False Money (19 page)

‘I don't know what to think.'

‘Julian; did you go to his funeral?'

‘Yes. Wootton Bassett. The whole town turns out to see the coffins taken through the streets. Impressive.' There were lines of strain around Hermia's mouth that you wouldn't notice unless you were another woman.

‘Shirley; did you go to her funeral, too?'

‘As it happens, no. I was away. I work for a children's charity, was setting up a big event for them in a friend's house in the country.'

‘Which friend?' As if Bea didn't know.

‘Lord Fairley. Jamie. He isn't the sort to go round knocking off his old friends.'

‘I haven't met him yet. I suppose I'll do so tomorrow. May I ask if your job gives you enough time off to – to—'

‘Play around making films with Chris? He says you've been like a mother to him. Very . . . praiseworthy.'

Bea gave a sharp laugh. She took the mug out of the microwave and sipped her cocoa. Too hot now. ‘You want to take over as his mother?'

Hermia reddened. ‘No, of course not.' She didn't like the implication that she was old enough to be Chris's mother.

Ah, so Hermia did realize there was an age gap there. Eight years? Ten? However, the girl was not to be defeated so easily. She tossed her head, making her well-cut cap of dark hair swing, before it settled back into its usual perfect shape. ‘I thought we'd get on to the subject of Chris sooner rather than later. He's got a rare talent, and if I can help him get started, I will.'

‘If you're not knocked off next.'

‘I could ask him to move in with me, act as my bodyguard.'

‘You wouldn't ask Lord Fairley?'

An urchin grin. ‘He'd be useless. Shall I ask Chris, then?'

Bea moved in for the kill. ‘You've studied him. You know what he'd be like if he knew you were in danger. He'd go all romantic on you and throw himself wholeheartedly into being your bodyguard. He'd want to wrap you in chain mail, incarcerate you in a castle. Suffocate you. You wouldn't be able to stand it.'

Hermia threw back her head. ‘Touché. He's very single-minded, isn't he? We'll let him get on with the preparations for his film; he's got a young writer there who's going places, if we can keep him chained to his word processor long enough. Sorry about him taking off his shoes. His feet didn't smell, did they? His artist friend has a good imagination, too. Oliver and Maggie will keep their feet on the ground for them, while I do the finances and chivvy everyone along.'

‘Can you find him another Tomi?'

‘Tomi was special. But yes, it'll be my job to find a replacement. Never fear, I won't let anything stand in the way of his career.'

‘So you'll carry on wrapping Chris in cotton wool until he's made his name. And then what?'

Hermia shrugged. ‘Perhaps the magic will last. Hope springs eternal, etcetera.'

‘And there's always Jamie to fall back on.'

A sigh. ‘I've grown away from him, and he's grown away from me.' She straightened up. ‘I've been frank with you. I can't make any promises for the future. Who can?'

Chris came in, recognized the fact that the two women were at odds, and put his arm around Hermia. ‘What's up, Puss?'

PUSS! Bea nearly choked. That Chris should give Hermia a nickname was a strong indication of how he felt about her, but that Hermia would accept it was almost unbelievable.

Hermia did accept it. She was nearly as tall as Chris in her high-heeled boots, and instead of using an elbow to push him away from her, she turned within his arm, to look into his eyes. ‘I'm accused of cradle-snatching.' No smiles now. She was serious, searching his face for a reaction.

Chris looked back at her, also serious. ‘Time will mend that.'

‘Mrs Abbot thinks someone's out to kill me.'

Frowning, he looked across at Bea. ‘To kill Hermia? Why?' He made one of his intuitive leaps. ‘Tomi, Harry . . . You've discovered something?'

Bea appreciated Hermia's tactics, which were designed to bind Chris to her and which were succeeding. ‘I've been sworn to secrecy.'

Hermia wasn't having any of that. ‘Chris, will you move in with me for a couple of days, till things get sorted?'

‘What? Yes, of course, but . . .' He drew back, loosening his hold upon her. ‘You have to tell me what's going on first.'

