False Money (30 page)

‘And if, as seems likely, the coroner brings in a verdict of accidental death for Nick, then he'd get his share of Nick's as well. So unless they can prove something – and I don't at the moment see how they can – he could get away with it.'

‘There's the attempt to kill Claudine, which has left Alan in hospital.'

‘I agree with Hermia; there won't be any prints on the bottle. Chris says the doctor got to him in time.'

‘It's all most unsatisfactory,' said Bea. ‘Can you see a loophole, Oliver?'

‘No. It's all circumstantial. Tomi goes to a party in the flat above hers, is spotted by Harry and introduced to his circle. She accepts invitations from Gregor and Jamie; rebuffs Nick. Then she's killed. Harry is blamed for it. Harry kills himself. Nick, shocked at the tragedies which have befallen his friends, gets sozzled and falls to his death. Alan picks up a bottle of doctored water, which anyone at all might have left outside his door, and drinks from it. Where's the evidence that we can take to the police? There isn't any. There's been no phone call from the hospital yet?'

They both listened out for a phone ringing. Nothing. Bea looked at the clock. Maggie wasn't back yet; it would soon be time for lunch. A few hours after that, they must dress for the party that evening. She looked at her calendar. Heavens, she was due to have her hair cut that afternoon. Well, that was good in one way, because it certainly needed attention, and she could have a manicure at the same time – with luck. But she'd wanted to have one last go at Tomi's emails. How long did she have?

Another thing. ‘Oliver, do you want to buy yourself an evening rig-out? I'm sure you'll need one at university some time, won't you?'

He grinned. ‘We're just hired help tonight. Like waiters. Suppose you dress up, though? Be magnificence personified. Bring out the bling. Be the Grand Inquisitor. They're expecting to make a short film recording the occasion, so with Chris behind the camera and me on sound, you can ask slanted questions which may bring out slightly different versions of the truth. Being on camera often hypnotizes people into tongue-tied silence, but in this case the champagne will be flowing and the relief they all must feel that they've survived and won themselves a crashingly good windfall may loosen their tongues.'

‘
Third time lucky,' he said and set her aside to access his bank account . . . again. ‘It's in. Thank God.' He closed his eyes, relaxing against the pillows. ‘The future's bright. At last.
'

She slid down beside him. ‘Can't we skip that dreary party tonight?
'

‘
I wouldn't miss it for the world. Duncan's champagne's always good, and Hermia says they're going to video the occasion. It's going to be quite a party. They've brought in some detective or other to keep us safe. An oddity, Mrs Abbot. I met her the other day. She was asking questions, don't suppose she got anywhere. She's going to be there, too.
'

Jamie sighed. ‘Anyway, we have to go to the party so that I can give Hermia a cheque.
'

‘
What for?
'

He yawned. ‘A loan she made me when the bill came in for repairing the roof back home. The money's come through just in time. Now I can pay off all my debts.
'

‘
Debts?' Her voice was hard. ‘How much do you owe?
'

‘
Just over a million and a half to Hermia, and another million or so to various tradesmen.
'

EIGHTEEN

B
ea and Oliver settled down to work in the kitchen so that they could hear if Hermia's mobile rang. They both jumped when their own landline sounded off, but it was only Maggie, spitting feathers because the decorator hadn't done the job to her exacting standards. She said that unless she was needed urgently, she was going to stand over him till he got it right.

Within minutes of her ringing off, Hermia's phone rang. Oliver got off his stool and ran into the hall, only to meet Hermia staggering blearily out of the sitting room, her mobile clamped to her ear. She screwed up her eyes as she listened to what was being hoarsely shouted at her – and shout was definitely the word.

She said, ‘All right, all right. I'll get there as soon as I can. Sorry. I'm glad you're feeling better—'

This set whoever it was off again. Bea rolled her eyes at Oliver and put the kettle on.

Finally Hermia made it to a stool and sat down, shutting off her mobile. ‘That was Alan. He's discharged himself, says he's perfectly all right except for a sore throat and wants to get back into the flat, only he can't because we've stolen his key, so he's taken refuge in the pub on the corner of the road. I said we'd get over there as quickly as we could. He doesn't want to stay at the flat any more. He seems to think Claudine dosed the bottle of water with something nasty on purpose. I can't think why she should, but that's what he says. He wants to collect his things and take them over to his brother's in Peckham. He says Claudine needn't try to talk him round, though I don't think she'll even try, do you?'

Claudine walked in, holding on to the door, yawning. She reached a stool and collapsed on to it. ‘Was that Alan?'

Hermia repeated the gist of the conversation she'd just had. Claudine shook her head. ‘He'll be hell to work with for the rest of the term, won't he? I'm glad he's all right, of course. But it's an ill wind . . . I'll be glad to get him out of the flat.'

‘Coffee or tea?' said Bea.

Hermia wanted coffee. Claudine said, ‘Green tea if you have it.'

