False Pretences (12 page)

‘Discretion is our watchword. But not if the police come into it.'

He winced. ‘It's the attention of the police that we particularly wish to avoid.'

Bea laughed, hard and short. ‘What have you been up to? Not paying your parking tickets?'

SEVEN

L
ord Murchison said, ‘Dutch courage,' and downed his second glass. ‘My wife's brother is one of my oldest friends. He's very frail now and pretty well alone in the world, but he's always adored his two granddaughters, the eldest of whom – Juliana – happens to be one of my godchildren. While she was still at school she started to go out with Denzil, who is another of my godchildren although I can't say I've ever cared for him very much. But you can't tell how children will turn out when you agree to stand godfather, can you?

‘Anyway, Denzil and Juliana had known one another, off and on, since they were children, and when they decided to get married everyone was pleased, though they did think she was rather young to tie herself down. Her grandfather, in particular, grieved that Juliana wouldn't be taking up the place she'd been offered at university. Denzil had inherited enough money from an aunt to buy them a flat in a good part of town, and he had a job working in PR for an uncle who was something in the City.

‘It was a big wedding. Juliana looked a mere child but so happy. She was besotted with him. When they got back from honeymoon, she got a job in a dress shop. She looked forward to getting pregnant and having children. Six months later she found Denzil in bed with her younger sister Amy, who was fifteen at the time.'

Bea jerked to attention. So Denzil liked them young, did he? Had he picked on Kylie because she was still a schoolgirl?

Lord Murchison said, ‘The last thing her parents wanted was a court case, so Amy was packed off first to boarding school and then to university. She's now happily married and the mother of twin boys. Juliana divorced Denzil, but she never really got over the shock. She's had several bouts of depression, even hospitalization, and can't hold down a job for more than a few months at a time.

‘Opinions in the family are divided; some think Juliana's frailty gave Denzil an excuse for straying from the marital bed. They point out that Amy was and is something of a handful and might well have led him on. Others swear he's the devil incarnate. His uncle restructured the company and eased him out. In other words, gave him the sack.'

Bea sipped champagne. Shades of Nicole and her younger sister? ‘And you thought . . .?'

‘I thought Amy was a little minx. Denzil expressed deep sorrow and regret, said she'd led him on, swore that it was a momentary lapse on his part, that if we'd only give him a second chance, etcetera. He said he'd realized very early on in the marriage that Juliana's mental health was fragile, that Amy had tempted him, being so much more robust than her sister, that he was deeply ashamed of himself, etcetera. Oh, he was charming, persuasive.'

‘And he was your godson, and the grandson of one of your oldest friends. So you found a job for him, and Denzil congratulated himself on having got away with it?'

He grimaced. ‘I think he meant everything he said, at the time. To give him his due, Denzil worked hard for us for years. We started by letting him handle the interviews for prospective tenants in the Trust. Later he moved over into maintenance, and finally we invited him to become a director with an office in our Kensington headquarters. Ten years after he joined us, he married Honoria. She was a widow of forthright disposition, with an equally good if not altogether straightforward bloodline, though too old to have children by that time.'

Bea was fascinated. He still thought bloodlines important? Well, well. Of course, so did the Queen. Good breeding and bloodlines would always be a matter of consideration to some people when it came to mating horses, dogs and people.

He said, ‘We thought we understood how it was that Denzil and Honoria were attracted to one another; not in the usual way that the male dominates the female, but the other way round. We thought he'd made a wise choice, that she would keep him on the straight and narrow. A mother figure, you know?'

Bea took another sip of champagne, thinking, Ah, but you don't know about his dalliance with young Kylie. Granted, the girl appeared to have been willing enough, and he didn't get as far as bedding her . . .

He cleared his throat. ‘There was a rumour a couple of years ago, that he'd been pestering another under-age girl, but it came to nothing. We thought, Give a dog a bad name. We trusted him not to rock the boat, you see.'

Bea said, ‘Get to the bit where you began to suspect he was milking the cow that provided the Trust with cream.'

‘Ah. Yes. As I said, I haven't been feeling too bright this last couple of years, and I've spent a lot of time abroad. When I got back in harness, although everything seemed fine on the surface . . . Well, one has antennae, don't you know? Denzil had brought Trimmingham in, and he was not quite what . . . And there was the behaviour of a young girl in the office. She was a school holidays temp with baby-blue eyes and no sense at all. It occurred to me to wonder if Denzil's old, er, proclivities might be starting up again. The office manageress was sure nothing was amiss, but it turned out that the young girl was a niece of hers, and I began to wonder who was deceiving themselves. Luckily she was found with her hand in the till and got the sack. But still, the accounts didn't seem to be too healthy. I've never liked the man from Corcorans, and it struck me that perhaps an alternative builder might be cheaper.'

‘Then the auditors arrived—'

‘And your young friend Zander waltzed right into the middle of this delicate situation, and everything blew up in our faces.'

‘So you gave thanks that Denzil had dropped dead and generally tried to keep the lid on everything in sight.'

‘Until Honoria stated her terms. Yes.'

Bea considered what he'd said and not said. ‘You are assuming that Denzil told Honoria everything and that she was his partner in crime? You can't prove anything against either of them unless you find some evidence, and I can't see that you'd gain much by revealing “all” about his private life. I agree with you that if she starts throwing mud at the Trust, some of it would stick.'