‘I don't know that I should.'

Bea realized she'd lost the battle to stop Chris getting involved with Hermia. ‘Tell him. He won't be able to keep his mouth shut and the news will be all over the neighbourhood by lunchtime tomorrow, but tell him. Hermia, I'd like to talk to you tomorrow morning, if you're free.'

‘I only work part-time. I'll be here at eleven, right? If I last through the night.'

‘Don't be ridiculous,' said Chris. ‘I'll stick to you like glue.'

Bea took another sip of her drink, which was cooling rapidly. She felt old, old, old. Of course the young ones would cleave to one another. That was the way of the world, and she was ancient, long past her heyday. Also long past her bedtime. ‘Make sure the alarm's switched on when you leave.' She tested the back door to make sure it was locked and bolted, and went up to bed. Winston was there already, stretched out on his back, paws in the air. Snoring. What a comfort he was!

‘No problem,' said Maggie, stuffing her mouth with a bacon sandwich while she checked over her schedule for the day. ‘I'll get the junk moved out of the attic this weekend – although you'd better look it over first – and with a splash of paint, a couple of cheap rugs and an oil heater, Oliver can move his stuff in there, which means we can use his present bedroom as our sitting room. It's not an ideal solution, but it will do for now. Then I know someone who can draw up plans for a loft extension at the back. We could get one more big room out of it, plus a small kitchen. Possibly rejig the bathroom up there as well. Take out the old fitments, install a walk-in shower, extend the central heating – and, by the way, the boiler down here could do with being looked at while we're at it. No problem.'

Bea grunted. ‘Cost. Disruption.'

‘Mm. I'll manage the project and, being in the business, I know where to get everything. Just leave it to me.'

‘You've been planning this behind my back.'

‘We thought about it, but we didn't want to say anything till you suggested it yourself.'

Bea gnashed her teeth. ‘So holding that party here last night was meant to give me a nudge in the right direction?'

Maggie laughed, blew Bea a kiss and left the house, banging the front door behind her. She returned to fetch her scarf and cap, said the front door step was icy, so watch it! And went out again. Finally there was silence.

A creak of floorboards, and down came Oliver. ‘Sorry. Got carried away last night. Hermia's quite something, isn't she?'

‘Make your own breakfast and put everything in the dishwasher afterwards.' Bea took her last cup of coffee down the stairs, where the phones were already ringing. It was going to be a busy morning, but first she must try Max to see if Pippin was any better.

The phone rang and rang. Eventually Nicole answered. ‘I don't want to talk to you. If it hadn't been for your interference, we'd have got this problem sorted out long ago. It's no thanks to you that he's doing well now.' Down went the phone.

Bea stared at her receiver. What on earth did that mean? Had she been an interfering busybody? Oh dear. Perhaps it might have looked that way, although she had meant well, hadn't she? What did Nicole mean by saying that they'd got their problem sorted out? Had they changed Pippin's formula? If so, then let us rejoice. What else could it mean? Did it matter, so long as Pippin was thriving at long last?

Her thoughts squirrelled round and round, till she realized she was deleting emails without reading them. Concentrate, Bea! You can ring Nicole later and find out what's going on, but for the time being, concentrate on work. The agency was busy enough, wasn't it?

In the middle of a telephone conversation with a tiresome client who rang several times a week, but never accepted any of the agency's suggestions, Miss Brook announced that they had a caller who insisted on speaking to Mrs Abbot there and then, that very minute. ‘She's probably from the Embassy, got that manner, you know? Nigerian.'

Nigerian. Tomi was Nigerian. Bea told her caller that she'd ring back later and put down the phone. ‘Send her in.'

Tomi's mother. Of course. Tall, dignified, beautiful in middle age, with a long elegant neck and superb clothes. Bea rose to her feet and gestured for her visitor to join her in the group of chairs by the window.

‘Mrs Abbot?' The woman remained standing. ‘You have something of mine, I believe.' Perfect English.

‘I do?' For a moment Bea couldn't think what it might be. ‘Ah, your daughter's bible?'

