False Pretences (18 page)

‘First you have to prove that Zander did it,' said Oliver. ‘As he didn't, you're wasting time. You should be looking elsewhere.'

‘Oh, we'll be able to prove he did it all right. I'm not letting you go – yet. We'll have a break now and resume this afternoon.'

Oliver's mouth tightened. ‘You're going to get very bored hearing repetitions of my story, I'm afraid.'

A tap on the door, and a policeman in plain clothes entered. ‘A word, guv?'

‘Interview suspended at . . . two fifteen.' The detective switched off the machine and left the room.

The solicitor looked at his watch. ‘You don't have to answer any more questions if you don't wish to. Just say “no comment”.'

‘I can do that,' said Oliver, and they believed him.

The solicitor yawned, stood up. ‘I must catch a bite to eat. Be back in time for the next session.'

He went out and left Bea with Oliver.

‘I'm hungry,' said Bea, trying to lighten the atmosphere. ‘And Maggie'll be going spare. Can I use my mobile in here, do you think?'

‘Is she all right?' Oliver, also trying to pretend this was a normal day. ‘I've been worrying about work. Miss Brook—'

‘Returned this morning, looking awful but coping. Maggie's cancelled her appointments and stayed in to help.'

Oliver took a deep breath. ‘If they hold me—'

‘You're doing very well.'

‘Yes, but if they hold me for long, you'll have to get someone else in.'

‘A temp, do you mean?' She shook her head. ‘My money's on your guru.'

A faint frown. ‘Yes, but he swore us to silence.'

‘That was before Mrs Perrot was killed.'

‘What we did last night can't have any bearing on this, can it?' He didn't sound too sure of it.

Neither was Bea. ‘I'll get hold of him as soon as I leave here.'

‘You'll stay for a while?' Anxiety showing? He'd done well so far, but he was only eighteen years old and had never come up against the law before. The temptation to give in must be great.

‘I'm staying as long as you need me,' said Bea.

He gave her a lopsided grin. ‘We'd better see about formalizing our family arrangements.' So, although he'd rejected the idea of adoption when she'd raised it before, he was now prepared to go along with it.

Bea said, ‘You're eighteen now, so I can't adopt you formally, but you could change your name to mine. Would you like that?'

He nodded. ‘I wonder if Maggie will want it now, as well?'

The door opened and the detective returned, thunderclouds hovering over his head. ‘Right. You may go, for now. Stay at the address you've given me, and don't leave it. I shall need to see you again soon.'

Oliver slowly got to his feet.

Bea picked up her handbag. ‘At last, some sense. What about Zander?'

The detective firmed his jaw. Was he grinding his teeth? ‘I'm letting him go, too. For the time being. There will be more questions. Understood?'

Bully for the guru!

There were some formalities, of course. But soon enough Oliver and Bea were standing in the open air, blinking at the brilliance of the day.

‘Well, well! And who's been blotting his copybook, eh?' A lad of Oliver's age, with a narrow head, chestnut hair and clever eyes. He punched Oliver's arm, grinning.

‘Chris!' Oliver looked dazed. ‘But how . . . Who? I didn't expect—'

‘Dad said I was to collect you from the police station and take you back home with me. I've got a taxi waiting on the corner. Where's Zander?'

‘I don't know. Still inside, I suppose.' Oliver took a deep breath, hesitated, but finally said, ‘I'd better rescue him.' Although it must be the last thing he wanted to do, he returned to the police station. Bea trailed after him. Zander was there, arguing with someone about an address where he could be found that night, since it was clear he couldn't go back to his digs.

‘He's staying with us,' said Bea, crossing her fingers and beginning to worry about how Maggie would take the news. She gave her address again, and Zander was free. He looked all right, a bit rumpled, but not in bad shape.

Outside, Chris was fretting. ‘The taxi's waiting. Debriefing. Important, Dad said. Do you want to come too, Mrs Abbot?'

‘I think not,' said Bea, letting all her submerged worries about Maggie, the office, Max and Nicole rise to the surface. ‘Work, and so on. Oliver, give me a ring when you're on your way home. Let me know about supper.'

