!' said Oliver, with some force. ‘I am not going to let you in. If you're so desperate to make amends for what your friend did to your mother yesterday, then I suggest you go out and buy her a bottle of champagne and some flowers, and bring them round in an hour or so's time. Oh, and some fruit. She's not able to eat properly, may have to go on slops for a few days, and we're rather worried about one of her teeth which is loose and that means a trip to the dentist and we're not sure—'

Max cut the call.

Bea cracked some eggs and added them to the mix. ‘You do lie well.'

‘Practice. Is all of that for me?'

Bea touched her swollen face. ‘Most of it, I suppose.'

‘He's got someone with him. Not Benton.'

‘A loan shark, I expect. Could you do with some more coffee?'

‘Why not? I'll get working on Benton's records afterwards.'

‘I must phone my daughter-in-law. It's about time we had a heart to heart.'

‘Mother. You're feeling all right now, I trust?' Max laid a bunch of flowers on her desk. Not an impressive bunch, but one plucked from a bucket in the nearest newsagent's. He looked like a puppy who knows he's misbehaved but is hoping not to be punished for it. ‘Benton is a bit of a joker, isn't he? Of course, he was kidding when he said he'd tell your customers about those little mishaps from the past. I told him he should apologize, and I'm sure he will. That makes you feel better, eh?'

She had decided not to sit at her desk this morning, but had laid down on the settee with a pashmina over her legs. A small table beside her held bottles of aspirin, arnica and a glass of water. Also, her reading glasses. ‘He went too far. As you can imagine, I didn't sleep well.'

‘I must say, you don't look too bad, do you? Er. This is Mr Green, who has kindly … I mean, we came before but you … Anyway, we went away and had a coffee and now we're back.'

Evidently.

Bea nodded to Mr Green. Jewish? Probably. Fattish, definitely. Pleased with himself, yes. A toughie? Oh yes. ‘Now, I am not exactly one hundred per cent today, but as you've been so insistent … to what do I owe the pleasure?'

Max looked at his watch. ‘Fact is, bit of a rush. It will only take a minute and I'll be out of your hair. It's all a question of maximizing our opportunities, to take advantage of—'

Bea put her hand to her bruised cheek. ‘I don't think I'm up to discussing business today, Max. Perhaps some other time?'

‘No, it has to be done now.'

‘Why?'

‘Well, because Benton won't wait, and if I let this opportunity slip—'

‘He's a nasty piece of work, Max. Don't have anything to do with him.'

Silence. Max looked at Mr Green. ‘You talk to her.'

Mr Green produced a thin smile. ‘Mothers always want to do their best for their children, don't they? Max tells me you have always been so supportive. This is a wonderful opportunity that will never come again, and I know you wouldn't wish him to miss it.'

‘Mother.' Max leaned over to speak in her ear. ‘For God's sake, sign. Otherwise I don't know what Benton might do next.'

Bea replied in her normal tones. ‘Do you think he'll go as far as trying to murder me? That wouldn't get him anywhere, Max. Remember, I need to sign my new will before you benefit to any extent.'

Max flushed. Mr Green looked thoughtful. Then he looked at his watch and produced some papers from his briefcase. ‘I fear this delay … Running late. Mrs Abbot, I believe you are the sole owner of this desirable property, which is clear of mortgages or other—'

‘Well, no. Not exactly.'

Max exploded. ‘What? What do you mean? There's no mortgage on this property. You own it outright.'

‘Well, yes. That's true. But houses like this need a lot of maintenance, and we've had to take on more staff which means the wages bill creeps up, and the insurance has almost doubled, so that although I'm sure I'll be able to meet the terms of the repayment, things are not exactly easy at the moment. So when one of my friends suggested that I take out a loan privately—'

Mr Green rapped out, ‘What sort of loan?'

‘Just to tide me over. I'm afraid the interest rate is rather high, but—'

Max was furious. ‘You went to a loan shark? Mother, I can't believe this is happening.'

‘What sort of loan?'

Bea tried to look guilty. ‘I have to repay that before I can borrow any more money. I must say it was a boon at the time, but—'