False Money (26 page)

‘This is ridiculous!' She was fighting back. ‘He wouldn't. She wouldn't. I hardly know her. We've only met a couple of times, at parties and such. She's devoted to him.'

‘Devoted enough to commit murder for him?'

‘No!' The word rang out, with conviction. Then more softly, she said, ‘I don't know. I can't judge. It's true that I've never felt easy in my mind about . . . Oh, this is mad . . . She couldn't, could she? Yet I have seen her switch off a smile in a nanosecond. Which doesn't mean anything. I'm prejudiced because she has this squeaky little voice which drives me insane, but as I said to Claudine, that's no reason to think she'd make Jamie a bad wife. Although, honestly, we never thought he'd go so far as to propose to her, however good she was in bed.'

Bea took a turn. ‘But that's exactly what he's done, isn't it?'

Hermia turned to face Bea, woman to woman, begging for understanding. ‘He needs to get married sometime, and why not now? Especially now? All this bother has concentrated his mind, that's all. He's proposed to the nearest available female, and she's said yes. That's all there is to it.'

‘Do you think she's sincere when she plays lovey-dovey with him?'

‘I'm not in her confidence. I don't know her well enough to judge.'

‘But,' said Bea, ‘you do intend to ring Lord Fairley and warn him when you get home?'

‘I might. Yes. Only, I've just remembered, Jamie's taking Claire home to meet his mother today. So your precious grandson is no longer at risk; if he ever was, which I doubt. Claire loves babies. I've heard her say so several times, and I believe her.'

Well, that was a relief. Of sorts. It didn't mean she hadn't murdered several adults, though. Bea said, ‘You've admitted she's not in love with him, so—'

‘I didn't say that.'

‘Why is she marrying him?'

‘Why not? He has a title, he's very presentable and easy-going, has a house in Chelsea and an estate in the Home Counties. What's to dislike?'

Oliver said, ‘But you do intend to warn him, don't you?'

She looked at him, and then looked at Chris. ‘Yes, I do. What you're saying is absolutely ridiculous, but it would set my mind at rest if I could talk to him about it. Only, how I'm going to find the right words to say, I don't know. It's not exactly easy to tell a man that his fiancée is suspected of having knocked off your old friends.'

‘Do you, personally, think she's innocent?'

Hermia spread her hands. ‘Have you the slightest proof she's involved? What weight should be put on the fact that Chris might or might not have seen Tomi aiming in the general direction of a white Mini when he last saw her? You didn't see who was in the car, did you, Chris?'

He shook his head.

‘Well, then.'

Oliver shook his head at her. ‘You still intend ringing Jamie about this, don't you?'

‘I . . . No, I don't think I am. Now, if you don't mind, I've got lots to do today. Chris, are you coming or not?'

Chris stood up. ‘I'm coming because I've promised to keep you safe, and that's just what I plan to do.'

‘But you don't approve of my refusal to ring Jamie?'

He smiled down at her. ‘If I were in your place, I think I'd ring him. But you are you, and you're not me, and you must do as you think best. If it turns out that you made a mistake, then you'll accept that you did so and learn to live with it. People who never make mistakes, never get anything done. I love you, warts and all.'

She managed a giggle. ‘Silly. I haven't got any warts.'

He produced his most charming grin. ‘Maybe I have, though. Will you still love me when you find them out?'

She put her hand on his shoulder. ‘Yes.'

Only after the front door had banged behind them did Bea close her eyes and relax. Oliver busied himself putting the dirty cups into the dishwasher.

Silence. Bea murmured, mostly to herself, ‘We've done our best. We've seen them all and pointed out the dangers. If they only take care this weekend, they'll last through till Monday and get their money. I don't suppose she'll kill any more of them after that, because the money wouldn't go back into the kitty, but to their nearest and dearest.'

‘True,' said Oliver, also speaking softly.

‘I can stop worrying about Claire being in charge of Pippin, because she's not supposed to be on duty again till Tuesday, by which time the police will have been informed of what she's been going on and of our suspicions. We really have nothing to worry about now, have we?'

‘I'm going to have one last look at the contents of that computer of Tomi's. I'm only about halfway through the deleted emails.'

‘Shall we have some scrambled eggs on toast for lunch? I think I've a pot of home-made soup in the freezer.'

‘Carbohydrates are always good when you're worried.'

Oliver brought his laptop into the kitchen and booted it up while Bea made lunch. Winston the cat arrived from the Great Outdoors and begged till Bea attended to his wants. Oliver fed himself one-handed, concentrating on his laptop. Bea stared out of the window and told herself not to worry. Worry didn't get you anywhere.

How could she mend fences with Max and Nicole? If she sent them flowers, Nicole would have all the bother of arranging them. If she sent a hamper of food, someone would have all the trouble of unpacking it.

The front doorbell rang, and they both jumped. It rang again before Bea could get there.

Mr Impatience stood there: a fine leather coat thrown across his shoulders, and a big smile lighting up his face.

‘I'm Gregor,' he said, stepping inside without waiting to be invited. ‘What a beautiful house, and you must be the famous Mrs Abbot?'

He was in his late twenties, of no more than medium height, but confident with the charisma that is the birthright of some Middle Europeans. He was dark of hair, swarthy of skin, with lively bright brown eyes that took in everything and laughed at everyone. Bea wouldn't have been surprised if he'd insisted on kissing her hand, but he didn't go as far as that.

‘Won't you come in?' she said, which was absurd, because he was already in.

‘Thank you.' Gregor gave her to understand, without saying a word, that he admired her in every possible way, and especially as a woman. Although, of course, he would never dream of overstepping the mark and making a pass at her . . . unless she were to invite it.

