False Pretences (27 page)

‘Really?' She could see him getting all excited. Oh dear, he really did want to go.

She produced a smile, somehow. ‘Of course. Now, how do we go about getting you there? Have you got a place this autumn?'

More shuffling of feet. ‘Yes, I . . . Mr Cambridge made sure they realized that I'd missed taking up my place last year for a good reason, and yes, they have said I could start this autumn but . . . I'm still not sure. He wants me to join the police, go to Hendon, be a specialist in computers like him. The money would be good.'

How dare CJ! The interfering so-and-so. Well, two can play at that game. ‘Whatever you choose is all right by me. The police?' A shrug. ‘But . . . just a thought. You could always join the police later on. Why narrow your options now? Get a degree behind you, and you can do anything, go anywhere. As for money, if you're going to take my name, I can see you through university.'

This time he met her eyes. ‘I'd like that. Mr Cambridge offered to sponsor me, too, but there's Chris to consider. I worry about him.'

He kept his eyes on her, wanting her to offer . . . what? She frowned. ‘What is it you want me to do? Be a mother to Chris?'

He flushed. ‘I don't know. He always denies it, but he has missed out, not having had a mother around. His father's always been a bit, well, distant.'

‘You think Chris needs someone to scold him when he's careless, make sure he changes his underwear and ask if he's got a handkerchief and keys before he goes out?' She started to laugh, but Oliver didn't.

‘Yes, I think that's about it. If I go to uni, will you look after him for me?'

She lifted both hands in helpless fashion. ‘You'll be the death of me, Oliver. I can't possibly promise that. Anyway, he'll be off to university again himself in the autumn, won't he?'

‘I suppose.' Meaning Oliver wasn't at all sure that Chris would.

A ring at the front door, a murmur in the hall, and Zander poked his head around the door. ‘Someone for you, Mrs Abbot. I've stripped the bed and put the sheets in the washing machine, so I'll be off now. Right?'

Max, Bea's self-important Member of Parliament son, pushed past Zander into the room. ‘What's he doing here? And who is he, anyway? He hasn't actually been sleeping here, has he? Oh, Mother! What have you got yourself into now?' Max was in a state, tie at half mast, perspiration on his forehead.

What did they say . . . Horses sweat, men perspire. Max was sweating. Oh dear; now what? Politics, Lettice or Nicole?

Oliver murmured, ‘Excuse me,' and slid out of the room, then came back in to say, ‘Oh, forgot to tell you. I got another couple of pictures deciphered. The first said, “Times, two two one.” The second is a copy of a letter to a solicitor, asking him to hold the deeds of the Manor, which are in his name. He actually owned the Manor, not her. As for “Times, two two one”, I'll see if I can track the reference down now, if you don't want me for anything else.'

Bea brought her mind back from Max, focused on Oliver, wondered what the multiplication table had got to do with the price of bread, nodded permission, and made herself smile at Max. ‘Lovely to see you, Max. Coffee?'

‘No, no. I've no time for coffee. So, who was that strange man?'

She considered telling him that Zander had just been released from prison and had nowhere to stay, but decided against it. In her sweetest tone, she said, ‘A friend of Maggie's needed a bed for the night. He's moving on today. What's worrying you, then? Some political crisis?'

‘Nothing to concern you although, well, it will all be in the papers soon and it's a great compliment to me, but . . . No, it isn't that. Mother, you've got to help me! Lettice
—
'

‘Ah, it's Lettice, is it? In a strop because her sister's being painted by Piers?'

He took out a handkerchief and dried his forehead. ‘That's it. Wants me to arrange for Piers to paint her as well, but he refuses. You've got to help me, mother. If she doesn't get what she wants I'll never hear the end of it.'

‘It's not a good idea to bed two sisters at one and the same time.'

‘I didn't!' His protest was overdone. More perspiration. He went to the French windows at the back and threw them wide open. ‘It's so hot in here. Why don't you get a ceiling fan? Which reminds me that Piers says he can't use his studio to paint Nicole because it's too hot in this heatwave, and the light in our flat's no good, so he'll have to do it here. I said you'd be glad to help.'

‘You might have asked me first.'

‘Well, yes. But I know you like Nicole and at least you'll be some protection for her from . . . Well, you know what I mean.'

‘You mean you want me to fend off Lettice for you? Oh, Max. I thought you'd got rid of her ages ago.'

‘I did. Of course I did. But she's not so easy to discourage, and what with Nicole being sick all the time, well . . . And there didn't seem any harm in letting her tag on for official functions, after all, it's all in the family. And it was difficult to say no. Besides, she's got a really good brain, Lettice. And a flair for politics.'

‘Then let her stand for parliament herself.'

‘She would have, if only it didn't take so long to get in, especially for a woman.'

‘I thought your party was keen to promote women.'

‘Some of them seem to think she's a bit, well, threatening.'

Bea could understand that. Lettice was a bright-eyed blonde with a titanium core. Flirtatious and glamorous. And the darling of her wealthy parents. Yes, she'd frighten men off. She certainly frightened Max, even as she tempted him into sleeping with her. He was a rabbit to her snake, no contest.

She decided to put the boot in. ‘If the tabloids were to get to hear you were sleeping with her while your wife's pregnant . . .'

‘Mother! Don't even think it! Besides, I didn't. Haven't. Honestly.' More perspiration. ‘But she says that if I do this one thing for her, she'll leave me alone. And Piers refuses. Mother, you've got to make him change his mind.'

‘What makes you think I can do that? Or that I should? Grow up, Max, and tell Lettice to do the same. It's about time she found someone else to sink her claws into because from now on you're going to be the ideal husband and father, aren't you?'