She flagged down a passing taxi for herself, wondering how to break the news to Maggie that Zander was going to invade her territory. Again. But what else could she have done?

In the taxi Bea tried to relax. She was so tense that the muscles of her neck ached. She made herself breathe long and deep. She knew she ought to be giving thanks for the latest turn of events, but she was too wound up to think of anything other than the other problems that would be waiting for her back at home.

She found herself praying,
Please, Lord. I'm not sure I can cope. Oh, and thanks, of course. Many, many thanks. Keep on looking out for us, will you?

And yes, back at home, it was bedlam. Before she went into her own part of the house, Bea went down the steps to the agency rooms to see what was happening there.

She found that Miss Brook had abandoned her station to take painkillers with a cup of coffee, that Maggie was flying from one phone to the other, getting more and more excitable and less able to remember what she was supposed to be doing from one minute to the next . . . and, even as Bea opened her mouth to tell them Oliver was free, Bea's important Member of Parliament son Max came pounding down the stairs to the agency rooms.

‘Mother!' A couple of years ago Max could have been described as dreamily good-looking, but he was inclined to put on weight nowadays. Today he was also red-faced, and he was working himself up into a temper of classical proportions.

‘Oh, Mrs Abbot! No Oliver?' said Maggie, winding one long leg round the other, ready to cry from frustration and anxiety. The phones kept ringing.

‘I'm so sorry to let you down,' said Miss Brook, on the verge of tears for a different reason, ‘but I really think I must go home and rest.'

‘Of course you must,' said Bea, seeing how drawn and tired Miss Brook looked. ‘It was good of you to come in. I suspect you ought to have stayed in bed all day. Now don't you worry about a thing here. Go home and get yourself better. The answerphones will take messages, and we'll deal with them one at a time. Maggie, relax! Oliver's all right and will be home shortly.'

How on earth were they going to manage? Well, she'd think of something – in a minute.

‘Mother,' said Max, ‘this cannot wait!'

‘Oh yes, it can, dear,' said Bea. ‘I've spent the morning in a state of high anxiety at the police station, and it puts everything else into perspective. Now, Maggie; did you cancel your electrician?'

The phones went on ringing. Maggie sank on to the nearest chair and howled with relief to hear that Oliver was all right, while at the same time shaking her head . . . Which might or might not mean she'd contacted the electrician.

Bea rolled her eyes, helped Miss Brook into her summer coat, and coaxed her up the stairs. ‘Take a taxi home; I'll pay. And don't come back till you're fit.'

‘Come rain or shine, I'll be in tomorrow.' Miss Brook disappeared.

What next?

A client was waiting for attention in reception. A fortyish woman with well-cut dark-blonde hair and sharp eyes. ‘Mrs Abbot? I don't suppose you remember me, but your husband saved my life a couple of years ago. I came to thank him for what he did for me, but I understand he's passed on. I'm so sorry. He was a lovely man.'

Max made a noise like a steaming kettle. ‘Mother, I insist!'

‘Max, one minute. Business first, pleasure afterwards.' She pushed Max away, trying to concentrate. ‘Cynthia, isn't it? Of course I remember you. Hamilton found you an office job in a big corporation in Dubai, didn't he? Not our usual field of business, but he happened to know someone who knew of a vacancy. You did well, I believe. He would have been so pleased to see you again.'

‘I finished there last week and came back with a nice little nest egg. Before taking on another job, I wanted to thank Mr Abbot. If it hadn't been for him, I don't know what would have happened to me. And you, too. I've never forgotten your kindness. I can see you're up to your neck at the moment. Is there anything I can do to help you for a change? Perhaps I could man the phones here for a couple of hours? Just to take messages.'

Although Cynthia now looked capable of dealing with an armed mutiny, four years ago she'd been fleeing a drunken, abusive partner who had subsequently gone on to kill himself and two others in a car smash. Every Christmas since her departure for warmer climes, Cynthia had sent cards to the agency, saying how well she was getting on and thanking Hamilton for his help.