Flattered, bemused, and rather inclined to laugh, Bea led the way to the sitting room, expecting him to pay her some compliment about her decor, too. But no. He was far too clever for that. Instead he went directly to Hamilton's portrait on the wall and admired that.

‘Forgive me,' he said, charm incarnate, ‘I've heard so much about this portrait from Hermia, who knows a good thing when she sees it. Your husband was a man you could trust, I think. Painted by someone with a touch of genius; someone he himself trusted?'

The twist he gave this observation made her pause. Gregor was obviously charming; yes. But he also had a bright-eyed intelligence, which was as rare as hens' teeth. Would Oliver be like this in fifteen years' time? Ah, but Oliver lacked this man's light touch and his belief that life was an amusing game. On the other hand, Gregor might lack Oliver's integrity.

Oliver had entered the room behind them, and at once Gregor swung round to greet him. ‘Ah. The Vunderkid. But no; that is to belittle you.' Gregor was perfectly capable of pronouncing his ‘w's, but he'd put the word ‘Vunderkid' in inverted commas when he said it. Being amusing. Now the artless smile disappeared, and he looked hard at Oliver, as hard as Oliver was looking at him. Bea had the impression that Gregor could read Oliver's history from the moment of his birth. Perhaps he could. What did Oliver see in his turn?

‘Yes, of course. I understand,' Gregor said, softly. ‘You have been given great gifts, my friend, but the greatest of these is your lodestar.'

Colour rose in Oliver's cheeks. ‘Yes. Without Mrs Abbot, I am nothing.'

Gregor's eyebrows twisted. He threw off his coat, which landed in a perfect arc over the nearest chair, and seated himself. ‘Now, you will be wondering why I am here. Claudine has been phoning me night and day. She makes me feel as if I am back in the headmaster's study, threatened with expulsion because I've been running a book on the house cricket competition. No doubt she is right to scold me, but being scolded by Claudine is not conducive to a healthy self-respect. So you see me here, penitent and ready to help you in whatever way I can.'

Gregor was going to cooperate? Good.

Bea laughed, offered coffee – which was refused – and sat down herself. Oliver found a chair nearby.

Gregor had a heavy gold bracelet on one wrist and a Patek watch on the other. His clothes were excellent. He'd probably parked a sports car outside, and it might even have CD plates on it, to avoid parking tickets.

He smiled, and the room lit up around him. Life was bright and joyful; life was amusing, and in his presence they felt the same way.

Bea struggled to remember what she'd been told about him. Married and divorced. Live-in girlfriends. Financial chicanery, being investigated by the police? She would have taken her oath that he'd be found guiltless, whatever he'd actually done. And he'd probably done plenty in his time.

Bea smiled because he was smiling. ‘So what did Claudine say to make you come to me?'

He leaned forward, clasping both hands – a signet ring on his left hand – around his knees. ‘She says you believe we are all in danger, that one of us is killing off the others. I don't agree. I have known my friends for so many years, too many years to coun –' and here he waved his hands dismissively – ‘and I don't believe it. Not one of them would think of killing in the way described.'

‘They've all been in touch with you?'

‘Of course. I am, how you say, the wise man, the one they bring all their little troubles to. They are like children to me, you understand?'

‘Yes,' said Oliver.

Bea nodded. Gregor might not be as old as his friends in years, but in many ways he was as ancient as the hills.

Gregor said, ‘So, I understand you have made yourselves responsible for investigating the case of dear little Tomi, and I am here to give you the benefit of my experience. Where would you like me to start?'

Bea said, ‘You've all been ringing one another every day since Tomi's body was found, haven't you? But you're the one who didn't want outsiders involved, though you did eventually agree that Duncan could put CJ and myself in the picture?'

‘That is correct. At first I thought . . . poof! Little Tomi dying in a ditch? What a tragedy. But I had many other matters to occupy my mind, as you may have heard. Yet I was sad to hear she had died. She had a certain
je ne sais quoi
, an integrity which was unusual. I took her to a Fine Arts gallery once; an experiment, you understand. It did not answer. She had no appreciation of modern art.'

Oliver was indignant. ‘The world is the poorer for her passing.'

‘A trite remark, my friend, though no doubt accurate . . . if you believe in man-made justice.'

‘Don't you?'

A wave of the hand. ‘There can be a distance between man-made and natural justice, don't you think? I acknowledge that my comment might have seemed crude. Even untimely. I will admit that she had an aura of goodness. Will that do?'

Oliver half smiled and nodded. Bea wondered if these two might, at some future time, become friends; friends who could argue about everything, agree on nothing, but still respect one another's point of view.

‘So,' said Gregor. ‘Tomi died. I was abroad, but their phone calls chased me all over Europe. Harry the Hard Done By—'

‘What?' Oliver grinned.

‘Afraid so. Never satisfied, always complaining, and whatever it is that's gone wrong, it's not his fault. Even Tomi got tired of listening to him at times. It was typical of him to wail that she'd stood him up when she went missing. I hear that your little film-maker got into a fight with Harry about her. Did he really give Harry a black eye? I wish I'd been there to see it.'

‘Chris did hit him, but not very hard. Incidentally, Harry was much bigger than Chris.'

‘He's a young cock sparrow, I'm told.' The idea amused him. ‘It was like Hermia to pick Harry up and say, “There, there, Mummy's here.” If foolish. I believe she'd had another of her spats with Jamie at the time, which I suppose explains it.'

‘Did she often have spats with Jamie?'

‘Mm, now and then. She's no fool. If she'd married him, she'd have been the man of the house, always having to rescue him when he got into trouble . . . and be bored to tears within the month. So – tell me about your young cock sparrow.'