‘Of course, of course. You know I'm devoted to Nicole.'

‘Well, then. I'll speak to Piers – oh, not about Lettice – but about the possibility of his painting Nicole here. I'm not sure it's a good idea for all sorts of reasons, not least because we're extremely busy at the agency at the moment. Which reminds me I ought to be at work downstairs by now.'

The front doorbell pealed, long and hard. Not an ordinary visitor's tentative ring. An official-sounding peal, one intending to be answered. Bea shot to her feet. She knew the peal of doom when she heard it, and this was undoubtedly it. CJ? The police? Or both?

FIFTEEN

B
ea went to the door to let in not one but three people; CJ came first, looking even frailer than before. Behind him toiled along two policemen in plain clothes, holding up their IDs and giving her their names – neither of which registered with her. Now what was Max going to say to this visitation?

‘Do come in,' she said, ushering her visitors inside. Max was still standing by the hearth, legs apart, waiting to continue their discussion. Well, tough. ‘Sorry, Max. Business. You had a meeting to go to, I believe?'

‘What, what? Oh –' a quick glance at his watch – ‘I suppose so. Ring you later. Don't forget to speak to Piers about . . . you know what, will you?'

‘Of course not, dear.' She saw him out, mentally shook herself to attention, gave a passing thought to wondering what Chris was up to – surely not still watering the garden? – and returned to the sitting room.

‘DI Warner.' Thickset, fiftyish, rubicund complexion, small bright eyes. A man who smiled without meaning it. A smooth front; a man of authority. Not to be trifled with. He glanced at CJ, who as usual was effacing himself. ‘May we have a word in private?'

‘Is it about the attack on Mrs Lawrence last night?'

They nodded.

‘In that case, you will probably want to hear what Mr Cambridge has to say as well,' said Bea.

Both policemen transferred their eyes to CJ, who was looking out of the window, probably thinking about Tommy and the Trust. Probably not wondering if the sun was going to be with them all day.

‘Mr Cambridge?' said the DI. ‘Ah. Saves us a journey.' Again came that flicker of a smile.

Bea realized they thought that CJ was Chris, who they would indeed need to speak to about the previous evening's entertainment. ‘Well, actually,' she began, and then shook her head. ‘Coffee first, explanations later. Or tea? If we've got enough milk, that is.' Any excuse to get away and think what she ought and ought not to be saying. First and foremost, how to convince them that Milly needed protection?

‘No, thank you,' said the DI, and he took a seat, unasked. As did his sidekick.

Bea hesitated, and then did likewise. She said, ‘How is Mrs Lawrence? I ought to have rung the hospital to find out this morning, but
—
'

‘I'm afraid she didn't make it.'

Silence. And in the silence, Bea heard the faint swish of water from the hosepipe in the garden outside.

‘That's bad,' said Bea, glancing over at CJ, who kept his station by the window, divorcing himself from their conversation.
One down and one to go. CJ, this can't go on.

‘Now, could you tell me how you came to be calling on Mrs Lawrence so late last night?'

‘Late? It wasn't late. We got there about seven forty-five, I suppose. Give or take a few minutes.'

The DI had a notebook out. ‘It says here that you were with a Mr George Bundell when he reported the fire at coming up to half past nine.'

Bea crossed one knee over the other, leaned back in her chair. She looked at CJ's back, which continued to be uninformative.

‘Mrs Abbot?' The DI was going to insist on answers, and of course he was right to do so. This was no burglary that had gone wrong. This was murder.

Bea sighed. ‘I'm sorry, CJ, but they've got to know what's been going on.'

He shook his head, and said in a voice that didn't rise above a murmur, ‘Tommy's dying.'

‘I dare say,' said Bea, ‘but Mrs Lawrence is dead and so is Mrs Perrot, Zander and Oliver have spent time in police cells, and this has gone way beyond a joke. And what about Milly? Now you may have promised Tommy to keep quiet whatever happens, but I haven't.'

‘Discretion,' he said, still in that thread of a voice. ‘For the benefit of all concerned.'

‘Murder!' said Bea. ‘Milly's next, remember.'

Silence.

The DI hadn't missed a word of this. ‘Shall we start at the beginning?' No smiles now.

‘Heavens above,' said Bea, tried beyond endurance, ‘I don't know where to begin, and I suspect CJ doesn't, either. With her birth certificate, perhaps?'

CJ swung round to stare at Bea. ‘You've found her birth certificate? Where?'

‘Where Denzil the dirty-minded left it, of course. On his computer. You'd have found it yourself if you hadn't been doing so much hospital visiting.' Bea switched back to the DI. ‘And before you ask who Denzil is, and what he's got to do with this, all I can say is, ask CJ, not me. This is his story, and I've only been dragged into it right at the end.'

The DI leaned back in his chair. Against all the odds, it seemed that he really might be enjoying this, for there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes and a twitch at the corner of his mouth. ‘I expect that at some point one or other of you will say something which makes sense. Am I to understand that you two have been withholding essential information from the police?'

‘Oh, not just me,' said Bea. ‘Zander and Oliver and the whole caboodle, I wouldn't wonder. And Tommy, of course. Lord Murchison. He's ninety plus and probably in intensive care at the moment, so I shouldn't think you'll be allowed to question him today, or tomorrow. Your best bet, from what I've gathered of the man, is to hold a seance and try to get through to him after he's dead.'

The DI laughed, genuinely amused, but his sidekick went red in the face and looked as if he'd rather like to hit someone.

Bea got to her feet. ‘Sorry about that. But this has gone far enough. CJ, if you don't start talking, I will. Meantime, I need caffeine. I've already had two strong cups this morning, but just for once I'm going over my limit. Coffee all round?'