‘It is not enough that my daughter is murdered, but that her belongings should be stolen passes belief.'

A soft answer turns away wrath. Maybe. ‘I'm so sorry. There seems to have been a misunderstanding—'

‘I believe not. Miss Drobny – impertinent creature – tells me you removed my daughter's laptop and bible without her consent.'

‘Well, actually—'

‘What appalling conduct! To steal from a dead girl.'

Bea held on to her temper with an effort. ‘The police have her laptop and the bible. Also the paper hidden at the back of her bible, although they do not know what it signifies.'

‘What! Why should they . . . ? But you are the person who stole them in the first place?'

‘Let me explain. Please, sit down. Would you care for some coffee?'

‘I only care to collect my daughter's belongings.'

‘I am sure the police have them safe.'

‘I cannot wait. I need her will.'

Bea sank back into her seat. So that was what this was all about? ‘As I was trying to tell you, there was a paper in the back of her bible—'

‘She told us where to look for it.'

‘It's not a will. The police have the original document, but I can supply you with a copy, if you wish.'

‘I suppose that when you stole it, you imagined we might cut you in on her inheritance, and so withheld it from her family. Rest assured; nothing is more unlikely.'

Bea began to see where this conversation was leading. ‘Ah. You imagine that your daughter was due to share in a windfall of some kind? Unfortunately that is not the case.'

‘You defy me?'

‘Certainly not. If you will take a seat, I will—'

‘I do not socialize with criminals. My daughter's last will and testament, if you please.'

‘I am trying,' said Bea, ‘to make allowances for a mother's grief. I assume you have already visited Miss Drobny and been to inspect your daughter's property, which she went to considerable trouble to keep safe for you. Did you thank her for all her trouble? Probably not, though you should. It is true that I brought Tomi's laptop and bible back here with me—'

‘You confess it?'

‘Because at that time we had no idea what had happened to her and hoped to get your email address from her laptop which, by the way, went straight on to the police. The laptop batteries were dead, but they got it working again and contacted you straight away. So much for the laptop.'

‘And her bible? I do not imagine you took it to read.'

Bea felt herself flush. ‘Yes, I am a Christian, and yes, I do read my bible. Tomi's bible was left behind at the flat by mistake. I collected it, thinking it might contain some notes indicating where she might have gone; remember that at that time it was thought she had run off with a boyfriend to France—'

‘Slander! Be sure you will hear from my solicitor about this.'

‘There was,' said Bea, gritting her teeth, ‘a paper tucked into a map at the back of her bible, which led us to the man who had arranged for a syndicate – which included your daughter – to play the lottery.'

‘Yes, yes. She told us all about it when she phoned us on my birthday.'

‘She was sworn to secrecy—'

‘There can be no secrecy between a mother and her child. We know she was due to receive several million pounds—'

‘Indeed. If she hadn't died, she would have done so. As it is, her share goes back into the kitty.'

‘What! What are you saying? What lie is this? You are trying to cheat a dead woman? What sort of creature are you?'

Bea got to her feet. ‘I will ask the man in charge of proceedings to let you have Tomi's bible and a copy of the contract which she signed.'

‘This is fraud! You expect me to believe—'

Bea pressed a button under the projecting top of her desk. ‘Meanwhile, I would like you to go.'

‘You have the nerve to—'

Bea looked beyond the woman to the door. ‘Miss Brook, would you like to see if Oliver . . . Ah, there you are, Oliver. This is Tomi's mother, who seems to think I'm cheating her out of her daughter's inheritance. Would you kindly show her out?'

The woman turned to glare at the ancient but still formidable Miss Brook, and at young Oliver, whose dark good looks gave evidence of his mixed ancestry. ‘I don't discuss affairs with servants. Mrs Abbot, you will hear from me. Now get out of my way, you!'

She swept off. Miss Brook raised her eyebrows and followed her out.

Bea sank back into her chair, trying to laugh. Her pulse rate was high. She took a couple of deep breaths.