‘I wonder,' said Claudine, who'd got the fidgets. ‘Do you think we could borrow someone's computer to—'

‘See if the money's in?' Hermia flushed. ‘I'm so stupid. I'm always slow when I first wake up.'

Oliver said, ‘Use my laptop,' and pushed it across to her.

The girls laughed, though there was no reason to do so. Nerves, of course.

‘Silly us,' said Hermia, her eyes brighter than usual. ‘Of course it's there. It's just that it's been so long waiting.'

Hermia accessed her account, her colour high. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. ‘It's there.'

She turned the laptop over to Claudine, who fumbled the job. Tears stood out on her lower eyelids. Finally she got through. ‘Yes, it's there!'

A moment's silence and the two girls got their arms around one another and started jumping up and down. ‘We're rich!'

‘I never really believed it would happen!'

‘Oh, thank the Lord!'

Indeed.

Both girls began to cry. Hermia embraced Oliver, because he happened to be standing next to her. Claudine punched the air, gave Hermia a high five.

Hermia grabbed her mobile phone again and ran out of the room, talking into it. Claudine sought for and found the box of tissues, using them one after the other.

Relief. Between gulping sobs, she said, ‘Thank God I never told Alan the whole thing, or he'd have been hanging around my neck, wanting his share. All I said was that I was expecting a few thousands by way of inheritance from an ancient aunt and, with that and a bank loan, I was proposing to buy into an independent school. He said he might have some savings to put in, but I won't need him now, will I? He can't come back to me on that, can he?'

No, probably not.

Hermia ran back into the room, her cheeks still brilliant with colour. ‘Gregor says he's got his. But, since so many of us have died, we're scrubbing the celebratory meal at the restaurant. It would be too ghoulish thinking that that's where so and so was sitting last year. Anyway, we're all too excited to sit and wait for food in a restaurant. So Duncan's organizing the champagne, and we're all to dress up and take a partner – that's if we want to – and meet at his place at eight. Then Chris will make a video recording the occasion, and we can go on to eat somewhere after that, either as a group or with a friend or whatever. Gregor wants Chris to get to Duncan's in about an hour, to start setting up. I'd better tell him.'

Off she ran again.

Claudine finally pushed the box of tissues away. Her eyes showed her brain was engaged in calculation. ‘I don't need a man, do I?' The question was rhetorical. ‘I always thought I'd get married, but I never wanted children of my own, and I certainly don't want men making up to me for what I've got.'

Bea said, ‘Best not tell anyone, then.'

Claudine sniffed. ‘I can keep a still tongue in my head.' She probably could, too. She added, ‘More than some can.'

‘Who do you think has shared the secret? Gregor?'

Claudine almost laughed. ‘Of course not. Nor Duncan; what with worrying about his job and not being sure that Mandy loves him for himself, he's fit to be tied. He says he's going to propose to her tonight before he tells her about the lottery money, otherwise he'll never know for sure whether she really loves him for himself or not. I couldn't be doing with that.'

‘Understood. Do you think Hermia told anyone, apart from her father?'

‘She says she didn't tell even him, and I believe her. She says most of the men she knows have one eye on her father's money, anyway, and she wasn't about to weight the odds even more.'

‘That's why she kept going back to Jamie? Because he had something other than money to offer her? Didn't she fancy being Lady Fairley?'

A shrug. ‘The title didn't weigh with her. He's a childhood friend. They could be comfortable going around with one another, because they knew neither was going to get serious.'

‘Except that things changed when Tomi arrived. Or did they change before that, when Claire arrived?'

Claudine drew back. ‘I liked Tomi. She meant no harm. I was really sorry to hear that Harry killed her.'

Mm. Yes. Well, maybe.

Hermia burst back into the kitchen. ‘Chris says he's all hyped up and ready to go.' She laughed out loud. ‘Chris is a doll, isn't he, Claudine?'

‘Watch it! Dolls can be played with and put back in the toy cupboard; men can't.' Claudine got off her stool, looking at the clock. ‘I think I ought to get going. I need to clear Alan out of the place and get ready for the party.'

Hermia looked at her watch. ‘I must be on my way, too. Thank you so much, Mrs Abbot. You've been just great. I don't know what we'd have done without you.'

Nice manners.

Claudine tried to tidy her hair. ‘I must look a mess. Mrs Abbot, can I get a taxi at the end of the road?'

Oliver helped her into her jacket. ‘I'll see you out, help you to get one.'

Hermia waltzed around the kitchen, punching numbers into her mobile. ‘I could have danced all night . . . Is that you, Jamie? You've heard? Yes, I'm on my way home now. You heard we're meeting at Duncan's first . . . ?' Her voice died away as she followed Oliver and Claudine out of the house.

Bea reached for her own phone. Was the danger really over? Her head said that it must be over, because any more killings wouldn't increase the size of anyone's share. Tomorrow they were all free to talk to the police, but – Bea sighed – even if the police were told everything, would they decide to follow up on cases which they'd already closed? The odds were against a prosecution, even if the remaining five friends did go to the police. If only they could produce even one piece of evidence.