‘I have to think of Juliana, as well. She is, as I said, fragile. For her sake, too, I'd like to keep this secret. I agree with you that Honoria would prefer to get her own way without involving the police, but my reading of the woman leads me to believe that if she doesn't get her own way she might blow the house down, and all of us with it. So now, Mrs Abbot, you know the whole truth and I ask you once again: will you help us get rid of Honoria?'

‘I don't see how. Surely all you've got to do is find the bank statements, or get duplicates from the bank, which would prove what he'd been up to . . . And then I suppose you'd need hers, to show that she herself had profited by his dealings.' She hesitated, frowning. ‘I suppose it may be difficult for you to obtain copies of his statements from the bank. Confidentiality, and all that.'

He smiled, a gentle, crocodile-type smile. ‘Precisely, Mrs Abbot. Now, my good friend here tells me I have been using the wrong arguments to persuade you to help us. My instinct tells me that you could, if you wished, defeat Honoria in straight sets, but I'm advised that I've been overlooking your expertise. You've been running a domestic agency for years. I assume you know better than anyone how a room should be cleaned. Will you come back with us now and search for the missing documents?'

‘What?' She saw how neatly she'd been manoeuvred into helping him and had to laugh. A glance at the clock showed her it was after eight in the evening, but there was still plenty of daylight in the sky. ‘You don't mean now, this minute, do you?'

‘Honoria's proposing to start work again early tomorrow morning. She has her husband's keys to the front door and to his office. Once in, she can ransack the place. The major's office is never locked, and I can borrow his set of keys which will give us access to every room. My chauffeur will take us there and bring you back later. Do you need any special equipment?'

‘Who searched her office before?'

‘Zander and the major. There was only one locked drawer in Denzil's room, which the major was able to open as he keeps duplicate keys of everything in his office. There was nothing there but some photographs of young girls and a bottle of whisky. They've scrutinized every piece of paper in the place. No bank statements.'

‘So he hid them. Well, he would, wouldn't he? Humph. Would either of the men know where and how to look for something that's been hidden? No, probably not.' Bea got to her feet, reaching for her handbag. ‘When are the offices cleaned? In the morning or evenings?'

‘We have a couple of women who do the whole house after hours. We've used them for years. Does it matter?'

‘Some people clean better than others. I didn't get the impression that Honoria would enjoy cleaning, so it may well be that she's no expert at it. If so, she probably doesn't know the usual hiding places, which might be overlooked by those who are paid by the hour to make the place look all right, but who never get round to deep-cleaning.'

Lord Murchison heaved himself to his feet with some difficulty. ‘I imagine you know what you're talking about, Mrs Abbot. So lead us on.'

As soon as Lord Murchison let them into the hall at the Trust, Bea could see that the cleaners were still on the premises, since an industrial-style vacuum cleaner had been abandoned in the middle of the black and white tiled floor. A thickset woman appeared from a door under the stairs and informed them that the offices were closed, and then did a double take.

‘Oh, Your Lordship. Haven't seen you for a while. How's the leg?'

‘Not too bad, Violet. It is Violet, isn't it? I hope we're not going to get in your way. We've just called to pick up a couple of things.'

As this amounted to an order, although delivered in the mildest of voices, Violet flushed and said she was sure they did their best, though it was difficult to get through everything in the time, and they were a bit behindhand, so if they'd excuse her? She removed herself and the vacuum cleaner.

Bea interpreted this as meaning the woman was either looking for more money or had been scamping what she was supposed to do.

Looking around with a critical eye, Bea gave the place a more thorough inspection than she'd been able to do on her earlier visit. Yes, the hall floor had been properly cleaned. The trick was to look for dust on chair legs, and yes, there was some though not much. The picture frames had been dusted or, more probably, vacuumed clean. Probably anything that could be done with a machine had been properly done, but hand dusting had not been given a high priority.

‘This way.' His Lordship emerged from an unobtrusive door on the left holding a large bunch of keys, each one clearly labelled. Crossing the hall, he unlocked a door just beyond the one marked ‘Reception'.

Walking into the Honourable Denzil's room gave Bea the impression of having been dropped back into the nineteenth century. Quite possibly it hadn't been touched since he'd inherited it from his predecessor in the job, who in turn probably hadn't dared change anything. The wallpaper was William Morris in style and might even have been original.

There was an enormous mahogany desk, its surface clear but for a couple of telephones, the famous bronze statuette, and some empty filing trays. Bea could imagine how impressive Denzil would have looked, sitting behind that massive piece of furniture.

In one corner of the room, looking flimsy and a little ashamed of itself by contrast, there was a modern computer desk, on which sat an up-to-date PC, plus a printer and photocopier.

Bea pointed. ‘What about the computer?'

Mr Cambridge said, ‘I've given it a quick once-over, but it's password protected, and we don't know what that is. I may have to take it home and have a thorough look.'

‘Did you look in the usual places? His diary, for instance? Most people keep a record of their passwords somewhere, in case they forget what they are. You've tried “Honoria”, I suppose.' She pulled open the top drawer of the desk to disclose the usual muddle of pens, notepads, staplers, biros, etc. Pulling the drawer right out, she peered inside. A Post-it note had been stuck to the back of the drawer, with a series of names on it, all but one crossed out. The last one was ‘Kylie'. Ah, the schoolgirl in the pub.