Bea wondered if this was what the Bible meant about casting your bread upon the waters and finding it again later. Or was it just another answer to prayer, because He had known what she was going to need before she did?

‘Cynthia, you're an angel. If you could? You can see we're in a bit of a state.'

‘Will do.' Cynthia seated herself at Maggie's desk and picked up the phone. ‘Abbot Agency. How may I help you?'

Max planted himself solidly in front of Bea. ‘Now, Mother!'

‘In a minute. Maggie, dry your eyes, blow your nose and make me a cuppa and something to eat. I'm dying of thirst and haven't eaten anything today. Then you can help Cynthia, can't you? Show her the systems?'

Maggie snuffled her way up the stairs to the first floor. Bea followed, with Max in tow. The sitting room was too warm, the sun streaming in and baking the furniture. Bea unlocked the grilles over the windows and threw them open. Then drew the blinds halfway down. A breeze tentatively played over her ankles.

Blessed relief.

‘Now, Max.'

‘Where have you been? That halfwit Maggie said you were at the police station, which was obviously a lie.'

‘No lie. Oliver was asked to help the police with their enquiries into a murder and subsequent arson—'

‘What!? Mother, this comes of your taking in all sorts of riff-raff. It's a wonder you haven't been murdered in your bed.'

‘Oh, come off it, Max. Oliver keeps this agency going, and well you know it. If it wasn't for his expertise, we'd have to close down tomorrow, and he was certainly not involved in the murder. He just happened to drop his friend off at the house where a murder had been discovered. And before you ask, no, I don't know who did it, though surely the police will find out.'

‘You are far too trusting. Look at the way you've let that woman take over your phones when she'd just walked in off the street.'

‘Cynthia is well known to the agency. Be grateful that she was here, or I wouldn't be able to sit down and talk to you now.' She patted the settee beside her. ‘Now, sit down and tell me what's got you into such a state.'

Maggie brought in a tray on which sat a large mug of tea and a plate of ham sandwiches. The tea had slopped on to the tray, and the bread of the sandwiches had been cut unevenly. Maggie was not her usual competent self. She sniffed, richly. Bea restrained herself from telling the girl to blow her nose.

Instead, ‘Thank you, Maggie. I should think we might expect Oliver back in about an hour. I told him to bring Zander with him as he can't return to his old digs yet. Oh, and can you manage supper for us all?'

Maggie muttered something about not putting up with Zander, which Bea pretended not to hear, and stamped out.

‘Really, Mother. That girl is impossible!'

‘Ah, that reminds me. Nicole seems to be without a cleaner at the moment. Shall I ask Maggie to find you one?'

‘It's about Nicole that I needed to talk to you. Your interference yesterday has put me in the most intolerable position.' He stood in front of the fireplace, assuming the position of all dominant males through the ages. ‘Intolerable,' he repeated the word, rolling it around his tongue. ‘As if I hadn't enough to put up with at the moment.'

Bea considered throwing her mug of tea over him. The tea was scalding hot. It would probably do him no end of damage. On the other hand, someone would have to clean the mess up afterwards, take him to hospital, get the rug cleaned, and so on. And she knew who that would be. Reluctantly, she abandoned the idea.

He was still talking, of course. It took a lot to stop Max in his tracks once he got on his feet. She felt considerable sympathy for Members of Parliament who absented themselves during boring debates. She wondered which member could empty the chamber fastest. Would there be an unofficial prize for such a man – or woman? For after all, women could be as boring as men when they put their minds to it.

He'd gone puce again. Oh dear.

‘Mother, you might at least listen to me when I'm talking.'

‘Sorry, dear. A lot on my mind. I went to visit Nicole yesterday. She was in quite a state, poor dear.'

‘She does nothing but complain. I try to be sympathetic, but really, she might make an effort. Lettice says—'

‘Watch your blood pressure, dear. Lettice really is poison, isn't she? Pretty, of course, if you like that sort of thing.' Bea crossed her fingers. ‘I thought she'd got her hooks into someone in the Cabinet nowadays.'